trages new in human history. In a year or
two hence, Brandenburg became again the theatre of business,
Austrian Gallas advancing thither again (1644) with intent
"to shut up Torstenson and his Swedes in Jutland." Gallas
could by no means do what he intended; on the contrary, he
had to run from Torstenson--what feet could do; was hunted,
he and his Merode Brueder (beautiful inventors of the
"marauding" art), till they pretty much all died (crepirten)
says Koehler. No great loss to society, the death of these
artists, but we can fancy what their life, and especially
what the process of their dying, may have cost poor
Brandenburg again!

Friedrich Wilhelm's aim, in this as in other emergencies,
was sun-clear to himself, but for most part dim to everybody
else. He had to walk very warily, Sweden on one hand of him,
suspicious Kaiser on the other: he had to wear semblances,
to be ready with evasive words, and advance noiselessly by
many circuits. More delicate operation could not be
imagined. But advance he did; advance and arrive. With
extraordinary talent, diligence, and felicity the young man
wound himself out of this first fatal position, got those
foreign armies pushed out of his country, and kept them out.
His first concern had been to find some vestige of revenue,
to put that upon a clear footing, and by loans or otherwise
to scrape a little ready-money together. On the strength _of
which a small body of soldiers could be collected about him,
and drilled into real ability to fight and obey_. This as a
basis: on this followed all manner of things, freedom from
Swedish-Austrian invasions, as the first thing. He was
himself, as appeared by-and-by, a fighter of the first
quality, when it came to that; but never was willing to
fight if he could help it. Preferred rather to shift,
manoeuvre, and negotiate, which he did in most vigilant,
adroit, and masterly manner. But by degrees he had grown to
have, and could maintain it, an army of twenty-four thousand
men, among the best troops then in being.

To wear semblances, to be ready with evasive words, how is this, Mr.
Carlyle? thinks perhaps the rightly thoughtful reader.

Yes, such things have to be; There are lies and lies, and there are
truths and truths. Ulysses cannot ride on the ram's back, lik