Klingemann, having intimated to me that it was not his intention to illuminate the mind of Germany that day by any elaborate discourse, was kind enough to place himself beside me, and perform the part of cicerone. My first impression, on surveying the sea of heads in the assembly, was decidedly unfavourable; for I could hardly discern amongst the ranks one single individual whose appearance bespoke him to be a gentleman. The countenances of the members were generally mean and vulgar, and in many cases absurdly bizarre. Near me sate an old pantaloon, with a white beard flowing over a frogged surtout, his head surmounted with a black velvet scull-cap, which gave him all the appearance of a venerable baboon just escaped from the operation of trepanning, and a staff of singular dimensions in his hand. This, Klingemann told me, was Professor Jahn, formerly of Freiburg, and surnamed the father of gymnastics. This superannuated acrobat seemed to be the centre of a group of literary notables, for my friend pointed out in succession, and with great pride, the burley forms of Dahlman and other thoroughgoing professors. In fact, one large section of the hall was nothing but a Senatus Academicus. "But where," said I, "are the poets? I am very curious to see the collection of modern minstrels. I presume that young fellow with the black beard, who is firing away in the tribune, and bawling himself hoarse, must be one of them. He can, at all events, claim the possession of a full share of godlike insanity." "He is not a poet," replied the professor; "that is Simon of Treves, a very intelligent young man, though a little headstrong. I wish he would be somewhat milder in his manner." "Nay, he seems to be suiting the action to the word, according to the established rules of rhetoric. So far as I can understand him, he is just suggesting that divers political opponents, whom he esteems reactionary, should be summarily ejected from the window!" "Ah, good Simon!--but we have all been young once," said the professor. "After all, he is a stanch adherent of unity." "Yes--I daresay he would like to have every thing his own way, in which case a certain ingenious machine for facilitating decapitation would probably come into vogue. But the poets?" "You see that old man over yonder, with the calm, benignant, nay, seraphic expression of countenance, which betokens that his soul is at this moment far withdrawn from its earthly tabernacle, and wandering amidst those paradisaical regions where unity and light prevail." "Do you allude to that respectable gentleman, rather up in years, who seems to me to have swallowed verjuice after his coffee this morning, or to be labouring under a severe attack of toothache?" "Irreverend young man! Know that is Ludwig Uhland."