are thrown again on our own resources. Oh, I
could weep over it! Two days and nights have the citizens of Berlin
fought with the courage of a lioness defending her young, and all in
vain. So much noble blood shed in vain!"

"We must surrender, then?" said Kircheisen, turning pale.

"Unless the honorable Council can sow dragons' teeth and reap armed
men, unless we can mould cannon and create gunners to serve them, we
must, indeed, surrender!" said Gotzkowsky, in a sad tone. "Yes, if
we had a dozen cannon like the two at the Kottbuss Gate served by the
brave artillerist, Fritz, there might be some hope for us. Those were
beautiful shots. Like the sickle of death did they mow down the ranks
of the enemy, and whole rows fell at once. Fritz is a hero, and has
built himself a monument with the dead bodies of the Russians--and all
this for nothing!"

"For nothing! do you say?" sighed the chief burgomaster. "On the
contrary, I rather think it will cost us a mint of money. The
Austrians have sent Prince Lowenstein in with a flag of truce, to
demand the surrender of the town. The Russians have also sent in a
flag of truce with the same demand. Now comes the important question,
To which of these two powers shall we surrender? Which will give us
the best bargain?" and as the burgomaster stammered out this question,
he seized a large goblet of wine which stood before him and emptied it
at a draught. He then ordered the servant, who stood at the door, to
replenish it with Johannisberger.

The aldermen and senators looked significantly at each other, and the
second burgomaster ventured timidly to suggest that the heavy wine
might possibly be injurious to the health of his honor the chief
burgomaster.

"Wine makes a man brave," he drawled out, "and as long as the city
fathers have good wine in their cellars, the citizens of Berlin may
sleep in peace, for so long will the Council have the courage to brave
the enemy! Let me have wine, then, and be brave!" and again he emptied
the replenished goblet. He then stared complacently at the ceiling,
and seemed lost in contemplation of the laurel-wreath painted above.

The second burgomaster then rose gently from his seat, and taking
Gotzkowsky's arm, led him with the two principal councillors to one of
the more remote window-seats. With a slight motion of the hand and a
compassionate shrug of the shoulders, he pointed across to Herr von
Kircheisen.

"Our poor oppressed chief wishes to