of course obliterated every
political feature in the student life of Germany; or if such still
exist, it takes the form merely of momentary enthusiasm in favour of
some banished professor, or a Burschen festival in honour of some
martyr of the Press. Still their ancient virtues survive, and the German
student is yet a type--one of the few remaining---of the Europe of
thirty years ago. Long may he remain so, say I; long may so interesting
a land have its national good faith and brotherly affection rooted in
the minds of its youth; long may the country of Schiller, of Wieland,
and of Goethe possess the race of those who can appreciate their
greatness, or strive to emulate their fame!

I leave to others the task of chronicling their beer orgies, their wild
festivals, and their duels; and though not disposed to defend them on
such charges, I might, were it not invidious, adduce instances nearer
home of practices little more commendable. At those same festivals, at
many of which I have been present, I have heard music that would shame
most of our orchestras, and listened to singing such as I have never
heard surpassed except within the walls of a grand opera. And as to
their duelling, the practice is bad enough in all conscience; but still
I would mention one instance, of which I myself was a witness, and
perhaps even in so little fertile a field we may find one grain of
goodly promise.

Among my acquaintances in Gottingen were two students, both Prussians,
and both from the same small town of Magdebourg. They had been
school-fellows, and came together to the University, where they lived
together on terms of brotherly affection, which even there, where
friendship takes all the semblance of a sacred compact, was the
subject of remark. Never were two men less alike, however, than these.
Eisendecker was a bold, hotheaded fellow, fond of all the riotous
excesses of Burschen life; his face, seamed with many a scar, declared
him a 'hahn,' as in student phrase a confirmed duellist is termed. He
was ever foremost in each scheme of wild adventure, and continually
being brought up before the senate on some charge of insubordination.
Von Muehry, his companion, was exactly the opposite. His sobriquet--for
nearly every student had one--was 'der Zahme (the gentle),' and never
was any more appropriate. His disposition was mildness itself. He was
very handsome, almost girlish in his look, with large blue eyes and
fine, soft silky hair, w