. American lands and letters. which—engrossed in portlyfolios—now enriches the Lenox collection. Thefirst volume of his history of the Eevolution * ap-peared in 1850, and the others followed at unevendistances of time until the final volume (x.) aji-peared in the year (1874) on which date termi-nated his embassy to the court of the GermanEmperor, William I. During all these twenty-five years (which wouldhave made a great gap in most lives, but whichcounted for far less with this veteran, who tooksmilingly the seventies and eighties that lightedhis long career) he toiled at his history, rodejau
. American lands and letters. which—engrossed in portlyfolios—now enriches the Lenox collection. Thefirst volume of his history of the Eevolution * ap-peared in 1850, and the others followed at unevendistances of time until the final volume (x.) aji-peared in the year (1874) on which date termi-nated his embassy to the court of the GermanEmperor, William I. During all these twenty-five years (which wouldhave made a great gap in most lives, but whichcounted for far less with this veteran, who tooksmilingly the seventies and eighties that lightedhis long career) he toiled at his history, rodejauntily in Rotten Row, made a home in Wash-ington, and another, long cherished and loved,upon the cliffs at Newport—where he had a lawnrivalling English lawns—and set his roses to bloomin fairer colors and with more velvety petals thanany that opened under the fogs of Twickenham orof Richmond Hill. He loved a beautiful rose as * Vol. V. of the United States History, whose concludingvolume, X., did not appear until George Bancroft. Front a photozraph taken at Newport GEORGE P. MARSH. 59 he loved a sure-footed horse, or a rotund trail tohis historic periods. His long life has held ns to longer commentthan is our wont; and even now, as one of hishigh, rhetorical periods slips from tongue andmemory, we seem to see that alert figure andgood horseman, mounted in soldierly way—trim,erect, and with lifted head, snuffing the breezyair of a November morning, upon the banks ofthe Potomac or by Georgetown Heights—on hiswell-groomed horse, with a rose at the lapel of hiscoat, his eyes keen, his hair frosted with eightyyears—riding primly and gallantly away, intothat Past which is swallowing ns all. George P. man we have to speak of now was not lesslearned and scholarly, but never filled so large aspace in the public eye. Physically, he represent-ed a more stalwart bit of New England manhoodthan Bancroft; his birth and bringing up werein the town of Woodstock, in
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