returned to my dungeon. Here, after my last conference with the
Landgrave, I waited my fate with a mind more at ease than that of a
prince in a palace. The newspapers they brought me bespoke approaching
peace, on which my dependence was placed, and I passed eighteen months
calmly, and without further attempt to escape.

The father of the Landgrave died; and Magdeburg now lost its governor.
The worthy Reichmann, however, testified for me all compassion and
esteem; I had books, and my time was employed. Imprisonment and chains
to me were become habitual, and freedom in hope approached.

About this time I wrote the poems, "The Macedonian Hero," "The Dream
Realised," and some fables. The best of my poems are now lost to me. The
mind's sensibility when the body is imprisoned is strongly roused, nor
can all the aids of the library equal this advantage. Perhaps I may
recover some in Berlin; if so, the world may learn what my thoughts then
were. When I was at liberty, I had none but such as I remembered, and
these I committed to writing. On my first visit to the Landgrave of
Hesse-Cassel I received a volume of them written in my own blood; but
there were eight of these which I shall never regain.

The death of Elizabeth, the deposing of Peter III., and the accession of
Catherine II. produced peace. On the receipt of this intelligence I
tried to provide for all contingencies. The worthy Captain K--- had
opened me a correspondence with Vienna: I was assured of support; but was
assured the administrators and those who possessed my estates would throw
every impediment in the way of freedom. I tried to persuade another
officer to aid my escape, but in vain.

I therefore opened my old hole, and my friends assisted me to
disembarrass myself of sand. My money melted away, but they provided me
with tools, gunpowder, and a good sword. I had remained so long quiet
that my flooring was not examined.

My intent was to wait the peace; and should I continue in chains, then
would I have my subterranean passage to the rampart ready for escape. For
my further security, an old lieutenant had purchased a house in the
suburbs, where I might lie concealed. Gummern, in Saxony, is two miles
from Magdeburg; here a friend, with two good horses, was to wait a year,
to ride on the glacis of Klosterbergen on the first and fifteenth of each
month, and at a given signal to hasten to my assistance.

My passage had to be ready in case of em