nt (or battalion, let us hide the
name of it), on marching through the Gate, consisted only of nine
chief officers and four men. [Muller, SCHLACHT BEI LEUTHEN (Berlin,
1857,--professedly a mere abridgment and shadow of Kutzen: unindexed
like it), p. 12 (with name and particulars).]

There were lost 98 pieces of cannon; endless magazines and stores of
war. A Breslau scandalously gone;--a Breslau preaching day after
next (27th, which was Sunday), in certain of its churches, especially
Cardinal Schaffgotsch in the Dom Insel doing it, Thanksgiving Sermons,
as per order, with unction real or official, "That our ancient
sovereigns are restored to us:" which Sermons--except in the
Schaffgotsch case, Prince Karl and the high Catholic world all there in
gala--were "sparsely attended," say my authors. The Austrians are at
the top of their pride; and consider full surely that Silesia is theirs,
though Friedrich were here twice over. "What is Friedrich? We beat
him at Kolin. His Prussians at Zittau, at Moys, at Breslau in the new
Malplaquet, were we beaten by them? Hnh!"--and snort (in the Austrian
mess-rooms), and snap their fingers at Friedrich and his coming.

It was at Gorlitz (scene of poor Winterfeld's death) that Friedrich,
"on November 23d, the tenth day of his march," first got rumor of
the Breslau Malplaquet: "endless cannonading heard thereabouts all
yesterday!" said rumor from the east,--more and more steadily, as
Friedrich hastened forward;--and that it was "a victory for Bevern."
Till, at Naumburg on the Queiss, he gets the actual tidings: Bevern
gone to the Croats, Breslau going, Kyau marching vague; and what kind of
victory it was.

Ever from Grossenhayn onwards there had been message on message, more
and more rigorous, precise and indignant, "Do this, do that; your
Dilection shall answer it with your head!"--not one message of which
reached his Dilection, till Dilection and Fate (such the gallop of
events) had done the contrary: and now Dilection and his head have made
a finish of it. "No," answers Friedrich to himself; "not till we are all
finished!"--and pushes on, he too, like a kind of Fate. "What does or
can he mean, then?" say the Austrians, with scornful astonishment, and
think his head must be turning: "Will he beat us out of Silesia with
his Potsdam Guard-Parade then?" "POTSDAMSCHE WACHT-PARADE:"--so they
denominate his small Army; and are very mirthful in their mess-rooms. "I
will attack them, if they