re is
no vestige, nor did there ever appear any. Holstein, 'whom none of
the repeated orders sent him could reach,' says Friedrich, 'remained
comfortably in his quarters; and looked at the Enemy rushing past him
to right and left, without troubling his head with them.' [_OEuvres de
Frederic,_ ii. 70.] The too easy-minded Holstein! Austrian Deserters
inform us, That General Neipperg arrived to-day with his Army in Neisse;
and has there been joined by Lentulus with the Glatz force, chiefly
cavalry, a good many thousands. We may be attacked, then, this very
night, if they are diligent? Friedrich marks out ground and plan in such
case, and how and where each is to rank himself. There came nothing of
attack; but the poor little Village of Steinau, with so many troops in
it and baggage-drivers stumbling about, takes fire; burns to ashes; 'and
we had great difficulty in saving the artillery and powder through
the narrow streets, with the houses all burning on each hand.'" Fancy
it,--and the poor shrieking inhabitants; gone to silence long since
with their shrieks, not the least whisper left of them. "The Prussians
bivouac on the field, each in the place that has been marked out. Night
extremely cold."

In this poor Steinau was a Schloss, which also went up in fire;
disclosing certain mysteries of an almost mythical nature to the German
Public. It was the Schloss of a Grafin von Callenberg, a dreadful old
Dowager of Medea-Messalina type, who "always wore pistols about
her;" pistols, and latterly, with more and more constancy, a
brandy-bottle;--who has been much on the tongues of men for a generation
back. Herr Nussler (readers recollect shifty Nussler) knew her, in the
way of business, at one time; with pity, if also with horror. Some weeks
ago, she was, by the Austrian Commandant at Neisse, summoned out of this
Schloss, as in correspondence with Prussian Officers: peasants breaking
in, tied her with ropes to the bed where she was; put bed and her into a
farm-cart, and in that scandalous manner delivered her at Neisse to the
Commandant; by which adventure, and its rages and unspeakabilities, the
poor old Callenberg is since dead. And now the very Schloss is dead; and
there is finis to a human dust-vortex, such as is sometimes noisy for
a time. Perhaps Nussler may again pass that way, if we wait. [Busching,
_Beitrage,_ ii.273 et seqq.]

"APRIL 6th, HEAD-QUARTERS FRIEDLAND. To Friedland on the 6th.,--and do
not, as expected, ge