Mr. Taylor was married in October following his return from Norway and Sweden, to Marie Hansen, whose father had already gained a world-wide reputation as an astronomer through his works on Physical Astronomy, and was then winning renown for his “Tables de la Lune,” for which he was given a prize by the English Government, as a public benefactor. He was a man of remarkable mathematical genius, universally respected, and the founder of the Erfurt Observatory near Gotha. It was a family of scholars which received Mr. Taylor as a son and brother, and a fortunate alliance for the world of letters. It would be interesting to our readers, no doubt, to know all about the ceremony, the guests, the letters, and the relatives. But that which at some future day may be elevated to the plane of history, would be mere gossip now; and could only serve, for the present, to bring more vividly before his loved ones living, the greatness and reality of their loss.

Not even such an event as his marriage was allowed to interfere with his work. His travels in the North had been in a great measure described in detail from day to day, as he stopped for food and rest, and when he left Stockholm for Germany, a large pile of manuscript had accumulated, which needed correction and arrangement before being sent to his publishers in New York. To this he applied himself closely, and a month after his marriage, was in London making the closing arrangements for the appearance of his book on “Northern Travel,” published by G. P. Putnam & Sons, and containing a condensed account of his winter and summer in the Norse countries.

Immediately after despatching the manuscript for the book, together with several letters for the press, he made his preparations for a winter’s sojourn in Greece. He had purposed to take a trip from St. Petersburg across the continent of Asia, through Siberia to Kamtschatka, and returning through Persia and by the shores of the Black Sea. But it appears that neither Mr. Greeley, nor Mr. Putnam, nor his German relatives approved of the undertaking, which, together with some unsatisfactory financial details, caused him to abandon the snows of Siberia for the sunshine of Attica.

This arrangement must have been a far more pleasant one for him, as Mrs. Taylor and other friends could accompany him to Athens, and as that land was so connected with the richest themes for poets and scholars. Many of Byron’s poems had been favorites with Mr. Taylor from his boyhood, and especially familiar were those passages relating to Greece; for the reading-books in use by American scholars, in his school-days, contained, very wisely, several selections from Byron’s patriotic poems relating to Greece. To this was added an appreciation of “Childe Harold,” gained by visiting the Italian scenery where Byron lived during those years of his voluntary exile.

The party left Gotha in the early part of December, 1857, and going down the Dalmatian coast of the Adriatic Gulf, visited the ancient town of Spolato, where the ruins of the Emperor Diocletian’s palaces are still imposing and beautiful. Without losing the steamer, which put in at all the small ports along the route, they skirted the southern shores of the Gulf of Corinth; and, after crossing the Isthmus near Ancient Corinth, sailed direct for PirÆus.

To a man of Mr. Taylor’s mental capacity and disposition, the country afforded the means for the highest enjoyment. Men may be as unsentimental as a beast, and as regardless of ancient greatness as a savage, and yet their lives will be influenced more or less by a sojourn in old Greece. Later philosophers declare, and attempt to prove it on scientific principles, that the typography of the country, added to the influences of the climate, produced the great minds of ancient Greece. If so, which may be wholly or partially true, then the same hills and the same valleys, combined with the same climate, must influence the mental characteristics of those who live there now. If, however, as is too frequently the fact to make a clear case of the philosophers’ claims, men do reside under the Acropolis and in the Academian groves wholly unaffected by the scenery, certain it is that to a poet whose whole ambition and only joy was found in a determination to follow the lead of Homer, Simonides, and TyrtÆus, it was an ecstasy of mental satisfaction to feel the influence of the surrounding associations. Even Mr. Taylor feared that his name as a poet would lead people to consider his descriptions to be somewhat colored by the imagination, and labored hard to avoid the imputation. He, with great candor and truth, claimed that men are as great as they were in the days of Demosthenes and Aristides, although the community to which they belonged has moved farther west. He did not believe that all the great and noble and good belonged to the past. He recognized the great fact that dead men have better reputations than living ones, and that the longer a man lies in his grave the greater seem his virtues, and the less the number and magnitude of his faults, i. e. if he is not forgotten altogether. So, Mr. Taylor inserted such thoughts in his letters and conversation, for the sake of seasoning his enthusiasm, which he feared was too active. But it was as useless for him as it was for Byron, and as it has been for other American poets who visited those ancient groves, to keep above or outside the subtle and powerful influences which Greece puts forth. Oh! land of heroes, patriots, poets, philosophers, orators, and musicians! Oh, land of republics and birthplace of fleets! How like a visit to the homes of Solon, Plato, Socrates, and Polycrates it is to walk thy fields, and how like a flight to the homes of the gods, to dream through thy moonlit nights!

Mr. Taylor made the most of his winter in Greece, and visited every place of ancient renown which was accessible to travellers. He scarcely waited for the dawn of his first day in Athens before he hastened to the Acropolis, and admired its marvels and historical suggestions. At the PropylÆa, which crowns the mountain with beauty and majesty, where all the destructive inventions of two thousand years have failed to annihilate the monument which Phidias and Calicrates erected to their genius, Mr. Taylor was overwhelmed with emotions, and gazed with wonder at the chaste sculpture which adorns the most graceful structure ever made of marble, and in silent awe contemplated the pillars, cornices, tablets, pavements, and broken ornaments with which he was surrounded. Where was the Coliseum he had praised so much when a boy? Where were the cathedrals, palaces, and castles he had regarded as so sublime? Everything he had seen sank into insignificance beside the ponderous yet exquisitely beautiful pile before him. He was so affected, that when he spoke he whispered, as if in the presence of Jupiter, and his eyes grew moist as he tried to compass the grandeur of the lofty Parthenon and PropylÆa. This language will seem extravagant to the reader who has not felt such sensations. The writer, who makes no pretensions of being a poet either in letters or by nature, has been so filled with the unspeakable grandeur of some of the scenes from the heights of the Alps, Himalayas, and Rocky Mountains, as to find himself, to his own surprise, shedding copious streams of tears. It is a sensation unknown to common experience, and our language has no adequate terms with which to describe it. Such a feeling, beyond a doubt, was that which reigned in his sensitive nature when he stood in the porch of the Parthenon. To him, those marvels of art produced the impression which nothing but the mightiest mountain-peaks could awaken in others. It must have been grand to possess such a nature; and it is grand to follow him through his letters and books. There was the crowning point of all his travel. It had been reserved until near the end of his wanderings, and a fitting climax it was. The poet and traveller amid the ruins of Athens! He spent many happy hours amid the crumbling evidences of Athenian greatness. Temples uncounted lay half-buried in the broken soil. Those of Demeter, Hercules, Apollo, Aphrodite, HephÆstus, Theseus, Dioscuri, could be traced in the earth, or confronted the antiquarian with majestic porches; while the Odeon, Gymnasium, Museum, Aglaurium, Lyceum, PrytanÆum, Erechtheum, PropylÆa, and Parthenon, can easily be reconstructed in the imagination of any student of Greek history with the aid of their wonderful ruins. And when those colossal edifices stand forth in their beauty, it is but a step to the sublimest dreams, wherein Socrates, Anaxagoras, Pericles, Eschylus, Sophocles, Ictinus, Mnesicles, and their noble cotemporaries, walked through the colonnades, along the payed streets, and among the verdant, classic groves which bordered on the Ilissus. The walls of Athens, extending from Hymettus to the distant sea, the city crowded with the wealth of the commercial world, and the fields as verdant and fruitful as now.

Mr. Taylor often remarked that he should never have been a successful traveller had he not been a poet; and it might be added that persons, in whom the power to recall the past through the debris of the present is wholly lacking, had better not travel at all. There are hills in Pennsylvania, or New Hampshire, far more picturesque than the Acropolis, and on them might be erected a tolerably accurate copy of the PropylÆa, Erechtheum, and Parthenon as they now stand, and the curious might visit them to observe the beauty of the architecture and remark the foolishness of those who constructed them. Unconnected with any history, and the originals unheard of, they would be nothing but mere monuments to folly, with all their symmetry. Take away from Athens the records of its grand humanity; the stories of its achievements; the tales concerning the wonders of its genius; the renown of its arms; the memories of its misfortunes; and all the life, the spirit, that shines through its fragments, as the soul beams through the eye of a loved face, would be extinguished, and no great good could come from seeing them.

We mention these things, not to excuse Mr. Taylor for his strong assertions concerning the effect these ruins had upon him, but to give to the student a clearer insight into the nature and life of the poet, Bayard Taylor. From Athens, after visiting the king and queen, Mr. Taylor made excursions into the interior, and to the Island of Crete, visiting, in his various tours, Candia, Rhithymnos, Corinth, Leuetra, MycenÆ, Arcadia, Sparta, Parnassus, Platea, ThermopylÆ, and various other fields, mountains, and ruins connected with ancient Greece. At Crete he was most graciously welcomed by the Turkish governor, and was treated with the most generous hospitality by the people and officials, throughout a somewhat lengthy journey about the island. It was there that he met the American consul who was going to start the commerce of Crete by bringing in a cargo of rum to exchange for the products of the island, and who was so startled by Mr. Taylor’s frankly avowed hope, that the ship would be wrecked before the curse of drunkenness was added to the other Cretan vices. Mr. Taylor gave a somewhat different version of the affair, not changing however its exposition of his sentiments on the subject of drunkenness. But it is to be supposed, that the consul, who was so severely rebuked, would have the best reason for remembering it, and, as his version throws no discredit on Mr. Taylor, and varies in no important particular from that given by Mr. Taylor, we give the consul the benefit of the story.

At Corinth he had a startling experience in an earthquake, feeling the earth rise and fall with that sickening movement, creating a nausea like the sea-sickness of a whole voyage concentrated into a few minutes, and saw the stone walls of the house crumbling and splitting about him. He arrived after the greatest shock had passed, or he would have seen whole streets of buildings thrown down, for the village was half in ruins when he reached the place. Near Corinth he saw the plain whereon were celebrated the Isthmian games and repeated sections of Schiller’s poem, “The Gods of Greece.”

At Argolis he saw the gateway of MycenÆ, guarded by the celebrated stone lions, and tried to connect Agamemnon and Orestes with the landscapes.

At Sparta he trod the sward above the buried palaces, and having no poets’ names to rhyme with Lycurgus and Leonidas, he hurried on to scenes less suggestive of mere physical endurance and bloody encounters.

In Mania, within the boundaries of ancient Sparta, he was delighted to find the descendants of the ancient Greeks, whose blood was not diluted by that of Turks, Slavs, Italians, and Egyptians. He found there what no other part of Greece visited by him could boast, the Greek face and form such as Phidias, Praxiteles, and Lysippus portrayed in their immortal sculptures. At Olympia he saw the home of Xenophon, and the foundations of that temple of Olympus from whence the Greek chronology was taken, near which were celebrated the great Olympian Games, around which were once those sacred groves so often mentioned in Greek poetry and tragedy, and where the most artistic work of Phidias stood,—the ivory statue of Jupiter.

At Thebes he recalled the deeds of Pindar, Epaminondas, and the heroes of the Trojan War.

At Delphi he looked over the forests that clothe the lofty Parnassus, gazed into the rocky cleft from which the priestesses received their communications, and saw the sites of temples used for gardens, and blocks from the sacred shrines used for cellar walls.

At ThermopylÆ he marked the spot where the heroes fought and the narrow gorge where they fell, with feelings of respect and pride. He said that the story of such deeds should never be allowed to die.

At “Aulis” he saw where Jason launched his ships to sail in search of the Golden Fleece, and repeated a part of the Argonautic story in modern Greek.

On all these journeys Mr. Taylor displayed the same fearless, adventurous spirit, and was frequently in danger. By fortunate accidents he was prevented from falling into the hands of brigands, and returned to Athens, after his prolonged journeys, in good health, and with the accounts of his journeys nearly complete in his pocket.

When he left Athens in the spring for Constantinople, he had become acquainted with all parts of ancient Greece, and was able to give to his readers a fund of valuable information concerning the country and its products, the people and their industries. He had kept up that triple life which characterized all his later travels in Europe and Asia, and saw everything modern in the way of manners, races, products, commerce, government, and everything that remained of the ancient days in the shape of monuments, temples, or ruins, together with those undefinable yet real suggestions which come to the poet, and to him alone.