e families of the royal pseudo-wives
are on record, and prove the accumulation of a debt of forty-nine
million thalers at the death of the king, who had had at his disposal
the treasure of Frederick the Great.

It is with relief that we leave the pages stained with the depravity and
moral bankruptcy of the era of Countess Lichtenau.

One royal woman, shining in the lustre of purity, genuine nobility, and
self-sacrificing patriotism, dispels the moral darkness around her as
the sun purifies and warms the atmosphere of the world. Princess Louise
of Mecklenburg-Strelitz, consort of Frederick William III., mother of
Emperor William I., great-grandmother of the actual German emperor,
William II., is one of the purest and noblest of women of all times, and
is rightly sanctified in the hearts, not only of all Germans, but of
all, whether friend or foe, who have ever contemplated her life, her
motherhood, her martyrdom, and her early death. From her pure bosom
sprang, to a large extent, the present greatness of Germany.

Truly, were not the age too far advanced, Queen Louise deserved to be
canonized. As if fate dared no relapse, no unworthy woman has succeeded
her in the house of Hohenzollern. To offset the instances of the
degradation of womanhood related for the sake of historical truth, let
us twine a wreath of the laurel of fame, the myrtle of chastity, and the
lilies of purity for her noble and beautiful brow.

A biographer well says of Louisa Augusta Wilhelmina Amelia, the fair,
blue-eyed princess who was born on March 10, 1776, and baptized in the
Church of the Holy Ghost, that the child was as sweet and fair as a lily
unfolding in the genial sunshine of early spring. When the summer season
of her life had run its course, when autumn's winds began to whisper
that all bright things on earth must die to be renewed, the lily was
gathered and taken away to bloom on in the Paradise above. Many eulogies
were written in honor of Queen Louisa; one of the most pleasing is Jean
Paul Richter's poetical allegory: "Before she was born, her Genius stood
and questioned Fate. 'I have many wreaths for the child,' he said; 'the
flower garland of beauty, the myrtle-wreath of marriage, the oak and
laurel wreath of the love for the German Fatherland, and a crown of
thorns; which of all may I give the child?' 'Give her all thy wreaths
and crowns,' said Fate; 'but there still remains one which is worth all
the others.' On the day when the d