“When Taylor came here to give his lectures on German literature, at the ‘Lowell Institute,’ the crowd was so great that hundreds were unable to gain admittance. Those masterly delineations of the genius and character of Goethe, Schiller, Klopstock, Lessing, and other famous men of Germany, will long be remembered here, and we were all looking forward to no remote period when we should again hear his voice on kindred topics in the same place. No discourses have ever been listened to in Boston with more enthusiasm, or have been oftener referred to with delight, since they were delivered. Bayard Taylor was not only honored and respected here for his genius,—he was everywhere beloved. His death saddens our city, and is the absorbing topic in every circle.”
Mr. Taylor’s body arrived in New York on the thirteenth day of March, about three months after his death, and was received with imposing ceremonies of respect. Committees from distinguished citizens and prominent associations received the remains at the steamship wharf and a large procession followed the elegant funeral-car to the City Hall. The coffin was placed in the Governor’s room in the City Hall, where an address was delivered by the Hon. Algernon S. Sullivan. Delegations were present from the Grand Army of the Republic; from the Delta Kappa Epsilon societies; the German singing societies; from the State Legislature; the National Congress, and hundreds of men and women distinguished more or less in literary and official life. Salutes were fired from the fort, dirges were sung by German associations, flags were placed at half-mast, and the immense crowd of people seeking admittance to City Hall, showed the esteem in which the distinguished minister was held.
The body lay in state at the City Hall, with a guard from the Grand Army of the Republic, until noon of the 14th, when the body was removed, amid touching and imposing ceremonies, to the railway train which conveyed it to Kennett Square.
There have been but few incidents of American life more pathetic and remarkable than the spontaneous exhibition of love and admiration by the people of Mr. Taylor’s native town, when his body was taken there for burial. The silent and uncovered crowds, the tears, the regrets, the stories of his kindness, the honest acts of deference, the noble reception of any one who had been his friend, all served to make up a most unusual tribute to the memory of a great man. In many places the funeral of Mr. Taylor had not attracted the attention which his friends have felt was due to his memory. But at his old home, among his own kin, in the circle of those who knew him best, old and young came forth to do him honor. Aged men and women, whose white hairs floated in the chilly breezes, and young children, whose hats and bonnets were held so modestly behind them, bowed their heads as the sombre procession passed them.
The services at Cedarcroft on the 15th were short and simple, being conducted by the Rev. W. H. Furness, D. D., after which Dr. Franklin Taylor made a brief address.
At the grave in Longwood Cemetery, about a mile and a half from Cedarcroft, there were gathered thousands of mourning acquaintances, who listened in solemn silence to the addresses which were there delivered by Dr. Furness, and by Mr. Edmund C. Stedman, and the reading of the burial service according to the rites of the Protestant Episcopal Church, by the Rev. H. N. Powers. The pall-bearers consisted of eight persons: George H. Boker, of Philadelphia; Richard H. Stoddard, of New York; Edmund C. Stedman, of New York; Whitelaw Reid, of New York; J. Taylor Gause, of Wilmington, Delaware; Jacob P. Cox, of Kennett; James M. Phillips, of Kennett; Marshall Swayne, of Kennett, and Edward Needles of West Chester, Pa. Governor Hoyt of Pennsylvania, a delegation from the Legislature of Pennsylvania, representatives of the Delta Kappa Epsilon Society, and kindred associations were present, with a large number of friends from distant parts of the country.
It was an impressive scene. The aged father, the sisters, the brothers, the officials, and the throng of other friends around the open grave! From that neighborhood he went forth into life, a frail farmer-boy, less promising than many of his playmates. Now, after twoscore of years, in which he had made for himself friends in every clime, and a name in literature, oratory and diplomacy, his body is laid to rest amid universal grief, and bearing on its coffin-lid the floral tributes from the Empress, and from the greatest men of Germany, and from the most gifted men and women of his own land.
Beside the grave stood his intimate friend and loved companion, Edmund C. Stedman, who, perhaps, more than any other living man had enjoyed the deceased poet’s confidence. It was fitting that he should pay the closing tribute to his friend’s career. Then a choir of neighbors sang a burial ode, the words and music being written for the occasion, the former by Mrs. S. L. Oberholtzer, and the latter by John E. Sweney. Slowly and reverently amid sobs and tears,—a multitude weeping,—they laid him tenderly in his last resting-place, near the grave of his brave brother, and beside the remains of his first love.
The address of Mr. Stedman was nearly as follows:—