t adorned their mansions with his bust; yet Boston,
New-York, and Philadelphia had never heard his name! In the lack of more
minute information with regard to this remarkable man, perhaps the
following page or two from a traveller's journal may prove acceptable to
the public. The absolutely total obscurity of the subject in America, may
also, it is hoped, serve as an apology for the openness of detail and
apparent breach of etiquette in regard to private intercourse.

* * * * *

'It has been my fortune to spend a day in company with the man who of all
men has done the most to illustrate our manners and character; yet who,
strange to say, is less known than 'Professor' INGRAHAM. As it was then my
fortune to speak _with_ him; I now consider it my duty to speak _of_ him,
and to do what little I am able, to extend his name among his compatriots.

'In the spring of the year previous to this, or to be exact, in April,
1843, I found myself at Berlin. My friend, Mr. CARLYLE, of London, had
given me a letter to THEODORE MUNDT, and I had learned soon after my
arrival that this distinguished man was in town. I had consequently looked
over my letters, after dinner, and had selected the one addressed to
MUNDT, and laid it under a little plaster bust of SCHILLER that stood just
over the stove, in the room where I dined. In the evening I walked into
the _Ermschlagg Buchzimmer_.[2] Several students were making annotations
from huge volumes, and many grave, pale gentlemen were turning over the
reviews and periodicals of the day. Among these I recognized an Englishman
whom I had fallen in with at Cologne but parted with at Heidelberg. He had
been in Berlin three days before me, and I was truly glad to meet with an
acquaintance even of so recent a date, to whom I could apply for
information or advice as to the best way of seeing the lions. While I was
whispering to him, a grim-visaged old Teuton looked up at us with a stern
frown, and my friend observed, 'We must retire into the _Sprechensaale_,
or conversation-room.' As soon as we had entered this adjoining apartment,
to the evident satisfaction of the aforesaid grim Teuton, I observed a
tall, thin man, of angular and wiry aspect, see-sawing his body in front
of the stove, toward which he had turned his back, as he stood in
apparently deep cogitation. 'You don't know who that is,' quoth my friend;
'there is _one_ of the lions, to begin with. I found out his