“Grand old Pennsylvania! the keystone of the nation; for you all know the old proverb, ‘As goes Pennsylvania, so goes the Union,—I honor thy name! Thy sons are patriots! The Indian sachem said to the first ‘pale faces’ who came here (understand, I speak as a Pennsylvanian, in accordance with my introduction), ‘This is our ground. We came up right out of this ground, and it is our ground. You came up out of ground away beyond the big waters, and that’s your ground.’
“Bayard Taylor, the poet, the traveller, the biographer, the botanist, the patriot, the plenipotentiary, whom we so justly mourn, came up out of this land. He was a true son of our soil, which has always produced patriots. Think you President Hayes did not know this when he appointed him Minister to that grand old nation, Germany,—the land of Emperor William, and Minister Bismarck,—the most learned in the world? The President did honor to himself by this appointment, and Bayard Taylor did honor to our nation, and is mourned by the whole world.”
Omitting the address of the letters for sake of brevity, we insert several:—
“Dear Sir:—Will you have the kindness to express to the committee of arrangements my deep regret at not being able to attend the meeting at Tremont Temple in honor of Bayard Taylor’s memory. I sail from New York for Europe on the 8th instant. I also regret that the pressure of private matters will not allow me to prepare a tribute to my old friend. You will understand how nearly his death touches me, when I say that it breaks an unclouded intimacy of twenty-four years. If it should be in order, perhaps some one will read the poem which I printed in the New York ‘Tribune’ on Christmas morning. I enclose a copy.
“Yours, very respectfully,
“Thomas Bailey Aldrich.”
To which was attached the following poem:—
“In other years—lost youth’s enchanted years
Seen now and evermore, through blinding tears
And empty longing for what may not be