In the summer of 1862, Mr. Taylor accepted the appointment as Secretary of Legation at St. Petersburg, Russia, for which he was indebted to his life-long friend, the Hon. George H. Boker, of Philadelphia, whose services to the nation as Minister Plenipotentiary, as well as his gifts as an author, have made his name familiar to the reading public of America.

It does not appear that the official duties connected with his office especially pleased Mr. Taylor, and it is believed by his friends that he regarded them in about the same light that Hawthorne looked upon his office. It was an honorable and responsible position, especially so during 1862 and 1863, when the United States was laboring so earnestly, and finally so successfully, to gain the friendship of Russia, and Mr. Taylor appreciated it. Certainly the American Legation at St. Petersburg was never more popular at the Court of the Emperor than during the term of Mr. Taylor’s sojourn. Whatever the credit which is due to the Minister during his stay, it is no disparagement to say that Mr. Taylor made many warm friends in St. Petersburg, who remember him, and weep for his untimely death. When the duties of the Legation devolved entirely upon him, as charge d’affairs, he was treated with the greatest consideration, and for a time the court circles believed that the President of the United States would promote him to the office of Ambassador, as appeared to them to be his due.

But Mr. Taylor was in no wise an office-seeker, and cared more for the honor of writing a good book than for any office in the gift of the President. So the autumn, winter, and spring which Mr. Taylor spent in St. Petersburg were devoted to his studies of literature, so far as he could do so without neglecting his duties. He made several excursions into the interior of Russia, and made himself acquainted with the language and writings of Russian authors. Work! work! work! Incessantly writing, reading, or observing! Such was his life in St. Petersburg. His envious critics have said that his genius all lay in the ability to do hard work. But does not successful hard work exhibit genius in its greatest strength? Some may, in one dash, make themselves famous. Authors may concentrate all their power in a single leap, and reach the heights of fame at one bound. But of such men you seldom hear a second success. Their single work is all that they do well. Not so with Mr. Taylor. The publication of one book only left the way clear for a better successor. His Muse was not uncertain, his genius was not spasmodic. Two of his poems, written in Russia, namely, “The Neva,” and “A Thousand Years,” were afterwards translated into Russian, and received the hearty encomiums of the cultured nobility. His story of “Beauty and the Beast,” located at Novgorod, to which place Mr. Taylor made an excursion while connected with the American Legation at St. Petersburg, has also been translated into the Russian language, together with other selections from his writings, showing that his literary renown did not suffer by his residence in Russia.

But his highest ambition in life was to publish a worthy translation of Goethe and Schiller, together with a biography of both. This had been his purpose from the time he first visited Weimar and Gotha. To this his other labors became gradually subordinated.

How he came to turn his attention to prose fiction can be accounted for on the supposition that he adopted that character for the purpose of testing his own powers, and securing an income which would enable him to prosecute his studies and investigations relating to Goethe and Schiller. He did not hope to be a leading novelist, and the public placed a much higher estimate on his novels than he did. The desire he had to immortalize his old home, the urgent appeals of friends, and the advice of acquaintances, pressed him into a field which he confessed in his lectures was uncongenial. Yet he had no more reason to be ashamed of “Hannah Thurston,” “John Godfrey’s Fortunes,” and the “Story of Kennett,” brought out soon after his return from Russia, than he had thirteen or fourteen years before to be ashamed of the Jenny Lind prize-song, or the poem delivered before the Phi Beta Kappa Society of Harvard College.

After leaving Russia, he soon returned to the United States, and, with lecturing and writing, occupied the time until again called abroad by a desire to see some localities visited by Goethe, and describe the great Paris Exhibition of 1867. Then followed those years of work at home, and travel abroad and at home, as his duties as author, editor, and correspondent demanded. In 1866 appeared his poem, “Picture of St. John,” which was immediately translated into Italian by an admirer in Florence. His poem, “The Ballad of Abraham Lincoln,” appeared in 1869, “Goethe’s Faust,” in 1871, “The Masque of the Gods,” in 1872, “Lars, a Pastoral of Norway,” in 1873, “The Prophet, a Tragedy,” in 1874, and “Home Pastorals, Ballads, and Lyrics,” in 1875.

In the spring of 1874, Mr. Taylor visited Iceland as the correspondent of the New York “Tribune.” He had visited Egypt, and was to return to America after a short stay in Europe, but the news of the Millennial Celebration, which was to take place on the island August 2d and 3d, called a large number of people to the festivities, and it was fitting that a great American newspaper should be represented. But neither the people of Iceland, nor the editors of the “Tribune,” nor Mr. Taylor, had any idea, when he set out, that his visit would be magnified into a recognition of the event by the people of the United States. His knowledge of the Danish language, and his study of the Icelandic tongue, according to his plan laid in Copenhagen eighteen years before, when on his way to the Northern Ocean, made him peculiarly fitted for the position in which he was, by a conjunction of unforeseen circumstances, unexpectedly thrown. But his genius was as spontaneous as it was persevering; for in a few moments of time, amid confusion, and conversation in which he took part, he wrote the poem, “America to Iceland,” which, when read to the Icelanders in their own language, on the occasion of their largest gathering, created the greatest enthusiasm. One verse ran thus,—

Mr. Taylor’s printed description of the scenery, people, government, and geysers of Iceland, is a standard work on that almost unknown island, and is written in a vein readable and refined. As it shows rather the fruit of a cultured life than the processes of culture, its contents require no extended notice in a work like this.

In the winter (February) of 1878, President Hayes offered Mr. Taylor the vacant mission at Berlin, expressing, at the same time, his conviction that there was no other American living who could so nobly and creditably fill the position of Minister of the United States to the German Empire. Mr. Taylor’s fame as a German scholar; his relation, by marriage, to the German people; his popularity at home and in Germany; and his creditable performance of his duties in a like position at St. Petersburg, made it peculiarly fitting that he should represent the American people in that official capacity.

It was an office unsought by Mr. Taylor, but, nevertheless, it was most cheerfully accepted, as it would give him an opportunity to prosecute his studies of the life of Goethe and the life of Schiller, which could not be so well secured in any other way.

The announcement of the appointment was hailed by the people of the United States with the liveliest demonstrations of approval. Neither the appointment of Mr. Bancroft or Mr. Motley received such universal approbation. All the newspapers, with no known exception, declared it to be one of the wisest appointments made by the administration. All parties applauded at home, and the leading journals of Europe mentioned it with words of praise.

Mr. Taylor was overwhelmed with congratulations, and President Hayes received letters from almost every State and city in the Republic, thanking him for making such a creditable selection, and commending his wisdom. Mr. Taylor was feasted, and “toasted” by his commercial and literary friends with an enthusiasm and liberality never known before on such an occasion. Ovation after ovation was given, and his departure in April from New York was witnessed by hosts of his friends.

His welcome at Berlin was scarcely less hearty. Authors and editors received him with earnest expressions of satisfaction. The Crown Prince, Prince Bismarck, and even the Emperor and Empress greeted him with most unusual marks of respect. With a world looking to him for yet greater things, but thankful for the noble deeds of the past, Mr. Taylor set up a home at Berlin in which he hoped to finish those books on Goethe and Schiller, to which he had already given some of the best years of his life. At last there was rest. Honored by his nation, holding a literary position above the darts of envy, with a gifted wife and lovely daughter, he entered his home in Berlin, saying, “Here I can work in peace. Here we shall be very happy.”

Who can foretell the future; or, in the words of Goethe’s “Mephistopheles,”—

That drear December, of which he had written so much, and which ever seemed to him the saddest of all the year, found him dangerously ill with the dropsy. He tried to be quiet, as the physician directed. He tried to resume the old Arabic resignation which had so often served him in the place of substantial accomplishment. But the habit of years, the overmastering desire to labor, the “passion for work” which made his life successful, held sway over him still.

His nation had commissioned him to serve at the Court of Berlin. There was a call for him at the Legation. He could not refuse to go, if he had the strength to move. So he rises from his bed, and goes forth to fulfil the desires of his people. It is his last work. His beloved America receives his dying attention! The next day (Dec. 19, 1878), just after the messenger had left at his door the first printed copy of his new work, “Deukalion,” the poet, traveller, scholar, patriot, brother, husband, and father, left his work unfinished to enter upon the Eternal Rest.

He had long suffered from a mild form of a kidney disease, but neither he nor his physicians attached any importance to that complaint. On the day that he died, he arose from his bed, dressed, and received visitors. Feeling tired, at noon, he concluded to lie down and rest. He slept for a short time, quietly, but on awakening, his mind wandered, and his symptoms became at once alarming. Dr. Lowe Kalbe, who was Mr. Taylor’s physician, and an old friend, was with him, together with Mrs. Taylor and their daughter Lillian. But he sank rapidly, and at four o’clock in the afternoon, peacefully passed away.

How like a voice from a living Past came to us his own sad lines, when they said to us in sadness,—“Bayard Taylor is dead!”