How sad the scene! “The gray-haired king, half-sitting, half-lying, in his gorgeous bed, whose velvet hangings, looped back with their heavy ropes and tassels of gold, were the laborious offering of the pupils of St. Cyr; the groups of princes in their gorgeous costumes, dispersed over the vast apartment; the gilded cornices, the priceless, the tapestried hangings, the richly-carpeted floor, the waste of luxury on every side, the pride of man’s intellect and of man’s strength; and in the midst, decay and death, a palsied hand and a dimmed eye.” For a few moments there was unbroken silence. The king then requested his great-grandchild, who was to be his successor, to be brought to him. A cushion was placed at the bedside, and the little prince, clinging to the hand of his governess, knelt upon it. Louis XIV. gazed for a moment upon him with mingled anxiety and tenderness, and then said impressively, “My child, you are about to become a great king; do not imitate me, either in my taste for building, or in my love of war. Endeavor, on the contrary, to live in peace with the neighboring nations; render to God all that you owe him, and cause his name to be honored by your subjects. Strive to relieve the burdens of your people, in which I have been unfortunate enough to fail; and never forget the gratitude that you owe to Madame de Ventadour.” Louis XV. caused these last words, addressed to him by his grandfather, to be inscribed on vellum, and attached to the head-cloth of his bed. Words to which his life for fifty years was but a hollow mockery. The following days were ones of agony to the expiring king. His intervals of consciousness were rare and brief. Mortification extended rapidly, and toward midday, on the 31st of August, his condition became so much exasperated that it was found necessary to perform the service for the dying without further delay. The mournful ceremony aroused him from his lethargy, and his voice was heard, audibly and clearly, mingled with those of the priests. At the termination of the prayers, he recognized the Cardinal de Rohan, and said calmly, “These are the last favors of the Church.” He then repeated several times, “_Nunc et in hora mortis_”; and finally he exclaimed, with earnest fervor, “O, my God, come to my aid, and hasten to help me!” He never spoke again; his head fell back upon the pillow, one long-drawn sigh, and all was over. The spirit of Louis XIV. had passed the earthly veil, and entered the vast unknown. An immense concourse had assembled in the marble court at Versailles, anticipating the announcement of his death. The moment he breathed his last, the captain of the body-guard approached the great balcony, threw open the massive windows, and, looking down upon the multitude below, raised his truncheon above his head, broke it in the centre, and, throwing the fragments down into the court-yard, he cried sadly, “The king is dead!” Then, instantly seizing another