Alas! the fountain had long since ceased to play, the waters had long time ago dried up. The knights had lain down alongside their retainers in the quiet grave.

On my last visit to Bonn, I had a letter of introduction to Herr Sm, stud-jer or student of the University of Bonn, a gentleman who designed or destined himself to become one of that hopeful community, the law.

Herr S. was surrounded with pandects which he was endeavouring to make himself master of by means of a cigar and a glass of water. Now I was anxious to acquire some information respecting the habits of the students, many of whom I had seen marching through the town of Bonn, wearing small caps of various colours upon their heads, and looking very fierce at the bystanders and others who ventured to gaze at them.

While resident at that excellent house, the Hotel d'Etoile d'Or, at Bonn, several students used to come under my observation at the table d'hote at

one P.M.

Some of these used to swagger in, drink champagne at that early hour, and appear most affectionate to those who wore the same coloured cap as they themselves.

Three handsome looking students in particular attracted my attention.

One day only two of this party were present, they seemed very restless, and at last left the dinner table very early.

The next day I saw the third student drinking his coffee in the garden, with a sword-cut down his cheek. He had evidently been engaged in a duel.

There are some eight hundred students now at Bonn, among them four or five German princes, whose standing army is not very extensive; and now out of these eight hundred about one hundred and twenty students are the duellists. These latter students are divided in ten associations. Each association is distinguished by the colour of its cap. The Hanseaten has a red cap; the Marcomanni a white cap; the Westphalians wear a green cap. Well, beside the cap, the association distinguishes itself by a band across the chest, of the same colour as the cap. Thus each student of these corps knows at once who is of the same body as himself.

Now at the University of Bonn, as we have seen, there are these five score combatants; the rest of the students are quiet and peaceable, wearing straw hats or any other kind they please, but not the peculiarly coloured cap of the duelling corps.

Now these latter corps are still once more divided, namely, into those who must fight upon provocation, and into those who need only fight if they please, the penalty of non-fighting being, to the first division (six corps in number), EXPULSION. The other four corps, therefore, can scarcely be considered as outand-out duellists.

At Heidelberg the various clubs act in the following manner, when a duel or succession of duels is wished for:-One club writes down a list of four or

five of its best swordsmen and sends it to another club; the other club then accepts the challenge by appointing an equal number of their members to meet the others, and then the duel takes place. At Bonn, a very gross provocation, which moves any of the clubs to fight, is to say to a member of one of the six clubs—

DUMMER JUNGE! *

The Bonn students retire to the country near the town to fight their duels. Oftentimes as many as twelve duels come off in one day! Of course, there are many days without a duel, at least so great a number as this. At Heidelberg the students all fight. They generally engage in the morning before noon, and the scene takes place in a room called the "Hirschgrasse," on the other side of the river Neckar. Although the students at Heidelberg fight more duels than the Bonn students, still they do not bear the character of being as good swordsmen as the Bonn men. They are also much more under restraint than the Bonn students, who are amenable to no laws but those of their university.

* Anglicé, "stupid boy!" or "how stupid you are!"

CHAPTER XXII.

LUDWIGSBURG.

MORE prisoners, and more wounded.

Yonder badly

injured dragoon, who leans against the side of the carriage, with pale face, down which a red streak is slowly working downwards, seems as though his thoughts were far away. What nostalgia oppresses the poor French captive. There is a touching little poem, by the Provençal poet Peyrottes, which describes so sweetly the loneliness, even in Paris, of the sun-burnt native of the South, and how sad must be the feelings which sweep through these poor fellows' minds on their way to imprisonment and exile. Peyrottes beautifully renders the emotion of the poor lonely stranger

MY FATHER'S ROOF.

Farewell, farewell! thou Queen of towns adieu;
Thy streets so vast my lonely mind oppress;
My tears, O Seine! have kissed thee not a few,
And oft mid bitter heart-sick loneliness

I've sobbed and thought of Rhunel's crystal stream,
And seen a father's roof in many a ling'ring dream.

Paris-thy domes and spires-these eyes have seen,
Thy Pantheon, pillars, all thy glorious boast;
Yet I alone walked on with sadden'd mien

Amid the trampling of thy myriad host;
From Louvre's wonders I would gladly roam
To ancient chateau hiding Father's Home.

Ungrateful! thou wilt cry-ah! yes, 'tis true—
Hapless my days, and sad each bitter night,
Until, for home, with joy I cried adieu,

And home I wandered with a great delight,
While thoughts of rapture to my sad heart come,
For I am wandering to a Father's Home.

And yet, what absent home-sick trav'ler hath not said,
When he with feeble, tott'ring step draws sadly nigh-
"Perchance, alas ! some loved one may be dead,”
And tears fall fast with bitter heartfelt sigh;
Standing in sunlit street what words I spoke !
From Father's Roof upwreathed the light blue smoke.

FATHER on high! Thy holy name I praise;

In Clermont's bosom first I saw thy blessed light.
Here would I live; here pass my quiet days;

Here would I die, beneath Thy sunshine bright;
And of a SAVIOUR's love the wondrous proof,
Homeward I'll hasten to our FATHER'S Roof!

Gasthaus Zum Bar," said a German, “will be your best house at Ludwigsburg, I can recommend it." I was at last in Würtemburg, and when the train halted at Ludwigsburg Station I took possession of the solitary droschy, drawn by a tall stately chestnut horse, and rolled away for the aforesaid Gasthaus.

A singular old town is it, to be sure; the streets are very wide, and rows of trees afford a pleasing