ese officers,
with brutal and avaricious zeal, had scarcely arrived in the city
before they commenced the pursuit of these outlaws. With fearful yells
they rushed into the houses, shouting out the names of those on the
pursuit of whom they were bent, and whose seizure would secure them a
golden reward.

Naturally enough, the writers and journalists were the first on whom
the vengeful wrath of the conqueror was poured, for it has ever been
the lot of authors to suffer for the misfortunes of the people, to be
made responsible for the being and thinking, the will and action of
the nation to which they belong. But it is only in days of misfortune
that the responsibility of authors and poets commences. They must
answer for the ill luck, but are never rewarded for the happiness of
the nation.

Three names, especially, did De Lacy's chasseurs cry out with a raging
howl for vengeance, through the Frederick-Stadt and down the Linden
Street, and they searched for their owners in every house.

"De Justi! De Justi!"--with this cry one of the Austrian officers
rushed through the street, knocked with his sword violently against
the closed house doors, and demanded with savage threats the delivery
of this criminal for whose arrest a high premium had been offered.

M. De Justi was indeed a notorious criminal. Not that he had written
much or badly, but principally because he had dared to use his sharp
pen against the Austrian empress, and her allies the Russians and
Saxons. It was especially three pamphlets which excited the wrath of
the victorious enemy. These pamphlets were called: "Proof that the
Empress should be deposed;" "Why and wherefore Certain Nations in
Europe are disposed to become Anthropophagous," and lastly, "Account
of the life of Count Bruehl." He had offended not only the Austrians,
but also the Russians and Saxons. It was therefore natural that these
three powers reigning in Berlin should wish to take their revenge on
the writer of these insulting pamphlets.

But De Justi had been prudent enough to escape from the pursuit of
his revengeful enemies. During the siege he had betaken himself to
the house of a friend in a more secure street, and had hidden in the
cellar, where it was impossible to find him. As they could not get
possession of the writer, they were obliged to cool their wrath on his
treasonable writings. They were dragged in his stead, as prisoners of
state and dangerous criminals, to headquarters at