Old age had crept fast upon Louis XIV. For seventy-two years he had proudly sat upon the throne of his ancestors; but the time was near at hand when he must lay aside his sceptre and his crown. Still the more deeply he became conscious of his physical weakness, the more determined and extraordinary were his efforts to preserve intact the interests of the state. Richard, in his war-tent on the bloody field of Bosworth, never contemplated a train of more appalling shadows than those evoked by the memory of Louis XIV., as he sat, supported by cushions and pillowed upon velvet, in his sumptuous apartment. Maria Theresa, the Queen; the grand-dauphin; his son, the duke de Bourgoyne; and last of all, the duke de Berri, the sole prop to that throne which must soon be empty, dead, all dead, save a frail infant,—such were the thoughts that crowded upon his last reveries; and well might the poor old man in his solitary moments bend down that proud head which had no longer strength to bear a crown, and laying aside the arrogance of those years in which he had assumed the bearing of a demi-god, confess to his own heart that he was but human. On the third of May, 1715, the king rose at an early hour, to witness an eclipse of the sun. Strange coincidence that he, who had taken for his emblem a rising sun, should witness the eclipse of that brilliant orb, while he himself was sinking toward the grave. In the evening he retired early, complaining of extreme fatigue. The advanced age of the king and his many infirmities rendered even a slight indisposition alarming. The report spread rapidly that the king was dangerously sick. The foreign ambassadors promptly despatched the news to their respective courts,—a circumstance which soon reached the ears of the monarch, who, indignant at such indecent precipitancy, and to prove, not only to the court, but to all Europe, that he was still every inch a king, commanded that preparations should forthwith be commenced for a grand review of the household troops at Marly. On the twentieth of June this magnificent exhibition took place, when for the last time the troops of gendarmes and light-horse, in their splendid uniforms, defiled before the terrace of Marly; which they had no sooner done, than the monarch appeared at the principal entrance of the palace, habited in the costume of his earlier years; and, descending the marble steps, mounted his horse, and for four long hours sat proudly in his saddle, under the eyes of those foreign envoys who had announced his approaching death to their sovereigns. It was the expiring effort of his pride. During the whole of the last year of his life, it had been the study of Louis XIV. to deceive himself, and, above all, to deceive others, as to the extent of the physical debility induced by his great age. He rose at a late hour, in order to curtail the fatigues of the day; received his ministers, and even dined, in his bed; and once,