"I have sought for thee, I have toiled for thee, my whole life long! Neither the researches of the learned, nor the subtleties of philosophy reveal thee to me.

Is there any other immortality than fame?
Any other eternal life than that which the memory of succeeding generations grants to the dead ?" In this tone of thought Frederick recited, audibly, the conclusion of a poem, which he had addressed to D'Alembert: "I have consecrated my days to philosophy, I admit all the innocent pleasures of life; And knowing that soon my course will finish, I enjoy the present with fear of the future.

What is there to fear after death?
If the body and the mind suffer the same fate, I shall return and mingle with nature; If a remnant of my intellectual fire escapes death, I will flee to the arms of my God." [Footnote: Posthumous works, vol.vii., p.88.] "And may this soon be granted me!" continued the king; "then I shall be reunited to those loved ones--gone before.

I must be content to tarry awhile in this earthly vale of sorrow, and finish the task assigned me by the Great Teacher; therefore, let us submit." He sighed; pacing to and fro, his steps were arrested at a side-table, where lay a long black velvet box; it contained the flute that his beloved teacher, Quantz, had made for him.

Frederick had always kept it in his cabinet as a memento of his lost friend; as this room he had devoted to a temple of Memory--of the past! "Another of the joys, another of the stars of my life vanished!" murmured the king.