were approaching the Neckar. At
length we reached the last height. The town of Neckargemund lay before
us on the steep hillside, and the mountains on either side were scarred
with quarries of the rich red sandstone, so much used in building. The
blocks are hewn out, high up on the mountain side, and then sent rolling
and sliding down to the river, where they are laden in boats and floated
down with the current to the distant cities of the Rhine.

We were rejoiced on turning around the corner of a mountain, to see on
the opposite side of the river, the road winding up through the forests,
where last fall our Heidelberg friends accompanied us, as we set out to
walk to Frankfort, through the Odenwald. Many causes combined to render
it a glad scene to us. We were going to meet our comrade again, after a
separation of months; we were bringing an eventful journey to its close;
and finally, we were weak and worn out from fasting and the labor of
walking in the rain. A little further we saw Kloster Neuburg, formerly
an old convent, and remembered how we used to look at it every day from
the windows of our room on the Neckar; but we shouted aloud, when we saw
at last the well-known bridge spanning the river, and the glorious old
castle lifting its shattered towers from the side of the mountain above
us. I always felt a strong attachment to this matchless ruin, and as I
beheld it again, with the warm sunshine falling through each broken
arch, the wild ivy draping its desolate chambers, it seemed to smile on
me like the face of a friend, and I confessed I had seen many a grander
scene, but few that would cling to the memory so familiarly.

While we were in Heidelberg, a student was buried by torch-light. This
is done when particular honor is shown to the memory of the departed
brother. They assembled at dark in the University Square, each with a
blazing pine torch three feet long, and formed into a double line.
Between the files walked at short distances an officer, who, with his
sword, broad lace collar, and the black and white plumes in his cap,
looked like a cavalier of the olden time. Persons with torches walked on
each side of the hearse, and the band played a lament so deeply
mournful, that the scene, notwithstanding its singularity, was very sad
and touching. The thick smoke from the torches filled the air, and a
lurid, red light was cast over the hushed crowds in the streets and
streamed into the dark alleys. The Hauptstra