Such is the process, which it is well to know, as by not following it, although offence is never taken at a stranger, you will undoubtedly lose caste, and be set down for a "blummer junge”—that is, a blockhead—a character which, among the students, is treated with the contempt it merits.

The ceremony of boring through the cap, which we have already described, was next proceeded with; and then all the Seniors of the different chores assembled in solemn conclave around the president's chair, and for half an hour or so appeared to be busily engaged in debating upon matters of state policy. When the conference was ended, another crash of music burst from the orchestra, and the following quaint and beautiful song was chaunted, some of the stanzas of which, in the original, bear a somewhat striking resemblance to a ditty called "The Jug of Punch," which, we doubt not, is well known to to all curious readers of "The Ballad Poetry of Ireland."

"Brothers! when the sand is waning

In life's hour-glass, faint and low; When no more the bright bowl draining,

To my last long home I go.

"But one care from your love I'll borrow,

Without the pomp of vain parade : In some green spot afar from sorrow, See your old companion laid.

"And let the bier on which you bear him

Be formed from some old winecask's wood,

And place the crystal goblet near him,

From which he quaffed life's ruby flood.

"Let him not rest in earth's damp bosom,

But 'neath some clustering purple vine;

No tree should o'er his relics blossom, Save that which yielded sparkling wine.

"When man by man you sadly follow, Old friends on earth, for the last time,

"Stead of the death-bell's tolling hollow,

The goblet's music be his chime.

"And o'er his tomb be then inscribed A story which shall only tell :

The music of this song is exceedingly beautiful, and for its simplicity and touching pathos, not to be equalled by any we have ever heard. Pipes were now lit, and a box of cigars was set before us, out of which having selected what we thought was a very mild Havannah, we filled up a large chopine of beer, and settled ourselves comfortably to "spend the evening." We had not, however, indulged long in this luxury when a party of excited young "foxes" came up, and seizing upon us, insisted upon having a dance. It was in vain we struggled; it was in vain we represented that in our country such a thing, without the presence of the fair sex, was impossible. Off we were carried; and a "fox" of gigantic stature having seized us round the waist, the band was ordered to strike up, and round we went, greatly to our discomfort, in a species of maniacal polkawith which, aided by the beer, the gentle stimulant of smoking, and the wild excitement of the song, our head grew so addled that, we are sorry to say, we cannot remember more of the events of that evening; until, aroused by the gleaming of schlagers and the flashing of torches, we found ourselves rattling, at the rate of ten miles an hour, over the pavement of the town.

There was one other song sung on that occasion, the words of which (we think by Körner) we have never yet seen translated. It contains so much of the spirit and execution of our own Moore in the best of his melodies, that we trust we shall be pardoned for going back in our course, to cull so fair a flower. It is called

And the joys of the past seem reviving In our hearts, with its glad notes again.

"And the wine-cup, filled high and o'erflowing,

Bestows such delight as we singOh! the world then before us seems glowing

In the hues of perpetual spring.

"But the third star-the third, as above us,

It sparkles with ray so benign,

Oh it melts on the soul like sweet music,

And glows in the bosom like wine.

Then on o'er our path, as we wander,
Kind planets, continue to shine;
And may we through life still grow
fonder

Of Love, and sweet Music, and Wine.

"When the lamps of the festival glitter, May your kind rays the revel prolong; Here's a health, then-long life to the giver

Of kisses, love, music, and song."

Of course when such disastrous results as the loss of a nose, the slicing off of an ear, or the dividing of a sinew, may attend upon the schaler duel, it behoves the student to prepare, by careful practice, for the encounter; and he is truly assiduous. No wrestler of old, practising for the Olympian games, ever devoted himself with such zeal to his task of preparation, as the student. He could not, except by constant and careful practice, become so beautiful a swordsman as he is; and for the purpose of facilitating his studies in the art, there are several rooms in the house of the fencing master, set apart for the practice of each chore, which are called the "fecht boden." A stranger entering one of these apartments for the first time would be puzzled to make out what its use could possibly be. He sees a large, low, well-lighted room, with a wooden surbace running round it, to which are attached, by chains and padlocks, a curious and motley array of weapons of warfare-sabres, schlagers, huge iron masks, shaped like pots, and long gauntlets of stuffed leather; each proprietor having a hook to which he may attach as many of these as he pleases; and every good swordsman generally having a couple of pair of schlagers, and one sabre, at

the least, the room is more like an ancient armoury than anything else. This constant practice of the art of fencing is, of course, well known to the university authorities, although there is actually a code of laws in force for the prevention of the duel, and a reward of eighty gulden held out to any adventurous beadle who has art enough to take the parties in the fact. The legislative enactments upon the subject of duelling are to the effect, that if any one is actually killed in an encounter, or mutilated, all the parties concerned are to be handed over to the civil authorities-it is no longer a mere breach of university discipline; but if none of these consequences follow, a month's imprisonment in the "consilium abeundi,” or university prison, shall be the punishment. The seconds, witnesses, challenge-bearers, and umpires, are all accessories to the fact, and are liable to the same penalty. Surgeons and doctors who are called upon to attend any wounded party must give instant information, or suffer a pecuniary penalty, and all implements of warfare found upon the premises where the duel is fought, are to be confiscated for the benefit of the treasury; and a beadle discovering parties engaged in the act is to receive a reward not exceeding seven pounds. This sum to a German of the "Bumble class" being a little fortune, they often make great, and occasionally successful exertions for the apprehension of offenders. this will serve to explain a scene of which we were once the very much amused spectators. Being engaged one day at Newenheim, with some other idlers, in watching a couple of students, who were endeavouring with laudable anxiety (and one of them with some success) to maim each other as much as possible, a sudden, and to us a very incomprehensible tumult arose. The Red Fisherman darted madly forwards and seizing one of the combatants, begun tearing off his equipments with marvellous celerity; the other man fell a victim to some one else, who tried to denude him after a similar fashion. Never did I witness such a scene of confusion and uproar dogs barking like mad; men tearing to and fro like devils-opening mysterious cupboards and receptacles in the walls and floor-stowing away

All

"pank hosen," "secondin prügels," "stulps," and surgeons' tools. Out we all bundled, tumbling over one another down stairs; the Irlander rolling over a fat German, whose pipe was broken, and 'who ejaculated Teufel" with some acerbity. The whole troop then rushed into the garden; one of the duellists, whose garments there had not been time to remove, taking off to the mountains. When we got into the garden, nothing was seen to justify so much alarm, but a small boat which, directed with vigorous strokes, rapidly neared the river's bank, and in the stern of which was seated a tall man, wrapped in a huge cloak. As he stepped quickly ashore, he was hailed by a hundred voices, which sung out, "Hurra for the poodle!hoch! the poodle !"-that being the

familiar and endearing epithet by which the Burschen distinguish the beadle. On he came, his huge black whiskers and moustache curling with indignation at seeing his descent had proved ineffectual. The students, however, pretended to be very glad to see him. At last he could stand it no longer, and seeing there was no good in ill-humour, a smile gradually stole over his features; and, having accepted a cigar from one of our friends, he proceeded to institute a vigorous search in the apartment, when, of course, he could discover nothing; thus illustrating the truth of the Burschen proverb

The Poodle may come if he wishes,

But why, my brave boys, should we fear? He'll find none of the feast but the dishes, Or a coast that is equally clear."

THE moon is up! Like old Melrose, you ought to see the castle of Heidelberg by her silver ray. The ruined towers in the clear cold light rise in all their hoary grandeur; the shattered rampart and the crumbling wall cast their deep shadows athwart the river's breast; the gorgeous masonry of the elector's palace, the rude strength of the eastern tower, the fretted pinnacles of the ancient chapel, stand out in bold relief from the mountain's wooded side :

"Buttress and buttress alternately

Seem streaked with ebon and ivory."

Magnificent ruin!-in the calm solitude of a summer's eve, how often, wandering along your stately terraces and noble gardens, have we mused upon the days of your feudal pomp; and those grey walls seemed to us clothed with the splendours and peopled with the beings of "The Past," and the times would rise before us when those lighted halls, so desolate now, crowded with princely guests, shone down upon the silver Neckar; when the folds of proud banners, flung from those ivied battlements, were waving in the mountain wind; when the plumed troop of stalwart knights, with glancing spears and crimson pennons, would issue from

that noble arch. How oft from that garden-a wilderness of weeds now, but then a trim parterre-has thrilled, perchance upon royal maiden's ear, the lay of love. That emblazoned hall once rang to the echo of the midnight wassail "bright lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men.' Where be they all now? Where is the knight?-the maiden? the princely reveller?-the sparkling eye of the proud beauty?— the haughty baron ?-the elector ?— the warrior-bishop?-and the minstrel? -the fiery breast that throbbed with restlesss ambition ?-and the tender heart that yearned for love?—

"All silent now and still, as the green earth that covers them!"

From one dismantled tower, higher than its fellows, we have stood for hours, gazing upon the varied and unrivalled beauties of that vast plain which, studded with gardens, villages, and forests, lies spread out like a carpet at our feet-the fairest prospect in Europe! the garden of the Rhine! Away in the distance, far as the eye can reach, rises the dim outline of the Hartz mountains, where our lionhearted Richard pined in captivity; the windings of the beautiful Rhine, far, far away towards Basle, are gleaming in the rays of the sun; the ca

thedral of Worms towers in the distance. Then come back upon us the palmy days of that now silent city the time of the emperor and the diet, when the glittering pageant and the tournament passed in proud array before its walls. We look down upon old Spires, once peopled with princes, bishops, and knights, now long mouldering in the dust. Over that very plain upon which we are gazing now, once swept, in compact array, the stately baron, with his troop of stalwart retainers, to Palestine. He is pictured to us as, in all the vigour of lusty manhood, with flashing armour and banners flung upon the wind, he passes on his way.

We see him again, after years of warfare and toil, travelstained and weary, with drooping crest and torn banner, straggling, with a broken host, to his castle-home upon the Rhine again. There stands the

old cathedral. We see Turenne's savage soldiery playing at ball in its spacious dome, with the skulls of German kings. How many a scene of splendour and of pomp has passed within view of those mouldering walls, which the wrath of man and the lightning of heaven have alike assailed in vain, for still they stand, a grey and timeworn monument of the glories of the past, scathed by the tempest and blasted by the lightning of heaven.

"There was a day when they were young and proud, Banners on high and battles passed below; But they who fought are in their bloody shroud, And those which waved are shredless dust ere now,

And the bleak battlement shall bear no future blow."

Many, indeed, have been the curious passages of love and of war which have passed within sight of those old walls; but few of the traditions connected with the place are fraught with more melancholy interest than the history of an occurrence which took place some short time since, the closing scene of which we arrived in time to witness.

After the observations we have just made upon the German system of duelling as contrasted with our own, it may seem somewhat inconsistent to narrate the following story; but as we could scarcely describe the touching and melancholy scene of the student's funeral without narrating also the circumstances connected with his death,

we prefer incurring the semblance of so serious a charge rather than diminish the interest of our narrative, premising, however, as we have already intimated, that the pistol duel is of very very rare occurrence in Germany, taking place, when it does occur, only in cases of real injury, where some insult of a grievous nature has been inflicted; and we do not recollect ever having heard of an instance which happened except the one we are about to relate; it is strictly prohibited both by the university and the civil law, the principals and seconds being liable, according to the circumstances of the case, to the punishments of death or perpetual banishment.

Clara Von Rosenstein was one of the loveliest maidens not only in Heidelberg, but in the whole principality of Baden. Tall, and of matchless symmetry, her graceful figure was just expanding into the bloom of womanhood; her smile was like a sunbeam; her cheek like the delicate hue of the rose; and her soft brown hair waved in glossy curls from a brow bright with intelligence, and fairer than the snow; while her dove-like eyes, of the deepest blue, fringed by long dark lashes, beamed with a gentle light, which, in the days of chivalry, would have sent half the champions of Christendom into the lists to shiver a spear for one single glance. She was one of those rare beings which seem almost too beautiful for the atmosphere of this every-day world; and her beauty was only to be equalled by her sweet and amiable mind. Of course, the students had by far too much good taste not to go half mad for the love of so peerless a damsel; and the gentle Clara had, in fact, turned the heads of half the university. To use the words of Sheridan's beautiful song—

“Friends in all the aged she met,
And lovers in the young."

Whenever a ball was in prospect the young nobles-aye, even the Crown Prince himself, would go to engage her hand for the dance a month before. If you passed along the Anlage of a summer's night, rising from the old acacia trees which waved beneath her mother's dwelling, the silver strains of the serenade brought by some spellbound lover, would be sure to fall upon the ear. Many a lover had

sighed for her in vain; but of all the numerous aspirants to her favour the Count Ernst Von Newenberg was the only one who seemed to have a chance of success. Young, rich, handsome, and fascinating, with some of the oldest blood of Saxony in his veins, Von Newenberg was the idol of his associates, and the picked man of his chore. One of the first swordsmen at the university, his aim at the "yagt" was as unerring as his guard at the duel was true. At the revel his laugh was the merriest, and his song the lightest; while his generous and open temper, and the unaffected simplicity of his manner, made his society courted by all. No one was so frequently the gentle Clara's partner in the dance, or her companion in those mountain rambles which, accompanied by her mother and sisters, were her delight; and at length the world gave it outand we believe the world for once was in the right-that the flower of the "Odenwald" had become the betrothed of the Count Von Newenberg.

He

As ill-fate would have it, there was then a student at the university, who, it was said, had also been an aspirant for the smiles of the gentle Clara, and who in person as well as character was widely different from the Count. was a Suabian noble; dark and grim in his aspect, fierce and overbearing in temper; in every respect as opposite as possible from his more favoured rival was he who was known by the formidable appellation of the Black Baron. His stormy passions had never brooked control; and when, at last, to his dismay, he learned that the beautiful Clara had blessed another with her heart, from that moment an intense and deadly hatred of Von Newenberg seized possession of his whole being, and he eagerly sought some opportunity of fastening a quarrel upon him; which Ernst, though brave as a lion by nature, yet being of a quiet and an unassuming temper, took every precaution to avoid. Matters had been going on in this way for some time, when it was announced in the papers that a ball would take place in the Museum upon New Year's Eve.

No

sooner was this fact made public than the Baron, who, we suppose, wished to have one chance more, repaired to Clara's dwelling, and requested her band for a certain dance; and as it is VOL. XXVII.-No. 160.

not the etiquette of the country in such cases for a lady to refuse, the fair Clara yielded a reluctant assent. Unfortunately, however, she made some mistake, and accidentally marked the Baron's name down for the wrong dance upon the little " karte der balle" which in Germany is furnished beforehand to every lady by the master of the ceremonies. The evening arrived, and never did the "beauty of the 'Odenwald"" appear more bewitching; attired in a robe of snowy white, with no ornament save a solitary rose in the silken tresses of her dark hair. Those who saw her that night floating along in the graceful waltz declared that their eyes never lighted upon a more perfect vision of youthful loveliness. She was just about to dance with the count, when the Black Baron appeared with an ominous and scowling brow. "Fräulein," said he, "I think you promised me this dance." "No," replied Clara, showing him her little tablet, "I have your name down for the next. This one I promised to the Count Von Newenberg." The baron's eyes flashed fire as he rudely replied, "You must certainly be mistaken. You promised me the second Schottisch; this is it, and I cannot let you off." "Well," said Clara, "as the mistake must have been mine, Herr Baron, if the count will be good enough to excuse me until the next dance, I have no objection to dance this with you." "Count Newenberg," replied the Baron," has no voice in the matter. If you do not dance with me now, you shall dance with no one else to-night.' The blood mounted up to the Count's temples at the savage rudeness of this speech; but curbing his indignation, he quietly replied, "The Fräulein dances with me this time, and any such language as you have just used must not be repeated." The poor Fräulein was inconsolable. She entreated Ernst to allow her to withdraw from the dance, but this the Count would by no means permit. Gaily floated the music's voluptuous swell; round went the dance; beneath the loving light of the Fräulein's beautiful eyes, Ernst forgot his passage with the moody Baron; but that night was the last time he ever pressed the slender waist of the beautiful Clara, and he listened then to the silver tones of that voice whose sound upon 2 H