A Breslau scandalously gone;--a Breslau preaching day after next (27th, which was Sunday), in certain of its churches, especially Cardinal Schaffgotsch in the Dom Insel doing it, Thanksgiving Sermons, as per order, with unction real or official, "That our ancient sovereigns are restored to us:" which Sermons--except in the Schaffgotsch case, Prince Karl and the high Catholic world all there in gala--were "sparsely attended," say my authors.

The Austrians are at the top of their pride; and consider full surely that Silesia is theirs, though Friedrich were here twice over.

"What is Friedrich?
We beat him at Kolin.

His Prussians at Zittau, at Moys, at Breslau in the new Malplaquet, were we beaten by them?
Hnh!"-- and snort (in the Austrian mess-rooms), and snap their fingers at Friedrich and his coming.
It was at Gorlitz (scene of poor Winterfeld's death) that Friedrich, "on November 23d, the tenth day of his march," first got rumor of the Breslau Malplaquet: "endless cannonading heard thereabouts all yesterday!" said rumor from the east,--more and more steadily, as Friedrich hastened forward;--and that it was "a victory for Bevern." Till, at Naumburg on the Queiss, he gets the actual tidings: Bevern gone to the Croats, Breslau going, Kyau marching vague; and what kind of victory it was.
Ever from Grossenhayn onwards there had been message on message, more and more rigorous, precise and indignant, "Do this, do that; your Dilection shall answer it with your head!"-- not one message of which reached his Dilection, till Dilection and Fate (such the gallop of events) had done the contrary: and now Dilection and his head have made a finish of it.

"No," answers Friedrich to himself; "not till we are all finished!"-- and pushes on, he too, like a kind of Fate.