ly for a moment or two longer, and then
said, "I must go to the barracks."

His eyes plainly told me that he would like to say more that he could
not express; but he merely nodded, and then turning on his heel,
departed.

"Write to us often!" I called out to him. He did not look back.

I followed after him for a while, keeping near enough to hear his firm
step and the rattling of his spurs. I fondly hoped that he would yet
return to me, and tell me of the thoughts that oppressed his heart.

I met many acquaintances on the way, who saluted me and extended their
hands. They wanted me to stop and talk with them, but I merely nodded
and passed on.

In my eager haste I ran against many people, for I did not want to lose
sight of my son. There he goes! Now he stands still--now he turns.
Surely-- At that moment a company of soldiers marched down the street
to the sound of lively music; we were now separated. I could not see my
son again. I returned to Bertha and the Major, and the latter promised
me to keep a watchful eye on Ernst, and to send us frequent tidings in
regard to him, in case he should neglect to write.

I rode to the depot. I was fearfully tired, and felt as if I could not
walk another step.

As the trains were quite irregular, I was obliged to wait there for a
long while.

I felt--no, I cannot--I dare not--revive the painful emotions that rent
my bosom. Of what avail would it be? My son was going forth to war, and
I had brought him here, myself.

"Brother fighting against brother." I fancied that I had been talking
to myself and had uttered these words; but I found that they were
frequently repeated by the excited groups that were scattered about the
depot. All about me there was ceaseless turmoil. People were rushing to
and fro, yelling, shouting, cursing, and laughing. I sat there absorbed
in thought, not caring to see or hear anything more of the world, when
a familiar voice said to me, "How charming, father, that I should meet
you here!"

My son Richard stood before me; he had finished his lectures and was
about to return home.

Accompanied by him, I started for home.

Richard informed me of the political divisions among the professors,
and thus afforded me a glimpse of a sphere of life entirely different
from my own. Even the immovable altars of science were now trembling,
and personal feeling had become so violent that the friends of Prussia,
of whom Richard was one, could not appear in pub