When I met the first friend in the blue cap no one need have sung our corps song, "Away with cares and crotchets!" At no time had the exuberant joy in mere existence stirred more strongly within me.

My whole nature was filled with the longing to utilize and enjoy this brief earthly life which Feuerbach had proved was to end with death.
Better an hour's mad revel, E'en a kiss from a Moenad's lip, Than a year of timid doubting, Daring only to taste and sip, were the closing lines of a song which I composed at this time.
So my old wantonness unfolded its wings, but it was not to remain always unpunished.
My mother had gone to Holland with Paula just before Advent, and as I could not spend my next vacation at home, she promised to furnish me with means to take a trip through the great German Hanse cities.
In Bremen I was most cordially received in the family of Mohr, a member of my corps, in whose circle I spent some delightful hours, and also an evening never to be forgotten in the famous old Rathskeller.
But I wished to see the harbour of the great commercial city, and the ships which ploughed the ocean to those distant lands for which I had often longed.
Since I had shot my first hare in Komptendorf and brought down my first partridge from the air, the love of sport had never slumbered; I gratified it whenever I could, and intended to take a boat from Bremerhaven and go as near as possible to the sea, where I could shoot the cormorants and the bald-headed eagles which hunters on the seashore class among the most precious booty.
In Bremerhaven an architect whose acquaintance I had made on the way became my cicerone, and showed me all the sights of the small but very quaint port.

I had expected to find the bustle on shore greater, but what a throng of ships and boats, masts and smoke-stacks I saw! My guide showed me the last lighthouse which had been built, and took me on board of a mail steamer which was about to sail to America.
I was deeply interested in all this, but my companion promised to show me things still more remarkable if I would give up my shooting excursion.
Unfortunately, I insisted upon my plan, and the next morning sailed in a pouring rain through a dense mist to the mouth of the Weser and out to sea.

But, instead of pleasure and booty, I gained on this expedition nothing but discomfort and drenching, which resulted in a violent cold.
What I witnessed and experienced in my journey back to Cuttingen is scarcely worth mentioning.

The only enjoyable hours were spent at the theatre in Hanover, where I saw Niemann in Templar and Jewess, and for the first time witnessed the thoroughly studied yet perfectly natural impersonations of Marie Seebach.