The Prince came from the dining-room, and began leisurely to ascend. He had only reached the second stair, when a man emerged from the sunken arch, and, standing within a foot or two of him, discharged a pistol full at his heart. Three balls entered his body, one of which, passing quite through him, struck with violence upon the wall beyond. The Prince exclaimed in French, as he felt the wound: “O my God, have mercy upon my soul! O my God, have mercy upon this poor people!” These were the last words he ever spake, save that when his sister immediately afterwards asked him if he commended his soul to Jesus Christ, he faintly answered, “Yes.” His master-of-horse had caught him in his arms as the fatal shot was fired.
The Prince was then placed on the stairs for an instant, when he immediately began to swoon. He was afterwards laid upon a couch in the dining-room, where in a few minutes he breathed his last in the arms of his wife and sister.
JOHN FISKE.
DISTINGUISHED LECTURER AND HISTORIAN.
T may be doubted whether even Macaulay exhibited more precocious ability than did the man who for thirty years has held a foremost place among the philosophers and historians of our country. The boy who read Cæsar and Rollin and Josephus at seven, who translated Greek at twelve by the aid of a dictionary which gave only the Latin equivalents of Greek words, who at seventeen had read the whole of Virgil, Horace, Tacitus, Sallust, Suetonius, and much of Livy, Cicero, Ovid, Catullus, and Juvenal, and at the same time knew his mathematics up to and including much of the work of the sophomore year in college, could read the Greek of Plato and Herodotus at sight, kept a diary in Spanish, and read German, French, Italian and Portuguese easily, surely this was one of the boys remarkable in the history of the world. Not only was John Fiske able to work for twelve hours a day and for twelve months in the year at his studies, but in spite of this strenuous application he was able to maintain vigorous health and to enter with enthusiasm into outdoor life.
Mr. Fiske was born in Hartford, Connecticut, in 1842. His original name was Edmund Fiske Green, but when his widowed mother became the wife of Edwin W. Stoughton, he took the name of one of his maternal ancestors and was henceforth known as John Fiske. Until he entered Harvard in 1860 he was an inmate of his grandmother’s home in Middletown, Connecticut. But since that time he has lived almost continuously in Cambridge. After being graduated from Harvard College he spent two years in the law school and opened an office in Boston. He never devoted much attention to the practice of law, however, and used his office mainly as a convenient literary workshop. He had been married while in the law school, and from the first his family depended for support upon his diligence and success as a writer.
His literary work has taken two main directions, his most noted books being studies in evolutionary philosophy and treatises upon special features of American history. For a number of years he was connected with the faculty at Harvard, as lecturer or instructor, and he was for seven years Assistant Librarian, but since 1879 he has only been associated with the University as a member of its Board of Overseers. Thirty-five lectures on the Doctrine of Evolution, delivered at Harvard in 1871, were afterwards expanded and published under the title of “Outlines of Cosmic Philosophy.” Two of his most notable papers are “The Destiny of Man” and “The Idea of God,” but Mr. Fiske is best known for the fresh and vigorous delightful and philosophical way in which he has written of American history. His principal books in this department are “The Beginnings of New England;” “The American Revolution;” “The Discovery of America,” and “The Critical Period of American History.” He has written somewhat for young people, notably “The War of Independence,” and perhaps has conferred no greater favor on his youthful countrymen than in the preparation of two school books, “Civil Government in the United States” and “A History of the United States.” Certainly there could be no more delightful innovation than the way in which he introduces his young student to the philosophy of government. He tells a lively story of the siege and final surrender of a mediæval town, and how the citizen delegated to make the capitulation, a lean, lank, half-starved stuttering fellow, replied to the question of why they had rebelled, with the significant phrase, “Tut-tut-tut-too much taxes.”