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form. Into the hands of the Great Master and Architect, therefore, we reverently and lovingly commit this life and its work. 
After a short pause, Dr. Thompson called upon Berthold Auerbach, as representing the literature of Germany, to pay a short tribute to Mr. Taylor's memory, and the poet stepped forth from the circle of sorrowing relations-a thick-set, sturdy, simple looking man, of great earnestness of speech and modest demeanor, robust in mind, apparently, as well as in body, the very reverse of a sickly introspective singer.  Thus, then, in a voice quivering with emotion, he began, addressing the mourners in his native German: 
Here, under flowers which have grown on German soil, rests the perishable encasing wherein for fifty-three years was enshrined the richly-endowed spirit which bore the name of Bayard Taylor.  Coming races will name thee who never loved into they kindly countenance, never grasped they honest hand, never heard a word from thy mouth.  And yet no, the breath of the lips fadeth away, but thy words, thy words of song, will endure.  In exhortation to thy surviving dear ones, from the impulse of my heart as the oldest friend in the Old World, as thou wert won't to call me, and as representing German literature, I bid thee now a parting farewell. What thou hast become and art to remain in the empire of mind history will determine.  To-day our hearts do quake with grief and sorry, and yet they are exalted. Thou wert born in the fatherland of Benjamin Franklin, and like him, to thine honor, raised thyself fro a state of manual labor to be an apostle of the spirit of purity and freedom, and to be a representative of thy people among an alien nation.  No, not in a land of strangers, for thou wert at home among us, thou hast died in the land of Goethe, to whose high spirit thou didst always with devotion turn; thou hast raised him up a monument before thine own people and wouldst erect him yet another in presence of all men; but that design has disappeared with thee.  But thou thyself hast been and art still one of them whose coming he announced-disciple of the universal literature, in the free and boundless air of which the everlasting element in man, scorning the limits of nationality, mounts on bold adventurous flights and ever on new poetic fancies sunwards soars.  In they very last work thou didst show how thou livedst in that religion which embrace in it all creeds and in the name of no one separates one from another.  Nature gifted thee with grace and strength, with a soul clear and full of chaste enjoyment, with melody and the tuneful voice to search and proclaim the workings of nature in the eternal and unexhausted region of being, as well as to sing the early and ever-new joys of married and filial love, of friendship, truth and patriotism, and the ever-higher ascending revelations of the history of man.  Born in the New World, travelled in the old, and, oh, so soon torn from the tree of life, thou hast taught thy country the history of the German people, so that they know each other as brothers, and of this let us remain mindful.  In tuneful words didst thou for thy people utter the jubilee acclaim of their anniversary.  When it returns and the husks of our souls do lie like this one here, then will the lips of millions yet unborn prounounce the name of Bayard Taylor.  May thy memory be blessed! 
After a short prayer by Dr. Thompson, the coffin was carried out and placed in an open hearse and the funeral procession fell into order.  After the hearse came a couple of state chariots, drawn each by six horses, representing the Emperor and Crown Prince, followed by a two-horse carriage sent by the Empress.  The Ambassadors dispersed and the deceased was followed to his temporary resting place only by his relatives and more immediate friends and admirers, the procession attracting much attention as it slowly passed along the Friedrichstrasse to the Jerusalem Kirchhof. Twilight was creeping around, it was bitterly cold, and the snow began to fall as all uncovered to join in a short prayer over the body of Bayard Taylor before it was left alone. 

BAYARD TAYLOR.
HIS LAST DAYS.
HOPEFUL OF RECOVERY TO THE LAST-HIS CAPACITY FOR WORK-TO COMPLETE THE LIFE OF GOETHE THE OBJECT OF HIS AMBITION-MR. TAYLOR AS A LINGUIST-AB INCIDENT OF THE PARIS EXPOSITION-HIS ACHIEVEMENTS IN JOURNALISM.
[FROM THE REGULAR CORRESPONDENT OF THE TRIBUNE.]
LONDON, Dec. 22-My last letter from Bayard Taylor was dated November 3. It fills a blank page in one from his wife, and was written with characteristic thoughtfulness to relieve the anxiety about him which his friends then felt; written evidently in the belief that a few words in his own hand would be the best proof that his condition was not that of an invalid past hope. He said: 
"I am quite sure the reports about my illness have been much exaggerated. I was only in bed a few days on account of the operation, which wasn't painful or dangerous, nor does its necessity denote any chronic trouble. I have not been, for a single day, incapable of attending to the business of the Legation."
The handwriting of this is the same as ever; firm, legible and elegant; not a trace of weakness or indecision in it.  This was always remarkable in him. I never saw a note or manuscript of his which showed marks of haste.  With the prodigious amount of work he did, he could not afford to be in a hurry.  His was an orderly min, and his methodical habits carried him through great tasks with facility and precision.  His confidence in his physical powers is indicated in the words I have quoted.  He believe he had years of life before him, and he looked forward with eager delight to the Life of Goethe for which he had so long been preparing.  He wrote me last May (beginning with a hearty compliment to the zeal and capacity of the two secretaries, Messrs. Everett and Coleman): "The routine business of the Legation is less than I anticipated, and I feel tolerably sure of three hours a day for my own work.  Moreover, since arriving I am getting back my natural sleep and appetite, and am regaining my normal vigor day by day."  No man living could have done that biography so well as Mr. Taylor.  All other gifts apart, his knowledge of German was such as few foreigners ever acquire. I remember his telling me years ago that he could converse with the peasantry of the Black Forest, and the country thereabouts, in each of the ten or twelve distinct dialects there prevailing, without its being found out that he was not of the vicinity.  When he went to Iceland in 1874, he learned Icelandic enough on the way for conversational purposes, and rubbed up his Danish so as to talk with the King of Denmark in his own tongue.  Once I said to him, "You must have a great natural gift for languages." "Not at all," replied he; "all I know I have got by downright hard work." Yt he spoke most modern European languages fluently, and had a good knowledge of at least a dozen others. 
In England Mr. Taylor was well known personally and by his books. A note from Mr. Browning, received on Saturday, which I am sure he will pardon me for quoting, says, "Poor dear Bayard Taylor; how I feel    him and for all his friends."  I dare refer only in the briefest way to the occasions when I have seen Mr. Taylor in London surrounded by some of the men most honored in English literature-to the delight they
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she was one of the most interesting women he ever knew. I parted with Eastman at 6. Avenue. He said 
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he had had a charming visit and would always remember it with great pleasure. I dined at Marys and went to a council meeting in the evening. Wrote to Lucy a confidential letter. 

Tuesday Jan. 21. 1879.
Still bitterly cold. Went to the dentists today. Beard came to see me and we talked of Gertrude. Mr. Hoe called. Booth spent an hour or more with me. A letter from Mary Gifford and one from Alice. Wrote to Mrs. Sawyer to E. Benson and to Sara Mary and I