mountainous clouds. The setting sun glared wildly from the summit of
the hills, and sank like a burning ship at sea, wrecked in the
tempest. Thus the evening set in; and winter stood at the gate
wagging his white and shaggy beard, like an old harper, chanting an
old rhyme:--"How cold it is! how cold it is!"

"I like such a storm as this," said Flemming, who stood at the
window, looking out into the tempest and the gathering darkness.
"The silent falling of snow is to me one of the most solemn things
in nature. The fall of autumnal leaves does not so much affect me.
But the driving storm is grand. It startles me; it awakens me. It is
wild and woful, like my own soul. I cannot help thinking of the sea;
how the waves run and toss their arms about,--and the wind plays on
those great harps, made by the shrouds and masts of ships. Winter is
here in earnest! Whew! How the old churl whistles and threshes the
snow! Sleet and rain are falling too. Already the trees are bearded
with icicles; and the two broad branches of yonder pine look like
the white mustache of some old German Baron."

"And to-morrow it will look more wintry still," said his friend.
"We shall wake up and find that the frost-spirit has been at work
all night building Gothic Cathedrals on our windows, just as the
devil built the Cathedral of Cologne. Sodraw the curtains, and come
sit here by the warm fire."

"And now," said Flemming, having done as his friend desired,
"tell me something of Heidelberg and its University. I suppose we
shall lead about as solitary and studious a life here as we did of
yore in little Gottingen, with nothing to amuse us, save our own
day-dreams."