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Famous for its sausages and university, the City of Göttingen belongs to the King of Hanover and has 999 hearths, various churches, a maternity hospital, an observa- tory, a students’ lock-up, a library and a Ratskeller in which the beer is very good. The brook that runs by is called the Leine and the locals like to bathe in it in the summer; the water is very cold and in places so wide that even a strong lad like Lüder had to take a running jump to leap across. The city itself is lovely and most pleasing to look upon with your back turned to it. It must have been around for a pretty long time because I can remember back five years ago, when I enrolled and was shortly thereafter expelled, it already had the same gray, precociously antiquated appearance. Göttingen was, then as now, fully equipped with cords, poodles, dissertations, tea-dances, washerwomen, compendiums, roast squabs, student fraternities, commencement carriages, carved pipe-heads, privy counselors, legal counsels, vice-deans of expulsion, the smart set and other smart alecks.