gers, who had arrived in a sailing ship from Bremen. They were mostly Germans, with some few French and Italians, and had left their homes previous to the war being even talked of. Their astonishment upon hearing the news up to the hour of their arrival can better be imagined than described. The French looked downhearted and the Germans exultant; the Italians were neutral. Some few of the Germans, young, strapping fellows, inquired for the way to the German consul, as they wanted to go home again and fight for "Vaterland." Their enthusiasm, however, seemed to evaporate after some time, and they took tickets for Kansas. The French, on their part, in the mean time regained their faith in la belle France, and thought that it might not be so bad after all.

When we left the Garden our ears were again assailed by the same noises that had greeted us in the morning. As we came out among a large party of newly landed immigrants, and the light was but feeble, we were evidently supposed to belong to them. A fellow grasped my arm, and tried in half English, half German, to persuade me to go with him to some obscure "hotel," "das beste in der Stadt!" Not till we came within the full glare of a gas-lamp did he discover his mistake, and let me go, though I had not spoken a word. A minute after I saw him carry off some really verdant ones with better success.

It is a common dodge among these runners to seize a portmanteau, or, better yet, a baby, belonging to some large family, for then the whole crowd is sure to follow. I encountered such a gang. The wily runner was carrying a huge bag in the left hand, and had on the right arm a yelling baby, which he vainly tried to pacify or smother, I do not know which; behind him came the mother with another baby in her arms, and a lot of children clinging to her petticoats; after her came "vater," smoking his Dutch porcelain pipe and carrying some bundles; and finally "grossvater" and "grossmutter" made up the rear.

I can not refrain from adding a few figures out of the statistics of the Board of Emigration, as this will, better than any thing else, show the importance of this establishment and the quantity of business transacted. During the year 1869 there were written, for immigrants to their friends, 2884 letters, to which answers were received at Castle Garden containing $41,615 55; remittances, amounting to $50,549 49, were also received in anticipation of the arrival of passengers; 5393 telegraph messages were for- The lights were shining feebly on the Batwarded, to which 1351 answers were received; tery. The lamps are but few and far between, 504 steamers arrived with passengers, and 209 and an almost total darkness prevails at some sailing vessels, during the year. For the pas-places. Behind me were the crowds of immisage of destitute immigrants back to Europe, grants still emerging from Castle Garden, whose or to their friends in the interior, $10,876 89 dome loomed up splendidly out of a sea of darkwere expended out of the funds of the Com-ness-a beacon for the guidance of immigrants missioners. who arrive on our shores.

T was early in January, 1760, that the two non-shot of each other.

I hostile armies went into winter-quarters.

Never were the prospects of Frederick more gloomy. He had taken up his residence for the winter in a very humble cottage near the hamlet of Freiberg. He must have been very unhappy. Scenes of suffering were every where around him. It was terribly cold. His troops

General Daun, with his seventy-two thousand
triumphant troops, held Dresden. He encamp-
ed his army in an arc of a circle, bending to-
ward the southwest from the city, and occupy-
ing a line about thirty miles in extent. Fred-
erick, with thirty-two thousand troops depress-were poorly clothed and fed and housed.
ed by defeat, defiantly faced his foe in a concave

"It was one of the grimmest camps in na

While in health and prosperity, quaffing the wines of Frederick, he was an avowed infidel,

ture; the canvas roofs grown mere ice-plates, | the king, and was poor, friendless, and dying. the tents mere sanctuaries of frost. Never did His later years had been imbittered by the venpoor young Archenholtz see such industry in omous assaults of Voltaire. dragging wood-fuel, such boiling of biscuits in broken ice, such crowding round the embers to roast one side of you while the other was freez-and eagerly joined the ribald companions of ing. But Daun's people, on the opposite side of the Plauen Dell, did the like. Their tents also were left standing in the frozen state, guarded by alternating battalions no better off than their Prussian neighbors."

Thus affairs continued through the winter. There were two frost-bitten armies facing each other on the bleak plains. With apparently not much to be gained in presenting this front of defiance, each party breasted the storms and the freezing gales, alike refusing to yield one inch of ground.

During the previous summer, the philosopher Maupertuis, after weary wanderings in the languor of consumption, and in great dejection of spirits, had been stricken by convulsions while in his carriage at Basel. He had lost favor with

1 CARLYLE, Vol. v. p. 469.

the king in denouncing all religion as the fanaticism of weak minds. But in these hours of pain, of loneliness, and of approaching death he could find no consolation in the teachings of philosophy. He sent for two Christian ministers to visit him daily, and daily had the Bible read to him. It was a death-bed repentance. Bitterly he deplored a wasted life. Sincerely he seemed to embrace the doctrines of Christianity.' He died, after a lingering sickness, far from home and friends, on the 27th of July, 1759.

Voltaire made himself very merry over the dying scene of Maupertuis. There was never another man who could throw so much poison into a sneer as Voltaire. It is probable that the conversion of Maupertuis somewhat troubled

1 Biographie Universelle.

his conscience as the unhappy scorner looked | ings and his banterings, and his injustices and forward to his own dying hour, which could not politics, all as bad as himself."

be far distant. He never alluded to Maupertuis without indulging in a strain of bitter mockery in view of his death as a penitent. Even the king, unbeliever as he was in religion or in the existence of a God, was disgusted with the malignity displayed by Voltaire. In reply to one of Voltaire's envenomed assaults the king

wrote:

Frederick affected great contempt for public opinion. He wrote to Voltaire :

"I have the lot of all actors who play in public-applauded by some, despised by others. One must prepare one's self for satires, for calumnies, for a multitude of lies, which will be sent abroad into currency against one. But need that trouble my tranquillity? I go my road. "You speak of Maupertuis. Do not trouble | I do nothing against the interior voice of my the ashes of the dead. Let the grave, at least, conscience. And I concern myself very little put an end to your unjust hatreds. Reflect that in what way my actions paint themselves in the even kings make peace after long battling. Can brain of beings not always very thinking, with not you ever make it? I think you would be two legs, and without feathers." capable, like Orpheus, of descending to hell, not to soften Pluto, and bring back your beautiful Emilie, but to pursue into that abode of woe an enemy whom your wrath has only too much persecuted in this world. For shame!"

verse.

Soon after Frederick wrote to Voltaire upon this subject again, still more severely, but in The following is almost a literal translation of this poetic epistle : "Leave the cold ashes of Maupertuis in peace. He was noble and faithful. He pardoned you that vile libel of doctor Akakia which your criminal fury scribbled against him. And what return are you making? Shame on such delirious ravings as those of Voltaire ! Shall this grand genius, whom I have admired, soil himself with calumny, and be ferocious on the dead? Shall he, like a vile raven, pounce upon the sepulchre, and make prey upon its corpses ?"

The friendship of these two remarkable men must have been of a singular character. Voltaire wrote of the king: "He is as potent and as malignant as the devil. He is also as unhappy, not knowing friendship."

Voltaire had, as a pet, a very vicious ape, treacherous, spiteful, who pelted passers-by with stones, and, when provoked, would bite terribly. The name of this hateful beast was Luc. Voltaire gave his friend Frederick the nickname of Luc. He corresponded freely with the enemies of his Prussian majesty. A few extracts will reveal the character of the friendship of the philosopher. Some days after the battle of Kunersdorf Voltaire wrote to D'Argental:

"I do not love Luc; far from it. I never will pardon him his infamous procedure with my niece, nor the face he has to write me flattering things twice a month without having ever repaired his wrongs. I desire much his entire humiliation, the chastisement of the sinner; whether his eternal damnation I do not quite know."

Again he wrote, a few months after, to the duke of Choiseul: "He has been a bad man, this Luc. And now, if one were to bet by the law of probability, it would be three to one that Luc would go to pot [sera perdu], with his rhym

1 Euvres de Frédéric, xxii. 61.

* Voltaire's niece, Madame Denis, was with him when he was arrested at Frankfort, and she was terribly frightened.

It is evident that the king, thus surrounded with perils and threatened with utter destruction, was anxious for the termination of the war. But still this inflexible man would not listen to any suggestions for peace but on his own terms. He wrote to Voltaire, urging him "to bring back peace." At the same time he said:

"In spite of all your efforts you will not get a peace signed by my hands except on conditions honorable to my nation. Your people, blown up with self-conceit and folly, may depend on these words."

But that he was fully awake to his perils, and keenly felt his sufferings, is manifest from the following extract from another of his letters:

"The sword and death have made frightful ravages among us. And the worst is that we are not yet at the end of the tragedy. You may judge what effect these cruel shocks make on me. I wrap myself in my stoicism the best I can. Flesh and blood revolt against such tyrannous command; but it must be followed. If you saw me you would scarcely know me again. I am old, broken, gray-headed, wrinkled. I am losing my teeth and my gayety. go on, there will be nothing of me left but the mania of making verses, and an inviolable attachment to my duties, and to the few virtuous men whom I know."

If this

In the above letter the king alludes to the "mania of making verses.” Strange as it may seem, he, this winter, when apparently almost crushed beneath the weight of cares and sorrows, when every energy of mind and body seemed called into requisition in preparation for a new campaign, published an edition of his poems.

The allies represented a population of ninety millions. The realms of Frederick embraced scarcely five millions of inhabitants. The allies decided that they would no longer make an exchange of prisoners. It was manifest that by merely protracting the war, even without any signal successes on the part of the allies, Frederick would find all his resources of men exhausted. Frederick, who was never very scrupulous with regard to the means which he employed for the promotion of his ends, im

Euvres de Voltaire, lxxx. 313.

mediately compelled his prisoners of war, of
whatever nationality, to enlist in his service.
"Prisoners, captive soldiers, if at all likely
fellows," writes Archenholtz, "were by every
means persuaded and even compelled to take
Prussian service. Compelled, cudgel in hand,
not asked if they wished to serve, but dragged
to the Prussian colors, obliged to swear there,
and fight against their countrymen."

of one hundred thousand men. But the allies had two hundred and eighty thousand to oppose to them. Though Frederick in public assumed a cheerful and self-confident air, as if assured of victory, his private correspondence proves that he was, in heart, despondent in the extreme, and that scarcely a ray of hope visited his mind. To his friend D'Argens he wrote:

"I am unfortunate and old, dear marquis. That is why they persecute me. God knows what my future is to be this year. I grieve to resemble Cassandra with my prophecies. But how augur well of the desperate situation we are in, and which goes on growing worse? I am so gloomy to-day I will cut short.

Frederick also seized money wherever he could find it, whether in the hands of friend or foe. His contributions levied upon the Saxons were terrible. The cold and dreary winter passed rapidly away. The spring was late in that northern clime. It was not until the middle of June that either party was prepared vigorously to take the field. It was generally considered by the European world that Frederick was irretrievably ruined. In the last campaign he had lost sixty thousand men. Universal Again, and at the same time, he wrote to angloom and discouragement pervaded his king-other friend: dom. Still Frederick, by his almost superhuman exertions, had marshaled another army

1 ARCHENHOLTZ, ii. 53.

"Write to me when you have nothing better to do. And don't forget a poor philosopher who, perhaps to expiate his incredulity, is doomed to find his purgatory in this world."

"The difficulties I had last campaign were almost infinite, there were such a multitude of enemies acting against me. Pomerania, Brandenburg, Saxony, frontiers of Silesia, were alike