'FREDERICUS MAGNUS PONI FECIT;' and on another part
of the Monument, 'ALGAROTTUS NON OMNIS.' [Preuss, iv. 188.]

"--IN 1765. At the age of eighty, November 18th, Grafin Camas, 'MA BONNE
MAMAN' (widow since 1741); excellent old Lady,--once brilliantly young,
German by birth, her name Brandt;--to whom the King's LETTERS used to
be so pretty." This same year, too, Kaiser Franz died; but him we will
reserve, as not belonging to this Select List.

"--IN 1766. At Nanci, 23d February, age eighty-six, King Stanislaus
Leczinsky: 'his clothes caught fire' (accidental spark or sputter on
some damask dressing-gown or the like); and the much-enduring innocent
old soul ended painfully his Titular career.

"DIED IN 1767. October 22d, the Grand-Duchess of Sachsen-Gotha, age
fifty-seven; a sad stroke this also, among one's narrowing List of
Friends.--I doubt if Friedrich ever saw this high Lady after the Visit
we lately witnessed. His LETTERS to her are still in the Archives of
Gotha: not hers to him; all lost, these latter, but an accidental
Two, which are still beautiful in their kind. [Given in _OEuvres de
Frederic,_ xviii. 165, 256.]

"--IN 1770. Bielfeld, the fantastic individual of old days. Had long
been out of Friedrich's circle,--in Altenburg Country, I think;--without
importance to Friedrich or us: the year of him will do, without search
for day or month.

"---IN 1771. Two heavy deaths come this year. January 28th, 1771, at
Berlin, dies our valuable old friend Excellency Mitchell,--still here on
the part of England, in cordial esteem as a man and companion; though
as Minister, I suppose, with function more and more imaginary. This
painfully ushers in the year. To usher it out, there is still worse:
faithful D'Argens dies, 26th December, 1771, on a visit in his native
Provence,--leaving, as is still visible, [Friedrich's two Letters to the
Widow (Ib. xix. 427-429).] a big and sad blank behind him at Potsdam."
But we need not continue; at least not at present.

Long before all these, Friedrich had lost friends; with a sad but quiet
emotion he often alludes to this tragic fact, that all the souls he
loved most are gone. His Winterfelds, his Keiths, many loved faces, the
War has snatched: at Monbijou, at Baireuth, it was not War; but they too
are gone. Is the world becoming all a Mausoleum, then; nothing of divine
in it but the Tombs of vanished loved ones? Friedrich makes no noise on
such subjects: loved and unloved alike