There is abundant evidence that Frederick was a man of art and learning; and we know that he possessed the most unbounded influence over his soldiery. Before the battle of Rostorth, which led to the most celebrated of all the king of Prussia’s victories, Frederick addressed his little army, not amounting to more than twenty-five thousand men, in nearly the following words: “My brave soldiers--the hour is coming, in which all that is, and all that ought to be, dear to us, depends upon the swords that are now drawn for the battle. Time permits me to say but little, nor is there occasion to say much. You know that there is no labor, no hunger, no cold, no watching, no danger, that I have not shared with you, hitherto; and you now see me ready to lay down my life with you and for you. All I ask is the same pledge of fidelity and affection that I give. Acquit yourselves like men, and put your confidence in God.” The effect of this speech was indescribable. The soldiers answered it by a universal shout, and their looks and demeanor became animated to a sort of heroic frenzy. Frederick led on his troops in person, exposed to the hottest of the fire. The enemy for a few moments made a gallant resistance; but, overwhelmed by the headlong intrepidity of the Prussians, they at length gave way in every part, and fled in the utmost disorder. Night alone saved from destruction the scattered remains of an army, which, in the morning, was double the number of its conquerors. There are some anecdotes which exhibit the conqueror in a still more pleasing light. He was fond of children, and the young princes, his nephews, had always access to him. One day, while he was writing in his cabinet where the eldest of them was playing with a ball, it happened to fall on the table; the king threw it on the floor, and wrote on; presently after, the ball again fell on the table; he threw it away once more, and cast a serious look on the child, who promised to be more careful, and continued his play. At last, the ball unfortunately fell on the very paper on which the king was writing, who, being a little out of humor, put the ball in his pocket. The little prince humbly begged pardon, and entreated to have his ball again, which was refused. He continued some time praying for it in a very piteous manner, but all in vain. At last, grown tired of asking, he placed himself before his majesty, put his little hand to his side, and said, with a menacing look and tone, “Do you choose, sire, to restore the ball, or not?” The king smiled, took the ball from his pocket, and gave it to the prince, with these words: “Thou art a brave fellow; Silesia will never be retaken while thou art alive.”