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Many of us of the Burschenschaft will bear to the grave the marks of his Schlager. Von Kalbach went to Bonn, that university of the aristocrats, where he was worshipped. When he came to Berlin with his sister, crowds would gather to look at them. They were like Wodan and Freya. 'Donner'!" exclaimed Herr Korner, "there is something in blood, when all is said.
"Ah, I can well believe that," answered Korner. "I will recount that matter, if you do not tell Carl, lieber Freund. He would not forgive me. I was there in Berlin at the time. It was a famous time. Tiefel will bear me out." "Ja, ja!" said Tiefel, eagerly. "Mr. Brice," Herr Korner continued, "has never heard of the Count von Kalbach. No, of course. We at Jena had, and all Germany.
"Ah, I can well believe that," answered Korner. "I will recount that matter, if you do not tell Carl, lieber Freund. He would not forgive me. I was there in Berlin at the time. It was a famous time. Tiefel will bear me out." "Ja, ja!" said Tiefel, eagerly. "Mr. Brice," Herr Korner continued, "has never heard of the Count von Kalbach. No, of course. We at Jena had, and all Germany.
Before we of the Burschenschaft knew what had happened the Count von Kalbach was over his line and had flung his Schlager into a great tree, and was striding from the place with his head hung and the tears streamin down his face." Amid a silence, Herr Korner lifted his great mug and emptied it slowly.
He was as straight and strong as an oak of the Black Forest, and she as fair as a poplar. It is so with the Pomeranians. "It was in the year '47, when Carl Richter was gone home to Berlin before his last semester, to see his father: One fine morning von Kalbach rode in at the Brandenburg gate on a great black stallion.
And when it was seen that Richter likewise had no protection, but was calmly smoking the little short pipe, with a charred bowl, a hush fell upon all. At the sight of the pipe von Kalbach ground his heel in the turf, and when the word was given he rushed at Richter like a wild beast.
He pushed the surgeon away when he came forward with his needles. The Count was smiling as he put up his sword, his friends crowding around him, when Ebhardt cried out that his man could fight the second mensur, though the wound was three needles long. Then Kalbach cried aloud that he would kill him. But he had not seen Carl's eyes. Something was in them that made us think as we washed the cut.
Many of us of the Burschenschaft will bear to the grave the marks of his Schlager. Von Kalbach went to Bonn, that university of the aristocrats, where he was worshipped. When he came to Berlin with his sister, crowds would gather to look at them. They were like Wodan and Freya. 'Donner'!" exclaimed Herr Korner, "there is something in blood, when all is said.
Before we of the Burschenschaft knew what had happened the Count von Kalbach was over his line and had flung his Schlager into a great tree, and was striding from the place with his head hung and the tears streamin down his face." Amid a silence, Herr Korner lifted his great mug and emptied it slowly.
Before we of the Burschenschaft knew what had happened the Count von Kalbach was over his line and had flung his Schlager into a great tree, and was striding from the place with his head hung and the tears streamin down his face." Amid a silence, Herr Korner lifted his great mug and emptied it slowly.
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