dged its valuables in this place of strength; all are fled
now in horror and terror across the Oder, by the Bridge, before it also
unquenchably takes fire, at the western or non-Russian end of the place.
Such a day as was seldom seen in human experience;--Fermor responsible
for it, happily not we.

Fermor, in the evening, said to his Artillery People: "Why have you
ceased to fire grenadoes?" "Excellency, the Town is out; nothing now but
ashes and stone." "Never mind; give them the rest, one every quarter
of an hour. We shall not need the grenadoes again. The cannon-balls we
shall; them, therefore, do not waste." On the morrow morning, after
this performance on the Town, Fermor sends a Trumpeter: "Surrender
or else--!" rather in the tremendous style. "Or else?" answers the
Commandant, pointing to the ashes, to the black inconsumable stones; and
is deaf to this EX-POST-FACTO Trumpeter. The Russians say they sent
one yesterday morning, not EX-POST-FACTO, but he was killed in the
pickeerings, and never heard of again. A mile or so to rear of Custrin,
on the westward or Berlin side of the River, lies Dohna for the last
four days; expecting that the Laws of Nature will hold good, and Custrin
prove tenable against such sieging. So stands it on Friedrich's arrival.

We left Friedrich in the Lebus Suburb of Frankfurt, Sunday, August 20th,
listening to the distant cannonade. Next morning, he is here himself;
at Dohna's Camp of Gorgast, taking survey of affairs; came early, under
rapid small escort, leaving his Army to follow; scorn and contemptuous
indignation the humor of him, they say; resolution to be swiftly home
upon that surprising Russian armament, and teach it new manners. The
black skeleton of Custrin stares hideously across the River; "Custrin
Siege" so called still going on;--had better make despatch now, and take
itself away! He greatly despises Russian soldiership: "Pooh, pooh," he
would answer, if Keith from experience said, "Your Majesty does not do
it justice;"--and Keith has been known to hint, "If the trial ever come,
your Majesty will alter that opinion." A day or two hence, amid these
hideous Russian fire-traceries, the Hussars bring him a dozen of
Cossacks they have made prisoners: Friedrich looks at the dirty green
vagabonds; says to one of his Staff: "And this is the kind of Doggery I
have to bother with!"--The sight of the poor country-people, and their
tears of joy and of sorrow on his reappearance among