was out of danger only the day before he died. Then came a relapse, an eruption of the skin, a marked difficulty of breathing, and an increase of cough. Still he was not considered in danger. Some members of his family were at cards in the adjacent room, and Desnoyers, the celebrated dancing-master, who, like St. Leon, was as good a violinist as he was a dancer, was playing the violin at the prince’s bedside, when the latter was seized with a violent fit of coughing. When this had ceased, Wilmot expressed a hope that his royal patient would be better, and would pass a quiet night. Hawkins detected symptoms which he thought of great gravity. The cough returned with increased violence, and Frederick, placing his hand upon his stomach, murmured feebly, ‘_Je sens la mort!_’ (‘I feel death!’). Desnoyers held him up, and feeling him shiver, exclaimed, ‘The prince is going!’ At that moment the Princess of Wales was at the foot of the bed: she caught up a candle, rushed to the head of the bed, and, bending down over her husband’s face, she saw that he was dead. So ended the wayward life of the elder son of Caroline; so terminated the married life of him, which began so gaily when he was gliding about the crowd in his nuptial chamber, in a gown and night-cap of silver tissue. The bursting of an imposthume between the pericardium and diaphragm, the matter of which fell upon the lungs, suddenly killed _him_ whom the heralds called ‘high and mighty prince,’ and the heir to a throne lay dead in the arms of a French fiddler. _Les extrêmes se touchent!_--though Desnoyers, be it said, was quite as honest a man as his master. Intelligence of the death of his son was immediately conveyed to George II., by Lord North. The King was at Kensington, and when the messenger stood at his side and communicated in a whisper the doleful news, his Majesty was looking over a card-table at which the players were the Princess Amelia, the Duchess of Dorset, the Duke of Grafton, and the Countess of Yarmouth. He turned to the messenger, and merely remarked in a low voice, ‘Dead, is he? Why, they told me he was better;’ and then going round to his mistress, the Countess of Yarmouth, he very calmly observed to her, ‘Countess, Fred is gone!’ And that was all the sorrow expressed by a father at the loss of a first-born boy, who had outlived his father’s love. The King, however, sent kind messages to the widow, who exhibited on the occasion much courage and sense.