ch was lately the Polish
Majesty's.

From Browne there has nothing come this Wednesday; but to-morrow morning
at seven there comes a Letter from him, written this night at ten; to
the effect:--

"HEAD-QUARTER, LICHTENHAYN, Wednesday, October 13th, 10 P.M.

"EXCELLENZ,--Have [omitting the I] waited here at Lichtenhayn since
Tuesday, expecting your signal-cannon; hearing nothing of it, conclude
you have by misfortune not been able to get across; and that the
Enterprise is up. My own position being dangerous [Prussians of double
my strength intrenched within few miles of me], I turn homewards
to-morrow at nine A.M.: ready for whatever occurs TILL then; and
sorrowfully say adieu," [PRECIS (ut supra), p. 493; _Helden-Geschichte,
_iii. 940; &c.]

Dreadful weather for Browne in his bivouac, and wearisome waiting,
with Prussians and perils accumulating on him! Browne was ill of lungs;
coughing much; lodging, in these violent tempests, on the cold ground.
A right valiant soldier and man, as does appear; the flower of all the
Irish Brownes (though they have quite forgotten him in our time), and of
all those Irish Exiles then tragically spending themselves in Austrian
quarrels! "You saw the great man," says one who seems to have been
present, "how he sacrificed himself to this Enterprise. What Austrian
Field-marshal but himself would ever have lowered his loftiness to lead,
in person, so insignificant a Detachment, merely for the public good!
I have seen staff-officers, distinguished only by their sasheries and
insignia, who would not have stirred to inspect a vedette without 250
men. Our Field-marshal was of another turn. Sharing with his troops all
the hardships, none excepted, of these critical days; and in spite of a
violent cough, which often brought the visible blood from his lungs, and
had quite worn him down; exposing himself, like the meanest of the Army,
to the tempests of rainy weather. Think what a sight it was, going to
your very heart, and summoning you to endurance of every hardship,--that
evening [not said which], when the Field-marshal, worn out with his
fatigues and his disorder, sank out of fainting-fits into a sleep! The
ground was his bed, and the storm of clouds his coverlid. In crowds his
brave war-comrades gathered round; stripped their cloaks, their coats,
and strove in noble rivalry which of them should have the happiness to
screen the Father of the Army at their own cost of exposure, and by
any devi