The death of Frederick in 1588 proved a severe calamity to Tycho, and to the science which he cultivated. During the first years of the minority of Christian IV. the regency continued the royal patronage to the observatory of Uraniburg; and in 1592 the young king paid a visit of some days to Tycho, and left him a gold chain in token of his favour. The astronomer, however, had made himself enemies at court, and the envy of his high reputation had probably added fresh malignity to the irritation of personal feelings. Under the ministry of Wolchendorf, a name for ever odious to science, Tycho’s pension was stopped;—he was in 1597 deprived of the canonry of Roschild, and was thus forced, with his wife and children, to seek an asylum in a foreign land. His friend, Henry Rantzau, of Wansbeck, under whose roof he found a hospitable shelter, was fortunately acquainted with the emperor Rodolph II., who, to his love of science, added a passion for alchymy and astrology. The reputation of Tycho having already reached the imperial ear, the recommendation of Rantzau was scarcely necessary to ensure him his warmest friendship. Invited by the emperor, he repaired in 1599 to Prague, where he met with the kindest reception. A pension of three thousand crowns was immediately settled upon him, and a commodious observatory erected for his use in the vicinity of that city. Here the exiled astronomer renewed with delight his interrupted labours, and the gratitude which he cherished for the royal favour increased the satisfaction which he felt in having so unexpectedly found a resting-place for approaching age. These prospects of better days were enhanced by the good fortune of receiving two such men as Kepler and Longomontanus for his pupils; but the fallacy of human anticipation was here, as in so many other cases, strikingly displayed. Tycho was not aware of the inroads which both his labours and his disappointments had made upon his constitution. Though surrounded with affectionate friends and admiring disciples, he was still an exile in a foreign land. Though his country had been base in its ingratitude, it was yet the land which he loved,—the scene of his earliest affection,—the theatre of his scientific glory. These feelings continually preyed upon his mind, and his unsettled spirit was ever hovering among his native mountains. In this condition he was attacked with a disease of the most painful kind, and though the paroxysms of its agonies had lengthened intermissions, yet he saw that death was approaching. He implored his pupils to persevere in their scientific labours. He conversed with Kepler on some of the profoundest points of astronomy, and with these secular occupations he mingled frequent acts of piety and devotion. In this happy condition he expired without pain at the age of fifty-five, the unquestionable victim of the councils of Christian IV.