tifications will resist the enemy's artillery a long while; and, if
you do not waver, but struggle on bravely, you may preserve to your king
his most beloved province and one of his best fortresses. Think of the
honor it would reflect on you if the whole world should say: 'The
citizens of Breslau preserved to their king the great capital of
Silesia! During the days of danger and distress they hastened fearlessly
to the ramparts, not only to carry food and refreshments to the
defenders, but to transform themselves into soldiers, to man the guns,
and hurl balls at the enemy!'"

"Yes, yes, we will do so! That will be glorious!" shouted the men, and
their eyes flashed, and they lifted up their arms as if they were
grasping their swords. "Yes, we will march out to the ramparts--we will
become brave soldiers, and fight for our city and for our king!"

"And you will lose your limbs," cried a sneering voice from the crowd;
"you will be crippled--die of hunger--ruin yourselves and your children;
and it will be in vain, after all! You will be unable to save Breslau,
for the odds are too great, and we ourselves have already been weakened
too much."

"Alas, he is right!" lamented the people, and those who were about to
rush to the walls stood still, and their courage seemed to disappear.

"No!" exclaimed Count Pueckler, ardently--"no, he is not right! It is not
true; but even if it were true that we are too weak to hold out, would
it not be much more honorable to be buried under the ruins of the city,
than to live in disgrace and bow to a new master? Think of the shame of
Magdeburg; remember that a cry of indignation was uttered by the whole
of Prussia at the treachery and cowardice of that city! Citizens of
Breslau, do you want to be talked of in the same manner? Do you desire
to act so pusillanimously that your children one day will have to blush
for their fathers? Do you want to behave so ignominiously, that your
wives and sweet-hearts will deride you and call you cowards?"

"No, no!" shouted the people. "We will fight--fight for our honor and
our king."

"Clear the way!" cried loud and imperious voices at that moment, and a
procession of over a hundred citizens marched up Ohlau Street; it was
headed by an old man with flowing silvery hair, who held a large folded
paper in his hands.

The crowd, that hitherto only had had eyes and ears for Count Pueckler,
now bent inquiring glances on the newcomers, and looked searchingly