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oncluded by beseeching God to bless him for his filial goodness. The king returned softly to his room, took a roller of ducats, and slid them, with the letter, into the page's pocket; and then returning to his apartment, rung so violently, that the page came running breathlessly to know what had happened. "You have slept well," said the king. The page made an apology, and, in his embarrassment, he happened to put his hand into his pocket, and felt with astonishment the roller. He drew it out, turned pale, and looking at the king, burst into tears, without being able to speak a word. "What is the matter?" said the king, "what ails you?" "Ah, sire," answered the youth, throwing himself at his feet, "somebody would wish to ruin me; I know not how I came by this money in my pocket." "My friend," said Frederick, "God often sends us good in our sleep. Send this to your mother. Salute her in my name, and assure her I shall take care of her and of you." Frederick, conqueror as he was, sustained a severe defeat at Coslin in the war of 1755. Some time after, at a review, he jocosely asked a soldier, who had got a deep cut in his cheek, "Friend, at what alehouse did you get that scratch?" "I got it," said the soldier, "at Coslin, _where your majesty paid the reckoning_." Frederick was very fond of disputation; but as he generally terminated the discussion by collaring his antagonist and kicking his shins, few of his guests were disposed to enter the arena against him. One day, when he was particularly disposed for an argument, he asked one of his suite why he did not venture to give his opinion on a particular question. "It is impossible, your majesty," was the reply, "to express an opinion before a sovereign who has such very strong convictions, and who _wears such very thick boots_." Desertion.--Frederick, in surveying one evening some of the advanced posts of his camp, discovered a soldier endeavouring to pass the sentinel. His majesty stopped him, and insisted on knowing where he was going. "To tell you the truth," answered the soldier, "your majesty has been so worsted in all your attempts, that I was going to _desert_." "Were you?" answered the monarch. "Remain here but one week longer, and if fortune does not mend in that time, I'll desert with you too." Louis XIV., playing at backgammon, had a doubtful throw; a dispute arose, and all the courtiers remained silent. The Count de Grammont came in at that instan
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