A correspondent of the Cologne Gazette telegraphs that the Russians, before the general retreat began, hurriedly sent back all the artillery they could move. This was done instead of endeavoring to cover the retreat of the artillery and saving all of it. Part of the cannon were useless, on account of poor ammunition. Continuing, the correspondent says: "It was after the artillery had been sent to the rear that the panic-stricken troops began their flight. Wagons and supply trains blocked the roads. Men detached the horses from these vehicles and rode away on them, heedless of the crowd of soldiers of all arms crowding back to the rear. Generals and Colonels were helplessly carried away. Units were disbanded, and the army became a mere mob. It was readily to be seen that catastrophe was unavoidable." A report given out today sets forth that, since June 12, 60,000 Russian soldiers and nine Russian guns have been captured. LONDON ACCEPTS THE STATEMENT. _LONDON, June 23, 12:10 P.M._--The statement from Austrian headquarters that Lemberg had fallen before the advance of the forces of Austria and Germany was received in London without surprise. It was known that the Germanic allies were within artillery range of the Galician capital, and capitulation was regarded as a question only of days. Nothing has been heard yet from Petrograd, but there is no disposition to doubt the accuracy of the Austrian claim. ARCHDUKE FREDERICK HONORED. _VIENNA, June 23, (via London,) 5:42 P.M._--Emperor William has given Archduke Frederick of Austria the rank of Field Marshal in the Prussian Army in recognition of his services in the campaign which resulted in the fall of Lemberg. BELGIUM. By LEONID ANDREYEV. [Translated from the Russian by Leo Pasvolsky.] I am Belgium! Oh, look at me, kind men! I am clothed in snow-white robes, for I am innocent before the God of peace and love; it was not I that cast into the world the torch of strife, not I that lit the horrid flame of conflagration, not I that caused hot tears to stream from mothers', widows' eyes. Oh, look at me, kind men! Look at this scarlet blot upon my bosom that burns so vividly upon my snow-white robe--Oh, 'tis my wounded heart, from which red blood is gushing forth! The traitor pierced me to the heart, he plunged his sword into my bosom. Ah, what a cruel blow! On through this field I marched in peace, bearing these flowers, listening to the songsters' choirs on high, and praising God, who made the beauteous flowers. Who coveted this path of mine, that wound 'midst flowers and songs? The traitor pierced my very heart, and the white petals lifeless hang, o'er-sprinkled with red blood. White rose! My gentle, dear white rose!