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WHEN Jung is not pondering the relation of modern man to his soul, he is apt to be found sailing a small ketch on the Lake of Zurich, or reading an endless chain of violent detective stories, sometimes at the rate of one a day. Though his large, snow-peaked figure is a familiar sight in and around Zurich, very few of his fellow citizens have the slightest idea who he is, and most of them think of him vaguely as a pleasant old man who likes people and dogs. Dr. Jung, in approaching a dog, will pat its head and observe gravely that dogs dream, and therefore have some part in the collective unconscious too. "Oh yes," he will continue, "certainly the higher animals participate in it. It is easy to communicate with them. Of course, with the lower forms it is more difficult. Personally, I have never been able to establish a satisfactory rapport with a snake ..." The closest rapport Jung has ever established is evidently the relationship he holds with scores of former women patients. Four-fifths of his patients have been women, and their ecstatic reaction to this experience has been so universal that Zurich wits have evolved a name for the type. They call it the Jungjrau. This slightly embarrasses the still rosy-cheeked Dr. Jung. "It's silly," he protests. "After all, I am an old man—much too old to have any vices."