The First Story.
Perhaps some of you remember Fritz Hartmann and his friend Leichtberg. They were the founders of the last new liberty club, and were famous at renowning.
These patriots became officers of the Imperial Guard, and at Vienna were soon known for their friendship and their gallantries.
Fritz had much sentiment and imagination; but some how or other, this did not preserve him from inconstancy.
If he was always kind and gentle, he was not always faithful.
His old college chums had the privilege of joking him on these subjects; and we always did so without mercy. Fritz would sometimes combat our assertions, but they ordinarily made him laugh so much, that a stranger would have deemed he assented to their truth.
One night after the opera, the friends supped together at Fritz's.
I was of the party, and brought for my share a few bottles of Johannisberg, that had been sent me by my uncle from the last vintage. Over these we got more than usually merry, and sang all the songs and choruses of Mother Heidelberg, till the small hours arrived. The sitting room we were in, communicated on one side with the bedroom;--on the other, with a little closet, containing nothing but some old trunks.
This last was closed, but there was a small aperture in the door, over which was a slight iron lattice work.
The officer who had last tenanted Fritz's quarters, had kept pheasants there, and had had this made on purpose.