1(34 Bayard Taylors Visit to Humboldt. [April, 



A stout, square-faced man of about fifty, wliom I at once recog- 

 nized as Seifert, opened the door for me. ' Are you here, Tay- 

 lor? ' he asked ; and added, on my reply : ' His excellency is ready 

 to receive you.' He ushered me into a room filled with stufied birds 

 and other objects of natural history; then into a large library, which 

 apparently contained the gifts of authors, artists, and men of sci- 

 ence. I walked between two long tables heaped with sumptuous 

 folios, to the further door, which opened into the study. Those who 

 liave seen the admirable lithograph of Hildebrand's picture, know 

 precisely how the room looks. There was the plain table, the writing 

 desk covered with papers and manuscripts, the little green sofa, and 

 the same maps and pictures on the drab-colored walls. The picture 

 had been so long hanging in my own room at home, that I at once 

 recognized each particular object. 



Seifert went to an inner door, announced my name, and Hum- 

 boldt immediately appeared. He came up to me with a heartiness and 

 cordiality which made me feel that I was in the presence of a friend, 

 gave me his hand, and inquired whether we should converse in Eng- 

 lish or German. 'Your letter,' said he, 'was that of a German, and 

 you must certainly speak the language familiarly ; but I am also in 

 the constant habit of using English.' He insisted on my taking 

 one end of the green sofa, observing that he rarely sat upon it him- 

 self, then drew up a plain cane-bottomed chair and seated himself 

 beside it, asking me to speak a little louder than usual, as his hear- 

 ing was not so acute as formerly. 



As I looked at the majestic old man, the line of Tennyson, des- 

 cribing Wellington, came into my mind : ' Oh, good gray head, 

 which all men know.' The first impression made by Humboldt's 

 face is that of a broad and genial humanity. His massive brow, 

 heavy with the gathered wisdom of nearly a century, bends forward 

 and overhangs his breast like a ripe ear of corn, but as you look be- 

 low it, a pair of clear blue eyes, almost as bright and steady as a 

 child's, meet your own. In those eyes you read that trust in man, 

 that immortal youth of the heart, which makes the snows of eighty- 

 seven winters lie so lightly upon his head. You trust him utterly 

 at the first glance, and you feel that he will trust you, if you are 

 worthy of it. I had approached him with a natural feeling of rev- 

 erence, but in five minutes I found that I loved him, and could talk 

 with him as freely as with a friend of my own age. His nose, 

 mouth and chin have the heavy, Teutonic character, whose genuine 

 type always expresses an honest simplicity and directness. 



