In this sketch there has not been time to touch upon the international side of Howe’s life; his relation to the liberals and philanthropists of Europe, from Lafayette to Kossuth. I omit the picturesque episodes which that relation gave rise to, as, for instance, Howe’s imprisonment in Prussia in 1832, and his being chosen, at a later date, as the depository for the stolen crown jewels of Hungary. “When the jewels were recovered,” writes Mr. W. J. Stillman in his autobiography, “they were to be hidden in a box of a conserve for which that vicinity was noted, and then carried to Constantinople, from which point I was to take charge of them and deliver them in Boston to Dr. S. G. Howe, the well-known Philhellene.” The jewels were recovered by the Austrian Government before they could be transferred to America, and this was, no doubt, a fortunate outcome for all concerned. Dr. Howe’s liberalism remained at the same temperature throughout his life. It led him in 1867 to revisit Greece for the last time, as a distributor of supplies to the insurgent Cretans. It led him in 1871 to favor the Annexation of Santo Domingo to the United States. Howe died in 1876. The rapid cycle of social revolutions in the United States which followed the Civil War, heightened the contrast between the veteran and the new age, and strengthened the romance that had always hung about him. To have taken part in the Greek Revolution seemed, in 1870, almost the same thing as to have been present at the siege of Troy. The mantle of Byron and the Isles of Greece never quite fell from his shoulders. Dr. Howe seems to have been one of those nimble, playful, light-footed natures who are as strong as steel and can be as stern as steel upon occasion. His physical endurance was so great that it led to his habitually overtaxing himself. His excitability made him a hard man to live with; and he was occasionally hasty, harsh, and exacting. This irritability of Dr. Howe’s is deeply related to his whole mind and being. He was constitutionally deficient in the power to rest. The blind headaches which clouded the last third of his life were probably the convulsions through which outraged nature resumed her functions. He supposed them to be the residuum of Grecian malaria; but anyone reading of Howe’s daily life would look for breakdown somewhere. There is a gleaming elfin precocity about him which the human machine cannot support forever. He was ever in action: as he so wonderfully says of himself, “he prayed with his hands and feet.” Dr. Howe had that kind of modesty which seems to be confined to the heroes of romantic adventure: rough soldiers have it, and people whose courage has been put to the proof a thousand times.