The great blot upon the otherwise illustrious name of Maria Theresa was her participation in the iniquitous partition of Poland. “She has been rescued from the charge of having originated the unjust plan; since the document of the secret convention, signed at St. Petersburg, on the 17th of February, 1772, exists to prove the contrary; wherein it is stated that if the court of Austria refuse consent to the plan of partition, Prussia and Russia will combine against her. Amid the general outcry that arose in Europe against the crowned spoliators, Frederick the Great slyly observed: ‘As to me, I fully expected all this uproar of blame; but what will they say of her saintship, my cousin?’” Maria Theresa was now at the height of her grandeur and power as a sovereign. She had largely extended her territories. She had so increased her revenues that, notwithstanding her immense expenses, she laid by each year in her treasury two hundred thousand crowns. She maintained an army of two hundred thousand men, and lived in harmony with her ambitious and accomplished son, in whose name the imperial power was vested. When war with Prussia was again threatening her dominions, her skilful negotiations with Frederick the Great, which resulted in the peace of Teschen, covered her name with glory and her life with honor. “Maria Theresa often declared that no event of her long reign had ever caused her such unmingled satisfaction as the peace of Teschen.” It was a peace bought without bloodshed. It was entirely her own work, originated in her own benevolent heart. It was the means of continuing to her kingdom the blessing of peaceful prosperity, and it surrounded her dying head with a halo of glory. Death had long been insidiously approaching this illustrious sovereign, but she felt no alarm, and prepared to meet the end with calm resignation. Dropsy had at length rendered her existence a continued torture, and she welcomed the relief of death. Upon the last night of her life she was engaged in signing papers and in giving necessary directions to her successor. When her son urged her to rest, she replied: “In a few hours I shall appear before the judgment-seat of God, and would you have me sleep?” Upon expressing her anxiety regarding those who had long been aided by her private charities, she said: “If I could wish for immortality on earth, it would only be for the power of relieving the distressed.” A short time before she breathed her last her attendants thought that she slumbered, as she had closed her eyes; and one whispered, “The empress sleeps.” She immediately opened her eyes, saying with impressive calmness: “No! I do not sleep; _I wish to meet my death awake_!” Surely such a death-bed scene harmonized with the exalted and illustrious life of Maria Theresa! She expired on the 29th of November, 1780, in her sixty-fourth year. Her biographers justly style her the “_most blameless and beneficent sovereign who ever wore a crown_.”