re in speaking,"--what gesture, thumb to nose, or what, the
shuddering imagination dare not guess! But Valori, nettled to the quick,
"repeated it," and otherwise gave him as good as he brought. "He ended
by a gesture which displeased me"--"and went to bed." [Valori, i. 148,
149.] This is the night of February 18th; third night after Iglau was
had, and the Magazines in it gone to ashes. Which the Saxons think is
conquest enough.

Poor Polish Majesty, poor Karl Albert, above all, now "Kaiser Karl
VII.," with nothing but those French for breath to his nostrils! With
his fine French Army of the Oriflamme, Karl Albert should have pushed
along last Autumn; and not merely "read the Paper" which Friedrich
sent him to that effect, "and then laid it aside." They will never have
another chance, his French and he,--unless we call this again a chance;
which they are again squandering! Linz went by capitulation; January
24th, the very day of one's "Election" as they called it: and ever
since that day of Linz, the series of disasters has continued rapid and
uniform in those parts. Linz gone, the rest of the French posts did not
even wait to capitulate; but crackled all off, they and our Conquests
on the Donau, like a train of gunpowder, and left the ground bare. And
General von Barenklau (BEAR'S-CLAW), with the hideous fellow called
Mentzel, Colonel of Pandours, they have broken through into Bavaria
itself, from the Tyrol; climbing by Berchtesgaden and the wild Salzburg
Mountains, regardless of Winter, and of poor Bavarian militia-folk;--and
have taken Munchen, one's very Capital, one's very House and Home!--Poor
Karl Albert,--and, what is again remarkable, it was the very day while
he was getting "crowned" at Frankfurt, "with Oriental pomp," that
Mentzel was about entering Munchen with his Pandours. [Coronation was
February 12th; Capitulation to Mentzel, "Munchen, February 13th," is in
_ Guerre de Boheme,_ ii. 56-59.] And this poor Archduke of the Austrian,
King of Bohemia, Kaiser of the Holy Romish Reich Teutsch by Nation, is
becoming Titular merely, and owns next to nothing in these extensive
Sovereignties. Judge if there is not call for despatch on all
sides!--The Polish Majesty sent instant rather angry order to his
Saxons, "Forward, with you; what else! We would be King in Mahren!"

The Saxons then have to march forward; but we can fancy with what a
will. Rutowsky flings up his command on this Order (let us hope, from
rheumatis