The Cameralistische Facultaet is devoted to those preparing themselves for practical statesmanship.  It is new, and established only of late years in a few of the universities.  In others, the branches taught are still comprehended under the philosophical.  Munich is in especial repute.  It comprises lectures on Political Economy in all its branches, Mining, Engineering,—­in fact, whatever is necessary to fit one for service in the State.

Let no one, from the above comprehensive list of studies, form the idea, that the outward incarnation of the German intellect, in speech or deed, corresponds to its inner worth and solidity.  The name Dryasdust must cling to many a learned professor more firmly than to the most chronological of the old historians.  Germany is not the land of outward form.  To one accustomed to public speaking, the lecturers will often appear far below the standard of mediocrity in their manner.  Though such men as Lasaulx in Munich, Haeusser in Heidelberg, Droyson and Werder in Berlin deliver their lectures in a style that would grace the lecture-room of any country, yet the great majority are far, very far, from any eloquence in their delivery.  Timid and bashful often to an extreme, they ascend their rostrum with a shuffling, ambling gait, the very opposite of manly grace and bearing, and, prefacing their discourse with the short address, "Meine Herren" keep on in one long, never-varying, monotonous strain, from beginning to end,—­reading wholly or in part, often so slowly that the hearer can write down every word, often only the heads and substance of paragraphs, definitions and the like,—­and that so indistinctly, so carelessly of all but the very words themselves, that it is not only unpleasant, at first, but even repulsive to many.  This dictating of every word, a relic of the times when printing was yet unknown, is fast dying away.  Many, both students and professors, are loud against it, yet the tedious method is still pursued in many places.  The introductory remark of a celebrated lecturer is characteristic.  Seeing all his hearers, on the first day of the course, ready with pen and paper, he began,—­“Gentlemen, I will not dictate:  if that were necessary, I should send my maid-servant with my manuscript, and you yours with pen and paper; my servant would dictate, yours would write, and we in the mean while could enjoy a pleasant walk.”  This is, however, not the only point that will be likely to produce an unfavorable impression.  To see a man whose name you have met in your reading as the highest authority, whose works you have so often admired, his style energetic, fiery, and impressive,—­to see him ascend his rostrum with every mark of negligence, uncouth and awkward in his appearance, with every possible mannerism, talking through his nose, indistinctly and unsteadily mumbling over his sentences, careless of all outward form and polish, awakens anything but pleasant feelings, as the preconceived ideal must give way to the living reality.  And yet so it is with many!