happy she had nothing to
do; with them she had no sympathy. Her two brothers were in the field,
they thought not of her. There was but one who remembered her, and he
was under the earth--not dead, but buried--buried alive. The blackness
of thick darkness is round about him, but he is not blind; there is
glorious sunshine, but he sees it not.

These fearful thoughts had crushed Amelia's youth, her mind, her life;
she stood like a desolate ruin under the wreck of the past. The rude
storms of life whistled over her, and she laughed them to scorn; she had
no more to fear--not she; if an oak fell, if a fair flower was crushed,
her heart was glad; her own wretchedness had made her envious and
malicious; perhaps she concealed her sympathy, under this seeming
harshness; perhaps she gave herself the appearance of proud reserve,
knowing that she was feared and avoided. Whoever drew near her was
observed and suspected; the spies of the king surrounded her and kept
her friends, if she had friends, far off. Perhaps Amelia would have been
less unhappy if she had fled for shelter to Him who is the refuge of all
hearts; if she had turned to her God in her anguish and despair. But
she was not a pious believer, like the noble and patient Elizabeth
Christine, the disdained wife of Frederick the Great.

Princess Amelia was the true sister of the king, the pupil of Voltaire;
she mocked at the church and scorned the consolations of religion.
She also was forced to pay some tribute to her sex; she failed in the
strong, self-confident, intellectual independence of Frederick;
her poor, weak, trembling hands wandered around seeking support;
as religion, in its mighty mission, was rejected, she turned for
consolation to superstition. While Elizabeth Christine prayed, Amelia
tried her fortune with cards; while the queen gathered around her
ministers of the gospel and pious scholars, the princess called to the
prophets and fortune-tellers. While Elizabeth found comfort in reading
the Holy Scriptures, Amelia found consolation in the mystical and
enigmatical words of her sooth-sayers. While the queen translated
sermons and pious hymns into French, Amelia wrote down carefully all
the prophecies of her cards, her coffee-grounds, and the stars, and both
ladies sent their manuscripts to the king.

Frederick received them both with a kindly and pitiful smile. The pious
manuscript of the queen was laid aside unread, but the oracles of the
princess were