A bustle about the church-door, and a band of priests, attendants, and—what pleased me most—a troop of pretty little girls came, two and two, down the steps, and into the road. I remember nothing of the procession but those beautiful and innocent children, adorned with wreaths and ribbons for the occasion. I was thinking of the rosy faces I had left at home, when my reflections were interrupted by a peremptory voice, exclaiming, “Take off your hat!” I should have obeyed with alacrity at any other moment; but there was something in the manner and tone of the “Polizerdiener’s” address which touched my pride, and made me obstinate. I drew back a little. The order was repeated; the crowd murmured. I half turned to go; but, the next moment, my hat was struck off my head by the police-assistant. What followed was mere confusion. I struck the “Polizerdiener;” and, in return, received several blows on the head from behind with a heavy stick. In less than ten minutes I was lodged in the police-office of the district; my hat broken and my clothes bespattered with the blood which had dropped, and was still dropping, from the wounds in my head. I had full time to reflect upon the obstinate folly which had produced this result; nor were my reflections enlivened by the manners of the police-agents attached to the office. They threatened me with heavy pains and punishments; and the Polizerdiener whom I had struck assured me, while stanching his still-bleeding nose, that I should have at least “three months for this.” After several hours’ waiting in the dreary office, I was abruptly called into the commissioner’s room. The commissioner was seated at a table with writing materials before him, and commenced immediately, in a sharp, offensive tone, a species of examination. After my name and country had been demanded, he asked: “Of what religion are you?” “I am a Protestant.” “So! Leave the room.” I had made no complaint of my bruises, because I did not think this the proper place to do so; although the man who dealt them was present. He had assisted, stick in hand, in taking me to the police-office. He was in earnest conversation with the Polizerdiener, but soon left the office. From that instant I never saw him again; nor, in spite of repeated demands, could I ever obtain redress for, or even recognition of the violence I had suffered. Another weary hour, and I was consigned to the care of a police-soldier; who, armed with sabre and stick, conducted me through the crowded city to prison. It was then two o’clock. The prison, situated in the Spenzler Gasse, is called the “Polizer-Hampt-Direction.” We descended a narrow gut, which had no outlet, except through the prison gates. They were slowly opened at the summons of my conductor. I was beckoned into a long gloomy apartment, lighted from one side only; and having a long counter running down its centre; chains and handcuffs hung upon the walls.