willingly have dispensed, but which was really equivalent to a command, was succeeded by an attempt on their part to enliven his majesty with different subjects of conversation.  No topic, however, that they introduced could outlive the second or third phrase.  The king was in one of his gloomy moods; for royalty, with reverence be it spoken, has its moments of merriment and ill-humour, its mixture of sunshine and of cloud; and be it known to thee, gentle reader, that ticklish is the position of a courtier when majesty is in the dumps.  To mend, or rather to mar the matter, the grand chamberlain, imagining that the sadness which overshadowed the royal brow came from regret, fixed his eyes upon a portrait of the queen, hung up in the cabinet, and with a sigh of pathos exclaimed, “How striking the resemblance! and who could not recognise the expression of majesty and gentleness, that——­” “Fudge!” cried the king.  Conscience had probably something to do with the abruptness of the exclamation.  The old chamberlain had unwittingly touched a tender chord; every allusion to the queen appearing like a tacit reproach to the august and widowed spouse.  “That portrait,” added the king, “is too flattering, the queen was far from handsome”; then, as if inwardly repentant of his harshness, he rose from his seat and paced the apartment with hasty strides, to conceal the tears that had well-nigh betrayed his emotion.  He sat in the embrasure of a window which looked upon the court; the moon was obscured by a thick veil of clouds; not even a solitary star twinkled through the darkness.  The palace at present inhabited by the kings of Sweden was not at that time finished; and Charles XI., in whose reign it had been commenced, usually resided in an old-fashioned edifice, built something in the shape of a horseshoe, and situated at the point of Ritterholm, commanding a view of Lake Mader.  The royal cabinet was at one of the extremities, nearly opposite to the grand hall or council-chamber, in which the States were accustomed to assemble when a message or communication from the crown was expected.  Just at this moment the windows of the council-chamber appeared brilliantly illuminated.  The king was lost in surprise.  He at first imagined the light to proceed from the torch of some domestic.  Yet what could occasion so unseasonable a visit to a place that for a considerable time had been closed?  Besides, the light was too vivid to be produced by one single torch, it might have been attributed to a conflagration; but no smoke was perceptible, no noise was heard, the window glasses were not broken, everything in short seemed to indicate an illumination, such as takes place on public and solemn occasions.  Charles, without uttering a word, remained gazing at the windows of the council-chamber.  The Count Brahe, who had already grasped the bell-cord, was on the point of summoning a page, in order to ascertain the cause of this singular illumination, when the king suddenly prevented him.  “I will visit