Mr. Kretschmer was at this moment occupied in writing an article for the next morning’s paper, and as he had just received news “by special courier” of another battle, subsequent to that of Liegnitz, which had resulted favorably for the Prussians, he was composing, with the courage of a lion, an extra, which fairly glowed with ardent hatred against the oppressors and cannibals, namely, the Russians and the Austrians; and declared that the salvation of all Germany depended on the supreme dominion of Prussia.

The bold editor of the Vossian Gazette in this article called upon the people to fly to arms against the “incendiary oppressors of Freedom and the people’s rights,” as he called the Russians; he exhorted even the women and girls to fight, and called upon them to grasp the sword in their tender hands instead of the needle.  Finally, he entreated all Berlin, if ever the incendiary enemy should approach the gates, rather to let the whole city be destroyed by fire, and bury themselves in the ruins before they submitted to the foe.

Mr. Kretschmer then laid his pen down, and revised with a satisfied look what he had written.

“That will have an effect,” said he, rubbing his hands together, delighted.  “When his majesty, our heroic king, returns victorious to Berlin, I will send him this sheet of the Vossian Gazette, and I know that he will be satisfied with my heroism.”

He looked again at the paper.  “Beautiful, beautiful!” exclaimed he, with a self-satisfied smile.  “My pen has shot nothing less than bomb-shells and grape, and my ink has turned into whole streams of the enemy’s blood.  And why should I not be bold, it being perfectly safe, since the king must certainly be victorious, and the enemy has no idea of visiting Berlin?  Tschernitscheff and Tottleben are quietly encamped on the other side of the Oder; Soltikoff with his army is near Frankfort; and Count Lacy with his Austrians is waiting an opportunity to give battle to our king.  Thus, as I said, I can safely exhort the good citizens of Berlin to defend themselves heroically against the infamous spoiler.  How beautifully this peroration sounds:  ’People of Berlin! rather let yourselves be buried under the ruins of your burning city than submit to an incendiary enemy!’—­Incendiary,” repeated he thoughtfully, “that is rather a strong expression, and if the Russians do come, they will revenge themselves for it; but, pshaw! the Russians are not coming, and I can safely send this article to the press.  And, furthermore, did not the king himself stigmatize the Russians as such?  Yes, I remember last year, after the unfortunate invasion of the Russians, he looked down from the steeple in Frankfort upon the devastation of the country, and cried out with angry indignation, ‘Incendiaries! incendiaries!’ The expression is at least official, and can therefore remain.”

Mr. Kretschmer seized the bell-rope, and began to ring violently.  Immediately the door opened, and a small boy entered with a portfolio under his arm.