"I can remember nothing," said the King; "I cannot pray, I have forgotten all my prayers."-- "Prayer is not in words, but in the thought of the heart," said Cochius; and soothed the heavy-laden man as he could.

"Fare you well," said Friedrich Wilhelm, at length; "most likely we shall not meet again in this world." Whereat Cochius burst into tears, and withdrew.

About four, the King was again out of bed; wished to see his youngest Boy, who had been ill of measles, but was doing well: "Poor little Ferdinand, adieu, then, my little child!" This is the Father of that fine Louis Ferdinand, who was killed at Jena; concerning whom Berlin, in certain emancipated circles of it, still speaks with regret.

He, the Louis Ferdinand, had fine qualities; but went far a-roving, into radicalism, into romantic love, into champagne; and was cut down on the threshold of Jena, desperately fighting,--perhaps happily for him.
From little Ferdinand's room Friedrich Wilhelm has himself rolled into Queen Sophie's.

"Feekin, O my Feekin, thou must rise this day, and help me what thou canst.