There seems to be no chilly distance existing between the German students and the professor; but, on the contrary, a companionable intercourse, the opposite of chilliness and reserve.  When the professor enters a beer-hall in the evening where students are gathered together, these rise up and take off their caps, and invite the old gentleman to sit with them and partake.  He accepts, and the pleasant talk and the beer flow for an hour or two, and by and by the professor, properly charged and comfortable, gives a cordial good night, while the students stand bowing and uncovered; and then he moves on his happy way homeward with all his vast cargo of learning afloat in his hold.  Nobody finds fault or feels outraged; no harm has been done.

It seemed to be a part of corps etiquette to keep a dog or so, too.  I mean a corps dog—­the common property of the organization, like the corps steward or head servant; then there are other dogs, owned by individuals.

On a summer afternoon in the Castle gardens, I have seen six students march solemnly into the grounds, in single file, each carrying a bright Chinese parasol and leading a prodigious dog by a string.  It was a very imposing spectacle.  Sometimes there would be as many dogs around the pavilion as students; and of all breeds and of all degrees of beauty and ugliness.  These dogs had a rather dry time of it; for they were tied to the benches and had no amusement for an hour or two at a time except what they could get out of pawing at the gnats, or trying to sleep and not succeeding.  However, they got a lump of sugar occasionally—­they were fond of that.

It seemed right and proper that students should indulge in dogs; but everybody else had them, too—­old men and young ones, old women and nice young ladies.  If there is one spectacle that is unpleasanter than another, it is that of an elegantly dressed young lady towing a dog by a string.  It is said to be the sign and symbol of blighted love.  It seems to me that some other way of advertising it might be devised, which would be just as conspicuous and yet not so trying to the proprieties.

It would be a mistake to suppose that the easy-going pleasure-seeking student carries an empty head.  Just the contrary.  He has spent nine years in the gymnasium, under a system which allowed him no freedom, but vigorously compelled him to work like a slave.  Consequently, he has left the gymnasium with an education which is so extensive and complete, that the most a university can do for it is to perfect some of its profounder specialties.  It is said that when a pupil leaves the gymnasium, he not only has a comprehensive education, but he knows what he knows—­it is not befogged with uncertainty, it is burnt into him so that it will stay.  For instance, he does not merely read and write Greek, but speaks it; the same with the Latin.  Foreign youth steer clear of the gymnasium; its rules are too severe.  They go to the university to put