“No man in the country could do so much journalistic work, and do it so well in a given time, as could Mr. Taylor. He was remarkable in brilliant off-hand feats of literary criticism. As an illustration, I might mention that about a year ago two large octavo volumes, containing poems by Victor Hugo, in the French, arrived by steamer, and were placed in Mr. Taylor’s hands on Thursday evening. For some reason it was desirable that the criticism should appear in the ‘Tribune’ of the following Saturday, and, of course, the copy had to be in the printers’ hands early on Friday night. Mr. Taylor’s health was bad at the time, and he also had in the meantime to deliver a lecture in Brooklyn, and another in New York. He finished his review in time on Friday night, and it appeared in the ‘Tribune’ the following morning, covering more than two-thirds of a page. It was equal to any of his literary criticisms, and surpassed any analysis of Hugo’s genius that I have ever seen. One remarkable feature of the review was over a column of translation into English poetry from the original, including several lyrics and idyls so beautifully done that they seemed like original poems in the English. “Mr. Taylor was a man of wide and thorough learning, and was a much more exact scholar than would be supposed, considering that he was never at college, and spent a great deal of time in travel and observation. He had a smattering of all languages. He was familiar with Latin and Greek, spoke French well, and German like a native; he also conversed in Russian, Norse, Arabic, Italian, and knew something of modern Greek. His knowledge of Greek was increased by his classical feeling, which, as with Keats, amounted almost to a passion. He was a good botanist, and somewhat of a geologist, and was an established authority on geographical questions. He was greatly interested in all scientific studies. “As a man he was a peer among his fellows. He was the most simple, generous-hearted man of letters I ever knew. He was the first literary man I met in New York, my acquaintance dating from the time he came and took me by the hand in 1860, after the publication of one of my articles. He was never so happy as when surrounded by his friends in his own house. He had unbounded hospitality, and made his house the centre of literary life in the city. New York will greatly miss him, and just such a leader was needed to give encouragement to our literary life. He was accused sometimes of egotism; but he was not egotistical in the proper sense of the term. He was frank and out-spoken, and showed his feelings plainly, which gave rise to that charge. He always denounced shams and humbugs; but I do not believe he ever did a mean act, and he never grew angry except on account of the meanness of others.