towers and crooked streets. And when they sang the Trolksmelodie,
"Bemooster Bursche zieh' ich aus,--Ade!" a big tear rolled down the scar
on Richter's cheek.

"Fahrt wohl, ihr Strassen grad and krumm
Ich zieh' nicht mehr in euch herum,
Durchton euch nicht mehr mit Gesang,
Mit Larm nicht mehr and Sporenklang."

As the deep tones died away, the soft night was steeped in the sadness of
that farewell song. It was Richter who brought the full force of it home
to Stephen.

"Do you recall the day you left your Harvard, and your Boston, my
friend?" he asked.

Stephen only nodded. He had never spoken of the bitterness of that, even
to his mother. And here was the difference between the Saxon and the
Anglo-Saxon.

Richter smoked his pipe 'mid dreamy silence, the tear still wet upon his
face.

"Tiefel and I were at the University together," he said at length. "He
remembers the day I left Jena for good and all. Ah, Stephen, that is the
most pathetic thing in life, next to leaving the Fatherland. We dine with
our student club for the last time at the Burg Keller, a dingy little
tavern under a grim old house, but very dear to us. We swear for the last
time to be clean and honorable and patriotic, and to die for the
Fatherland, if God so wills. And then we march at the head of a slow
procession out of the old West Gate, two and two, old members first, then
the fox major and the foxes."

"The foxes?" Stephen interrupted.

"The youngsters--the freshmen, you call them," answered Richter, smiling.

"And after the foxes," said Herr Tiefel, taking up the story, "after the
foxes comes the empty carriage, with its gay postilion and four. It is
like a long funeral. And every man is chanting that song. And so we go
slowly until we; come to the Oil Mill Tavern, where we have had many a
schlager-bout with the aristocrats. And the president of our society
makes his farewell speech under the vines, and we drink to you with all
the honors. And we drank to you, Carl, renowned swordsman!" And Herr
Tiefel, carried away by the recollection, rose to his feet.

The others caught fire, and stood up with their mugs high in the air,
shouting:

"Lebe wohl, Carl! Lebe wohl! Salamander, salamander, salamander! Ein ist
ein, zwei ist zwei, drei ist drei! Lebe wohl!"

And so they toasted every man present, even Stephen himself, whom they
complimented on his speech. And he soon learned to cry Salamander, and to
rub