beration, exposed
himself to the danger of an ordinary brigadier. Several occasions of
this kind might be specified. At the Battle of Kunersdorf, when
attempting to assemble some remnants of the infantry, who were still
holding their ground here and there, his horse was shot under him. At
Liegnitz, a spent ball struck him on the calf of the leg. At Torgau
again, when a newly advanced brigade began to give way, like all its
predecessors, he rode into the heaviest fire of musketry, and received
a shot on the breast, which penetrated his shirt, and for some moments
deprived him so completely of all power of breathing, that he was
believed to be dead.[2]

[Footnote 2: This battle of Torgau, Frederick planned to win
by a flank attack; but the flanking column was delayed in its
march, and at evening the king found himself everywhere
beaten back. His last chance of success against his many
opponents seemed lost: and he spent the night seated in the
church at Elsnig, in such mood as may be imagined. During the
night the flanking column at last arrived, fell on the enemy,
and crushed them. This was the last of Frederick's great
battles.]

Frederick outlived his last great war for twenty-three years, and died
in 1786, in the seventy-fourth year of his age. Every hour of this
last period of his life was assiduously occupied, almost to the hour
of his death, in zealous exertions to improve his country and
ameliorate the condition of his people. He certainly effected great
things, but left much that he might have achieved totally unattempted.
Living in the solitude which his dazzling fame had cast around him,
separated from all immediate intercourse with his species by the very
barrier his glory had interposed between him and other men, he acted
his part to admiration before the crowds who, from far and near, came
to behold him; but, blinded by the halo that encompassed him, he saw
little, and deemed less, perhaps, of mankind and their doings. In the
mass they may possibly not be deserving of high admiration, but
Frederick had never done them even justice; and in the latter years of
his life, he entirely lost sight of the direction they were taking; he
formed an ideal world to himself, and governed his country and
subjects accordingly. He was the admired wonder of the age; a
brilliant, if not spotless sun, that cast far aloft its vivid beams,
indeed,