As the hearers thus assemble, they present a motley appearance,—­being, in the larger cities especially, from all lands, all ranks of society, and of every age.  Side by side with the young freshman in his first semester, the Fat Fox, as he is called, who has just made a leap from the strict discipline of the gymnasium to the unbounded freedom of the university, will be a gray-haired man, to whom the academic title of Juvenis Studiosus will no longer apply.  Here sits, with his gaudy watch-guard, the colors of his corps, one of those students by profession who have been inscribed year after year so long that they have acquired the name of Bemossed Heads.  Were his scientific attainments measured by his capacities for beer-drinking and sword-slashing, he would long ago have been dubbed a Doctor in all the faculties.  He hears a lecture now and then for form’s sake, though it is rather an unusual thing for him.  By his side, but retiring and earnest, may be one of the younger professors, who the hour before stood as a teacher, and now sits among some of his former hearers to profit by the experience of his older professional brother.  Where the court resides and many officers are garrisoned, the hall presents a spangled appearance of bright epaulettes and glittering uniforms.  It is no unusual thing for young men during their years of service to attend the courses regularly.  The uncomfortable sword is laid on the knee, where it may not dangle and clink with every motion of the wearer,—­no easy task in the very narrow space left between desk and desk.  In the last century, it was a universal custom for all students to wear the sword; but this academic privilege, as it was considered, leading to numerous abuses, laws were enacted against it, as well as other eccentricities in dress.

The regular students are provided with portfolios, or rather, soft leathern pouches, which they can fold and pocket, containing the heft or quire of paper on which the lecture is transcribed by them wholly or in part.  These hefts are often the object of much care and labor.  Each plants his ink-horn firmly in front of him.  As the time approaches, and all are in readiness with pen in hand, there is a universal buzz throughout the room.  Though, when the auditory is large, many nations are represented, as well as the various provinces of the Confederation, still the language heard is predominantly that of the country.  Though Poles and Greeks, English and Russians, may be in abundance, still they rarely congregate in nationalities,—­save the Poles, who speak their own language at all times and places, and cling the more fondly to their own idiom since they have been robbed of everything else.  After some fifteen minutes of expectation the professor enters.  All is still in an instant.  He advances with hasty strides and bent-down head to his rostrum, an elevated platform, on which stands a plain, high, pine desk.  He unfolds his notes, looks over the rim of his spectacles