of Worcester, and my grandfather, had stood shoulder to shoulder
in the controversy of a century ago which rent apart New England
Congregationalism. Presently we sat down to lunch, a party of three,
for the board was graced by the presence of Mrs. Bancroft, a woman
of fine accomplishments polished through contact with high society in
many lands, and a gifted talker. Many readers have found her published
letters charming. The talk was largely of the Civil War and Bancroft's
words were in the best sense patriotic. During and before that period
his course had been much disapproved. He had been Collector of Boston
under Democratic auspices and had served under Polk as Secretary
of the Navy, where he laid the country lastingly under debt by
establishing the Naval Academy at Annapolis. I do not approve or
condemn, but I felt him wisely and warmly patriotic, deeply concerned
that the outcome of our long national agony should be worthy of the
sacrifice. The breath of a pleasant spring day pervaded the elegant
apartment while the birds sang in the tall trees stretching out
toward the forest of the Thiergarten. I especially associate with the
Bancrofts their beautiful outdoor environment. Another day I drove
with the Minister, our companions in the carriage being the wife and
the daughter of Ernst Curtius, to visit the rose gardens about Berlin.
I have met few men readier or more agreeable in conversation. With a
pleasant smile and intonation he touched gracefully on this and that,
sometimes in reminiscence. I remember in particular a vivid setting
forth of an interview with Goethe which he had enjoyed as a boy fifty
years before. Sometimes his talk was of poetry in general and I was
much struck with his frequent happy application of quotations to the
little events of the drive and phases of feeling that came up as the
day went on. The sun set gloriously, "_So stirbt ein Held_," said
Bancroft, as he burst with feeling into the beautiful lyric of which
these words are a line. The best German poetry seemed to be at his