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THERE was a man worth loving, for he was a good hater as well as a good lover! Not one grain of indifference in the man; not a single faculty or perception which was not active and strong. Force which made hard work a keen delight to him, sympathy which drew him into close relations with every other honest thinker, simple humanity which discovered the essence of all "good things to enjoy:" these traits he had in singular perfection. I never heard him say, nor can I now imagine his saying, such a weak thing as "I don't care." He did care, and work, and enjoy, and love honesty, and hate sham, with his whole heart. A whole-hearted man.

Now I have no doubt pretentious people, frauds, shams, and shirks, feared him and so far as such petty natures are capable of hatred-hated him. I have no doubt of this, but I cannot positively assert it; for my own experience has been, that, having spoken about Eugene Schuyler with many people in many different parts of the world, all have expressed warm admiration for my friend-all except one fellow, and he was just a mean scamp of a fellow whose approval I myself should not like to have, for his approval would imply some mean trait in me.

After all, can even frauds and shams and shirks really with. hold the admiration due to such an example of force and sympathy and simple humanity? I have just said I do not doubt it; but who knows? Eugene Schuyler's personality, which does not cease in his death and which cannot be forgotten, is a very precious thing to the friends who loved him, the country which honored him, and—after all, who knows?—perhaps also to those who, more or less unwillingly, yielded obedience to such force of character.

Love, honor, obedience: these words, like the words of the marriage ceremony, unite his name with the history of our own time.

My acquaintance with him began about six years ago, and was the result of a critical review of his "History of Peter the

Great" which I contributed to the New Englander and Yale Review; but at the present moment my most vivid remembrance is of his expressions and the tones of his voice as we lunched together most leisurely and talked of many things in the restaurant of the hotel Baur am See, Zürich. That was just about one year ago. We had spent the morning together, looking at some national sports in which the Alpine cow-herds were pitted against the athletes of Zürich and other Swiss cities, and we had taken notes of the peculiar style of wrestling (called Ausschwingen) there exhibited, of contests in flagswinging, horn-blowing, and all the rest of it. In fact we had mutually promised to publish our impressions and exchange our papers, whatever they might be.

But at luncheon we quickly got away from the subject of the morning. Mr. Schuyler was at that time engaged in writing a series of Articles on a most interesting plan, treating of the famous English literary people who had resided in Italian towns, giving details of their lives in that environment, etc. He had already done original work of much value in this direction, making his studies with equal industry and good judg ment on the spot. Several Articles of this series had already, at that time, appeared in The Nation, and he told me about his further designs. This I mention because the appreciative and sympathetic side of his nature was shown in this discussion. How clearly he saw the famous dead people whom he was describing! How quickly and surely he analysed them, judged them, summarized them! With an unerring perception of that which is probable in human nature, he set them before me -these figures of the last century—and made them live again in their favorite Italian haunts.

Then the conversation turned to another field. His appointment as Consul General at Cairo had just been cabled, and we spoke of his opportunity there-not about the public business, for that was a matter of course; and I think we must all acknowledge that the Department of State had no more able representative—not about public business, then, but about


Ever new studies and ever more study! The valued friend of Taine, the German's equal in his knowledge of German,

the authority on Russian and Eastern affairs, language and customs, was coolly planning an attack upon Oriental lore. Arabic was to be compelled to yield to his tireless efforts. There were the laws-the most cleverly framed system of law that the world has to show; there was the history of a conquering race, conquering under ready-made laws, whereas the Romans and the Germanic tribes conquered barbarously without a conception of law for the conquered until long after their conquests were complete.

A most inviting field for study! He would have done nobly. This I mention to illustrate the mental force of the This design, so sadly interrupted, was a bit of heroism


in study. Now for another transition. This was simply delicious. Side by side with the most intimate and personal form of biography, and the most abstract phase of history, the amiable humanity of my friend appeared, with a constant reminder of good-fellowship. He knew all the best lake fish, and precisely how each variety should be cooked; he planned the courses of our lunch like a chef, and, under his guidance, the sequence of wines was a poem. It was the most delightful thing to see the changes in his expression-especially in the shape and lights of his eyes under their very strong brows: so keen, so dominating when he was speaking of study at Cairo (poor Schuyler!); so gentle and conciliatory when he spoke of my own plans and of our common friends-as of my little daughter and my wife, for example.

By the way, when he first met them he made them both laugh with him and like him in less than five minutes. I cannot praise a man's heart more highly than in saying that.


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The Correspondence of John Lothrop Motley, D.C.L., Author of "The History of the United Netherlands;" "The Life and Death of John of Barneveld;""The Rise of the Dutch Republic," etc. Edited by George William Curtis, with portrait. In two volumes. New York: Harper and Brothers, Franklin Square, 1889.

John Lothrop Motley. A Memoir by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. Boston: Houghton, Osgood and Company. The Riverside Press, Cambridge, 1879.

THE former two of these volumes appeared nearly two years ago, and the latter has been for several years before the public. In the meantime, English reviewers, periodicals, and newspapers have noted them, their subject and contents, far more adequately than Mr. Motley's own countrymen or at least than our usual organs of public and literary opinion. It was our purpose a year ago to draw attention in the NEW ENGLANDER AND Yale

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