already were in those
Silent Countries from which nobody returns with news." [_OEuvres de
Frederic,_ xix. 204, 205.]

2. The Second, of different complexion, is a still more interesting
little Autograph, date elsewhere, farther on, in those wanderings. Madam
Camas, Widow of the Colonel Camas whom we knew twenty years ago, is
"Queen's OBER-HOFMEISTERINN (Lady in Chief),"--to whom the King's
Letters are always pretty:--

FREIDRICH TO MADAM CAMAS (at Magdeburg, with the Queen's Majesty).

"NEUSTADT, 18th November, 1760.

"I am exact in answering, and eager to satisfy you [in that matter
of the porcelain] you shall have a breakfast-set, my good Mamma; six
coffee-cups, very pretty, well diapered, and tricked out with all the
little embellishments which increase their value. On account of some
pieces which they are adding to the set, you will have to wait a
few days; but I flatter myself this delay will contribute to your
satisfaction, and produce for you a toy that will give you pleasure, and
make you remember your old Adorer. It is curious how old people's habits
agree. For four years past I have given up suppers, as incompatible
with the Trade I am obliged to follow; and in marching days, my dinner
consists of a cup of chocolate.

"We hurried off, like fools, quite inflated with our Victory, to try if
we could not chase the Austrians out of Dresden: they made a mockery
of us from the tops of their mountains. So I have withdrawn, like a bad
little boy, to conceal myself, out of spite, in one of the wretchedest
villages in Saxony. And here the first thing will be to drive the
Circle gentlemen, [Reichs Army] out of Freyberg into Chemnitz, and get
ourselves room to quarter and something to live upon. It is, I swear to
you, a dog of a life [or even a she-dog, CHIENNE DE VIE], the like of
which nobody but Don Quixote ever led before me. All this tumbling and
toiling, and bother and confusion that never ceases, has made me so old,
that you would scarcely know me again. On the right side of my head
the hair is all gray; my teeth break and fall out; I have got my
face wrinkled like the falbalas of a petticoat; my back bent like a
fiddle-bow; and spirit sad and downcast like a monk of La Trappe. I
forewarn you of all this, lest, in case we should meet again in
flesh and bone, you might feel yourself too violently shocked by my
appearance. There remains to me nothing but the heart,--which has
undergone no change, and which wil