At the next table, a knot of Bauers carry on a zealous discourse, of which one catches these syllables in passing,--"Oney think o'that, now; that the thing can run so wi'out bosses. It's got the divil in't's body, an' that the outlandish folk have fun' out again!" It is the railroads that have thrown the fat farmers into such a heat, and they raise themselves into such a fidget with talking of the steam-engines, that they blow as much smoke out of their earthen pipes, called by the students _earthly_ pipes, as the engines themselves can send out steam. But at another table we behold the dear image of youth. The Handwerksbursch, who treats his maiden with wine and cakes; the school youth who is there playing off the bursche before them, but looks round, ever and anon, lest the original that he is counterfeiting be near, or his teacher, who walking this way might reprove his presumption; the fresh country maiden, and the gay damsel of the city, all desire to make themselves amiable, and seek by their tittering and laughter, to let every one observe that they are capitally entertained by their swains. One table is occupied by the students, who, revelling in a rich repast, now look up at the beauty of the Neckar-Thal, and now mix themselves in the throng, whispering with this and that maiden, to whom their shepherds cast frowns like thunderclouds. But careless of this, the sons of the Muses conduct them forward to the dancing-floor: And all already dance like mad-- Juchhe! Juchhe! Juchheisa! Heisa! Ha! So goes the fiddle-bow. Faster and faster goes the music, and ever madder whirls the waltz. In complete equality and freedom seem here the most opposite elements to be mingled. The atmosphere is already smothering hot, and clouds of dost fly up. But that matters not. He that finds it too hot flings off his coat, and dances in his shirt sleeves; he that does not find the music keep time, helps it with the stamping of his foot. All seems totally happy--all unity. But the wine has, meantime, heated their heads, and suddenly in one corner of the hall rises a terrible hubbub. The strife has arisen about that maiden who, there weeping, endeavours to part the combatants. "What would the silly Knoten?" cries a student Then springs wrathfully forth a brisk tailor. "What be we? Knoten be we? dirt be we? Who says that, is an ass, and I say it!" A swarm of students that have rushed into the saloon raise a burst of hearty laughter. Then blazes the wrath of the Handwerksburschen; "Brother Hamburger! brother Leipsicer!" they cry. Numbers of them rush together, and strike with sticks, chair-legs, and bottles, at the little knot of students furiously, who grimly stand on their defence. The Bursche shouts--