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the king's face as he uttered these words, "family affection," was a perfect picture.
A picture at once grotesque and horrible.

He sat far back in the depths of an easy chair, and, crossing his thin legs one over the other, he waited for Frederick.

What was to be the issue of all this then queen had not the remotest idea, but she understood perfectly well that Frederck was to be admitted, and she gave, in a few words, the necessary order to the page.

There was a sharp quick footstep, and in another moment the prince and heir apparent to the throne appreared on the threshold of the private cabinet.

Frederick had not encountered his father since they had met at Whitehall, and of all persons else, he might, like Macbeth with Macduff, have avoided him.

The prince perfectly reeled in his effort to step back when he saw the king seated, with a grim smile upon his countenance, in that apartment.

But he had advanced rather too far for a precipitate retreat.

The page had closed the door respectfully and noiselessly behind him.

Then the king spoke.

"Frederick, these [dissamaions?] grieve us -- grieve us to our inmost heart."

The prince put his hand to his sword.

"Yes, they grieve us," added the king, "and if, like the prodigal son, you return to us this night, Frederick, why should we not --ugh! ugh! ugh!-- why should we not--"

The king glanced at the queen as though she were the fatted calf which was to be killed and eaten on the occassion of the blessed reconciliation between himself and his son.

But Frederick did not see things in the same light-- or rather he judged of things by many former lights-- [for?] he kept himself carefully on his guard, and every now and then turned completely round, like some one caught in a trap, or as though he expected some covert attack from behind him.

"And why not?" added the king, affecting to speak with emotion. "Why should there not be peace and concord amoung us, now that we are seated firmly on the throne of this kingdom?"

"I came," said Frederick, "to pay my humble duty to the queen."

"Delightful word!" ejaculated the king. "I like that word 'humble.' It betrays a contrite spirit."

"Sir!"

"Our son!"

"Sir!"

"Our Frederick, it would be too much for our feelings at [present?] But we will embrace you to-morrow."

Frederick glanced at the window, as though he would gladly have left the cabinet by that means, if it were possible.

"Yes, we will embrace you to-morrow. At present it would be too much for our royal feelings-- we mean our fatherly feelings-- and as the hour is late, and it would be far from wise to partake of any stimulating liquid, we will only [mangurate?] this happy reconciliation by a cup of coffee.

The strange look upon the king's face as he uttered the words "cup of coffee" would be quiet impossible to describe.

He seemed to have one eye upon the prince, while the other was fixed upon the ceiling above him, and the odd manner in which one corner of his mouth was drawn down to correspond with the eye which was upon the prince was intensely ludicrous.

"A cup of coffee?" ejaculated the queen, as if in doubt whether it could be procured.

"A cup of coffee?" said the rpince, as though he were diving into his mind to discover what amount of danger he was about to be subjected to."

"A cup of coffee," added the king. "We will have coffee. It is a rare and delicious beverage, and we are told is making its way rapidly among all the wits and philosophers of the age. Ugh! ugh! ugh! We will have a cup of coffee, each of us, to commemorate this happy reconciliation."