With us the students form no Burschenschafts, have no colors. The professors do not alone in the chair come into connection with them; the only difference is that which exists between young and old scholars. Thus they come in contact with each other, thus they participate in their mutual pleasures. We will spend an evening of this kind in the Students’ Club, and then see for ourselves whether Miss Sophie were right when she wished she were a man, merely that she might be a student and member of this club. We choose one evening in particular, not only that we may seek a brilliant moment, but because this evening can afford us more than a description.

An excursion to the park had often been discussed in the club. They wished to hire the Caledonia steam-packet. But during the summer months the number of members is less; the majority are gone to the provinces to visit their relations. Winter, on the contrary, assembles them all. This time, also, is the best for great undertakings. The long talked of excursion to the park was therefore fixed for Carnival Monday, the 14th of February, 1831. Thus ran the invitations to the professors and older members. “It will be too cold for me,” replied one. “Must one take a carriage for one’s self?” asked mother. No, the park was removed to Copenhagen. In the Students’ Club itself, in the Boldhuus Street, No. 225, was the park-hill with its green trees, its swings, and amusements. See, only the scholars of the Black School could have such ideas!

The evening of the 114th of February drew near. The guests assembled in the rooms on the first floor. Meanwhile all was arranged in the second story. Those who represented jugglers were in their places. A thundering cracker was the steamboat signal, and now people hastened to the park, rushing up-stairs, where two large rooms had, with great taste and humor, been converted into the park-hill. Large fir-trees concealed the walls—you found yourself in a complete wood. The doors which connected the two rooms were decorated with sheets, so that it looked as if you were going through a tent. Hand-organs played, drums and trumpets roared, and from tents and stages the hawkers shouted one against the other. It was a noise such as is heard in the real park when the hubbub has reached its height. The most brilliant requisites of the real park were found here, and they were not imitated; they were the things themselves. Master Jakel’s own puppets had been hired; a student, distinguished by his complete imitation of the first actors, represented them by the puppets. The fortress of Frederiksteen was the same which we have already seen in the park. “The whole cavalry and infantry,—here a fellow without a bayonet, there a bayonet without a fellow!” The old Jew sat under his tree where he announced his fiftieth park jubilee: here a student ate flax, there another exhibited a bear; Polignac stood as a wax figure outside a cabinet. The Magdalene convent exhibited its little boxes, the drum-major beat most lustily, and from a near booth came the real odor of warm wafer-cakes. The spring even, which presented itself in the outer room, was full of significance. Certainly it was only represented by a tea-urn concealed between moss and stones, but the water was real water, brought from the well in Christiansborg. Astounding and full of effect was the multitude of sweet young girls who showed themselves. Many of the youngest students who had feminine features were dressed as ladies; some of them might even be called pretty. Who that then saw the fair one with the tambourine can have forgotten her? The company crowded round the ladies. The professors paid court to them with all propriety, and, what was best of all, some ladies who were less successful became jealous of the others. Otto was much excited; the noise, the bustle, the variety of people, were almost strikingly given. Then came the master of the fire-engines, with his wife and little granddaughter; then three pretty peasant girls; then the whole Botanical Society, with their real professor at their head. Otto seated himself in a swing; an itinerant flute-player and a drummer deafened him with dissonances. A young lady, one of the beauties, in a white dress, and with a thin handkerchief over her shoulders, approached and threw herself into his arms. It was Wilhelm! but Otto found his likeness to Sophie stronger than he had ever before noticed it to be; and therefore the blood rushed to his cheeks when the fair one threw her arms around him, and laid her cheek upon his: he perceived more of Sophie than of Wilhelm in this form. Certainly Wilhelm’s features were coarser—his whole figure larger than Sophie’s; but still Otto fancied he saw Sophie, and therefore these marked gestures, this reeling about with the other students, offended his eyes. When Wilhelm seated himself on his knee, and pressed his cheek to his, Otto felt his heart beat as in fever; it sent a stream of fire through his blood: he thrust him away, but the fair one continued to overwhelm him with caresses.

There now commenced, in a so-called KrÄhwinkel theatre, the comedy, in which were given the then popular witticisms of Kellerman.

The lady clung fast to Otto, and flew dancing with him through the crowd. The heat, the noise, and, above all, the exaggerated lacing, affected Wilhelm; he felt unwell. Otto led him to a bench and would have unfastened his dress, but all the young ladies, true to their part, sprang forward, pushed Otto aside, surrounded their sick companion and concealed her, whilst they tore up the dress behind so that she might have air: but, God forbid! no gentleman might see it.

Toward evening a song was commenced, a shot was heard, and the last verse announced:—

And now all rushed with the speed of a steamboat downstairs, and soon sat in gay rows around the covered tables.

Wilhelm was Otto’s lady—the Baron was called the Baroness; the glasses resounded, and the song commenced:—

And that patriotic song:—

It concluded with—

In joy one must embrace everything joyful, and that they did. Here was the joy of youth in youthful hearts.

so ran the concluding verse of the following song, which ended with the toast,—

It was then that Wilhelm seemed to glow with inward fire; he struck his glass so violently against Otto’s that it broke, and the wine was spilt.

“A health to the ladies!” cried one of the signors.

“A health to the ladies!” resounded from the different rooms, which were all converted into the banquet-hall.

The ladies rose, stood upon their chairs, some even upon the table, bowed, and returned thanks for the toast.

“No, no,” whispered Otto to Wilhelm, at the same time pulling him down. “In this dress you resemble your sister so much, that it is quite horrible to me to see you act a part so opposed to her character!”

“And your eyes,” Said Wilhelm, smiling, “resemble two eyes which have touched my heart. A health to first love!” cried he, and struck his glass against Otto’s so that the half of his wine was again lost.

“A health to the one whose eyes mine resemble!” whispered Otto, carried along with the merriment.

“That health we have already drunk!” answered Wilhelm, “but we cannot do a good thing too often.”

“Then you still think of Eva?”

“She was beautiful! sweet! who knows what might have happened had she remained here? Her fate has fallen into mamma’s hands, and she and the other exalted Nemesis must now conduct the affair: I wash my hands of it.”

“Are you recovered?” asked Otto. “But when you see Eva again in the summer?”

“I hope that I shall not fall sick,” replied Wilhelm; “I have a strong constitution. But we must now hasten up to the dance.”

All rushed from the tables, and up-stairs, where the park was arranged. There was now only the green wood to be seen. Theatres and booths had been removed. Gay paper-lamps hung among the branches, a large orchestra played, and a half-bacchanalian wood-ball commenced. Wilhelm was Otto’s partner, but after the first dance the lady sought out for herself a more lively cavalier.

Otto drew back toward the wall where the windows were concealed by the boughs of Fir-tree. His eye followed Wilhelm, whose great resemblance to Sophie made him melancholy; his hand accidentally glided through the branches and touched the window-seat; there lay a little bird—it was dead!

To increase the illusion they had bought a number of birds, which should fly about during the park-scene, but the poor little creatures had died from fright at the wild uproar. In the windows and corners they lay dead. It was one of these birds that Otto found.

“It is dead!” said he to Wilhelm, who approached him.

“Now, that is capital!” returned the friend; “here you have something over which you may be sentimental!”

Otto would not reply.

“Shall we dance a Scotch waltz?” asked Wilhelm laughing, and the wine and his youthful blood glowed in his cheeks.

“I wish you would put on your own dress!” said Otto. “You resemble, as I said before, your sister”—

“And I am my sister,” interrupted Wilhelm, in his wantonness. “And as a reward for your charming readings aloud, for your excellent conversation, and the whole of your piquant amiability, you shall now be paid with a little kiss!” He pressed his lips to Otto’s forehead; Otto thrust him back and left the company.

Several hours passed before he could sleep; at length he was forced to laugh over his anger: what mattered it if Wilhelm resembled his sister?

The following morning Otto paid her a visit. All listened with lively interest to his description of the merry St. John’s day in February. He also related how much Wilhelm had resembled his sister, and how unpleasant this had been to him; and they laughed. During the relation, however, Otto could not forbear drawing a comparison. How great a difference did he now find! Sophie’s beauty was of quite another kind! Never before had he regarded her in this light. Of the kisses which Wilhelm had given him, of course, they did not speak; but Otto thought of them, thought of them quite differently to what he had done before, and—the ways of Cupid are strange! We will now see how affairs stand after advancing fourteen days.