ies occurred. Berlin rested after the excitement and turmoil,
and even the besiegers seemed to be reposing. Shells and fire-balls no
longer hissed through the groaning air, and the thunder of the cannon
had died away. Peace--the peace arising from disabling exhaustion
on the part of the combatants, reigned for a short while, and the
belligerents rested for a few hours to invigorate themselves for
a renewal of the fight. The streets of Berlin, lit by the dull
lamplight, were forsaken and empty, and only occasionally from the
dark houses was heard wailing and moaning, either the death-struggle
of a wounded man or the lamentations of his mourning friends. This
death-like silence prevailed for several hours, when it was broken
by a peculiar noise, sounding like the dull, muffled beat of
drums, followed by the measured tread of marching troops. The sound
approached nearer and nearer, and by the dim light of the street lamps
one could distinctly recognize a column of men marching in close order
from the opera-house down the Linden Street.

It consisted of more than six thousand men, moving down the "Linden"
in deep silence, unbroken even by a word of command. To see this dark
and silent column passing along the gloomy and deserted street, was
calculated to produce a feeling of awe in the spectator. Any one
inclined to be superstitious might have imagined this warlike force,
marching through the streets at the hour of midnight, noiseless and
silent as the grave, to be, not living soldiers, but the large and
daily increasing cohort of spirits of those fallen in battle, taking
its way through the dying town, as birds of prey fly with prophetic
wing in circles round the fields of death.

And now the head of the column reaches the Brandenburg Gate. The
sentinel stands to arms and challenges. The leader steps up to the
officer of the guard and whispers a few words in his ear. This officer
bows deeply and respectfully, and gives his sentinel a short order in
an under-tone. He then steps back to his command and presents arms.
The leaves of the gate then turned creaking on their hinges, and in
solemn silence the column marched out. This long, dark procession,
lasted nearly an hour; the gate then closed, and the same quiet
resumed its sway in the streets.

Berlin was dreaming or sleeping, praying or weeping, but knew not that
in this hour fresh misfortune had fallen upon it; knew not that the
Prince of Wurtemberg had just left the t