If one follows a band of basket-laden women, he will find that their goal is that focal-point of every old-time city, the market-place. There arrived, he will witness a scene common enough in Europe but hardly to be duplicated anywhere in America. Hundreds of venders of meat, fish, vegetables, cloths, and household utensils have their open-air booths scattered all across the wide space, and other hundreds of purchasers are there as well. Quaint garbs and quainter faces are everywhere, and the whole seems quite in keeping with the background of fifteenth-century houses that hedges it in on every side. Could John the Magnanimous, who rises up in bronze in the midst of the assembly, come to life, he would never guess that three and a half centuries have passed since he fell into his last sleep. This same John the Magnanimous it was who founded the institution which gives Jena its fame and distinguishes it from all the other quaint hypnotic clusters of houses that nestle similarly here and there in other picturesque valleys of the Fatherland--I mean, of course, its world-renowned university. It is but a few minutes' walk from the market-place, past the home where Schiller once lived and through the "street" scarcely more than arms'-breadth wide beyond, to the site of the older buildings of the university. Inornate, prosaic buildings they are, unrelieved even by the dominant note of picturesqueness; rescued, however, from all suggestion of the commonplace by the rugged ruins of the famed "powder-tower" jutting out from the crest of the hill just above, by the spire of the old church which seems to rise from the oldest university building itself, and by the mountain peaks that jut up into view far beyond.