articular toast, called a Salamander, accorded to some guest as a
special distinction, is drunk with exceptional solemnity.

"We will now," says the chairman, "a Salamander rub" ("Einen Salamander
reiben"). We all rise, and stand like a regiment at attention.

"Is the stuff prepared?" ("Sind die stoffe parat?") demands the
chairman.

"Sunt," we answer, with one voice.

"Ad exercitium Salamandri," says the chairman, and we are ready.

"Eins!" We rub our glasses with a circular motion on the table.

"Zwei!" Again the glasses growl; also at "Drei!"

"Drink!" ("Bibite!")

And with mechanical unison every glass is emptied and held on high.

"Eins!" says the chairman. The foot of every empty glass twirls upon the
table, producing a sound as of the dragging back of a stony beach by a
receding wave.

"Zwei!" The roll swells and sinks again.

"Drei!" The glasses strike the table with a single crash, and we are in
our seats again.

The sport at the Kneipe is for two students to insult each other (in
play, of course), and to then challenge each other to a drinking duel. An
umpire is appointed, two huge glasses are filled, and the men sit
opposite each other with their hands upon the handles, all eyes fixed
upon them. The umpire gives the word to go, and in an instant the beer
is gurgling down their throats. The man who bangs his perfectly finished
glass upon the table first is victor.

Strangers who are going through a Kneipe, and who wish to do the thing in
German style, will do well, before commencing proceedings, to pin their
name and address upon their coats. The German student is courtesy
itself, and whatever his own state may be, he will see to it that, by
some means or another, his guest gets safely home before the morning.
But, of course, he cannot be expected to remember addresses.

A story was told me of three guests to a Berlin Kneipe which might have
had tragic results. The strangers determined to do the thing thoroughly.
They explained their intention, and were applauded, and each proceeded to
write his address upon his card, and pin it to the tablecloth in front of
him. That was the mistake they made. They should, as I have advised,
have pinned it carefully to their coats. A man may change his place at a
table, quite unconsciously he may come out the other side of it; but
wherever he goes he takes his coat with him.

Some time in the small hours, the chairman suggested that to make t