The revolution in Hungary failed for the time.  Kossuth came to see us with pleas that we might aid Hungary.  But republics forget.  We gave no aid to Hungary.  I was far away and did not meet Kossuth.  I should have been glad to question him.  I did not forget Helena von Ritz, nor doubt that she worked out in full that strange destiny for which, indeed, she was born and prepared, to which she devoted herself, made clean by sacrifice.  She was not one to leave her work undone.  She, I know, passed on her torch of principle.

Elisabeth and I speak often of Helena von Ritz.  I remember her still-brilliant, beautiful, fascinating, compelling, pathetic, tragic.  If it was asked of her, I know that she still paid it gladly—­all that sacrifice through which alone there can be worked out the progress of humanity, under that idea which blindly we attempted to express in our Declaration; that idea which at times we may forget, but which eventually must triumph for the good of all the world.  She helped us make our map.  Shall not that for which she stood help us hold it?

At least, let me say, I have thought this little story might be set down; and, though some to-day may smile at flags and principles, I should like, if I may be allowed, to close with the words of yet another man of those earlier times:  “The old flag of the Union was my protector in infancy and the pride and glory of my riper years; and, by the grace of God, under its shadow I shall die!” N.T.