from the face of the world."

SATURDAY, 19th, "Maguire, touched to the quick by these new artilleries
of the Prussians this morning, found good to mount a gun or two on the
leads of the Kreuz-Kirche [Protestant High Church, where, before now,
we have noticed Friedrich attending quasi-divine service more than
once];--that is to say, on the crown of Dresden; from which there is
view into the bottom of Friedrich's trenches and operations. Others say,
it was only two or three old Saxon cannon, which stand there, for firing
on gala-days; and that they hardly fired on Friedrich more than once.
For certain, this is one of the desirablest battery-stations,--if only
Friedrich will leave it alone. Which he will not for a moment; but
brings terrific howitzers to bear on it; cannon-balls, grenadoes; tears
it to destruction, and the poor Kreuz-Kirche along with it. Kirche
speedily all in flames, street after street blazing up round it, again
and again for eight-and-forty hours coming; hapless Dresden, during two
days and nights, a mere volcano henceforth." "By mistake all that, and
without order of mine," says Friedrich once;--meaning, I think, all that
of the Kreuz-Kirche: and perhaps wishing he could mean the bombardment
altogether, [Schoning, ii. 361 "To Prince Henri, at Giessen [Frankfurt
Country], 23d July, 1760."]--who nevertheless got, and gets, most of the
credit of the thing from a shocked outside world.

"This morning," same Saturday, 19th, "Daun is reported to have arrived;
vanguard of him said to be at Schonfeld, over in THIRSTY-SWEETHEART
Country yonder which Friedrich, going to reconnoitre, finds tragically
indisputable: 'There, for certain; only five miles from Holstein's post
at the WHITE HART, and no River between;--as the crow flies, hardly
five from our own Camp. Perhaps it will be some days yet before he do
anything?' So that Friedrich persists in his bombardment, only the more:
'By fire-torture, then! Let the bombarded Royalties assail Maguire, and
Maguire give in;--it is our one chance left; and succeed we will and
must!' Cruel, say you?--Ah, yes, cruel enough, not merciful at all. The
soul of Friedrich, I perceive, is not in a bright mood at this time, but
in a black and wrathful, worn almost desperate against the slings and
arrows of unjust Fate: 'Ahead, I say! If everybody will do miracles,
cannot we perhaps still manage it, in spite of Fate?'" Mitchell is very
sorry; but will forget and forgive those inexo