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25, 1863.] I accordingly went to Müller’s lodgings a little before eight that evening, and he conducted me to the room in which his corps used to hold their “Kneipe;” it was a large, handsome apartment in one of the principal Restaurations, exclusively kept for the use of members of the corps. We there found about a dozen men already assembled, and nearly as many more dropped in by twos and threes shortly afterwards. We all supped together, and as soon as our meal was finished, the serious business of the evening, that is to say, the beer-drinking, commenced. I am afraid to say how much Bavarian beer was disposed of—we all drank like fishes; the more we drank, the thirstier we seemed to get: in fact, no one who has not seen German students drink beer, can form any adequate idea of the quantity they consume. Bavarian beer, is of course, not nearly so strong as the English beer; but is still a very agreeable drink; and tastes much like pale ale. About eleven o’clock, Müller said to me:

“Come, let us go and take a turn in the street, we shall not be many minutes finding you a man.”

We went out, and in the Market Place found a number of students belonging to various corps walking about, all of whom, as my companion informed me, were looking for opportunities to challenge some one, or force some one to challenge them.

“We shall very soon be suited,” said he.

“We!” I said, “are you going to quarrel, too?”

“Yes,” he answered carelessly. “I may as well do so now I am here. Ah! there is a man to whom I should like to say a few words.”

We stopped opposite to the man whom Müller had pointed out, and to whom he said, after politely taking off his cap:

“I beg your pardon; but you look amazingly stupid.”

The person thus addressed, bowed in his turn, told Müller that he should hear from him, and was passing on, when Müller said:

“Now do not be in such a hurry, for I should like to introduce my friend here to one of your men.”

He stared, for he saw that I was an Englishman; but answered:

“If you will wait here for two minutes, I will bring you several, and then you can take your choice.”

He left us, and I said to Müller:

“Show me which man you think will do for me, for I do not know how they can fight, and then I suppose the right thing will be for me to call him a fool at once.”

“No, no,” he answered; “that is not necessary, the fellow will know perfectly well what you want; a simple introduction is sufficient. Ah! here they are.”

He selected one of the new arrivals, to whom he introduced me as Mr. Jones, of London.

We bowed to each other, and the ceremony of quarreling was complete; so Müller and I returned to the Kneipe. As soon as we entered, we were assailed with a volley of questions as to where we had been, and what we had been doing.

“Oh! nothing particular,” answered Müller, “our English friend here wants to fight, and so I have been out with him to help him to select an opponent.”

“What! do you intend to fight, Englishman?” said the senior of the corps, as he shook me heartily by the hand; “that is right, old fellow. I am going to fight the day after to-morrow, so are several more of us, and your little affair can come off at the same time. Well done, Albion, I looks towards you.” And he poured about a pint and a quarter of beer down his capacious throat.

I likewise bowed, then refilled my pipe, and sat down again with the rest to finish the remainder of the evening, and what beer was left in the cask, for they said it would be a pity to let it stand till morning, as it might get flat. We separated about midnight. I went home feeling like an incipient hero, and very naturally dreamt of nothing but carte and tierce all that night, and if only half the number of duels in which I imagined myself engaged had really come to pass, I might well have called myself the hero of a hundred fights. When I awoke the next morning I must confess that I did not feel quite comfortable; I had, when watching the students’ duels, seen cheeks laid open, heads badly cut, and noses slit, and now I was going to expose myself to the very same thing; perhaps I should return to England with a scar right across my face, and then what would the Governor say? I remained in a very uncomfortable state all that day, for although I was by no means a despicable opponent in the fencing-room, where no one can be hurt, yet I could not tell what my sensations might be when I found myself without a helmet, facing an opponent armed with a sword a yard long and as sharp as a razor. However, I was in for it; there was no possible way of escape, so I concealed my fidgety state as well as I could, but still could not keep down unpleasant thoughts of gashed faces, and the consequent sewing up with needles and red silk, which constantly came into my head. At supper, too, that evening, I came in for a good deal of chaff, not exactly calculated to inspire me with additional confidence: one man, while examining the bill of fare before ordering his supper, remarked:

“Hm, bifsteck,—no, not to-day; an Englishman is going to be slaughtered to-morrow, so we shall have real English bifsteck then, shall we not, Albion?”

Another drew my attention to some cutlets on his plate, and asked how many similar ones could be cut out of me, for he said he had just made a bet upon the subject; and on finding me unable to give him the requisite information, remarked, “Well, never mind, we shall see to-morrow.” Frequent allusions were also made to mince-meat, sausages, &c., till the senior kindly put an end to the chaff by calling to me from the top of the table, “Never mind what they say, Albion; if you fight as well in earnest as you do in the fencing-room, none of those fellows who are chaffing you so could touch you; I know the man