und his death in that poor Silesian
Review; punctually doing, as usual, the work that had come in hand. Nor
that he died now, rather than a few years later. In these final days
of his, we have transiently noticed Arch-Cardinal de Rohan, Arch-Quack
Cagliostro, and a most select Company of Persons and of Actions, like an
Elixir of the Nether World, miraculously emerging into daylight; and all
Paris, and by degrees all Europe, getting loud with the DIAMOND-NECKLACE
History. And to eyes of deeper speculation,--World-Poet Goethe's, for
instance,--it is becoming evident that Chaos is again big. As has not
she proved to be, and is still proving, in the most teeming way! Better
for a Royal Hero, fallen old and feeble, to be hidden from such things.

"Yesterday, Wednesday, August 16th," says a Note which now strikes us
as curious, "Mirabeau, smelling eagerly for news, had ridden out towards
Potsdam; met the Page riding furiously for Selle ('one horse already
broken down,' say the Peasants about); and with beak, powerful beyond
any other vulture's, Mirabeau perceived that here the end now was. And
thereupon rushed off, to make arrangements for a courier, for flying
pigeons, and the other requisites. And appeared that night at the
Queen's Soiree in Schonhausen [Queen has Apartment that evening,
dreaming of nothing], 'where,' says he, 'I eagerly whispered the French
Minister,' and less eagerly 'MON AMI Mylord Dalrymple,' the English
one;--neither of whom would believe me. Nor, in short, what Calonne will
regret, but nobody else, could the pigeons be let loose, owing to
want of funds.'" [Mirabeau, HISTOIRE SECRETE, &c. (LETTRE xiv.), pp.
58-63.]--Enough, enough.

Friedrich was not buried at Sans-Souci, in the Tomb which he had built
for himself; why not, nobody clearly says. By his own express will,
there was no embalming. Two Regiment-surgeons washed the Corpse,
decently prepared it for interment: "At 8 that same evening, Friedrich's
Body, dressed in the uniform of the First Battalion of Guards, and laid
in its coffin, was borne to Potsdam, in a hearse of eight horses, twelve
Non-commissioned Officers of the Guard escorting. All Potsdam was in the
streets; the Soldiers, of their own accord, formed rank, and followed
the hearse; many a rugged face unable to restrain tears: for the rest,
universal silence as of midnight, nothing audible among the people but
here and there a sob, and the murmur, 'ACH, DER GUTE KONIG!'

"All next day