say her wish. Miss Stephens herself
chose the words from Moore's 'Lalla Rookh;' and the composer set
himself to work on 'From Chindara's Warbling Fount I Come.' But
fearfully painful was the effort now. Twice Weber flung down his pen
in utter despair. At last, on the morning of the 18th of May, the
great artist's flitting genius came back to him, and for the last time
gave him a farewell kiss upon that noble forehead, now bedewed with the
cold sweat of death,--for the last time! The trembling hands were
unable to write down more than the notes for the voice. Weber
rehearsed his last composition with the celebrated artist from this
sketch, and accompanied the song from memory at his concert."

Here we have the true story of the master's last composition.

The concert spoken of, at which he made his last appearance in public,
was, unfortunately, not a pecuniary success, because of the
indifference of the English aristocracy. This was a severe blow to the
composer, who knew that he had not long to live, and who had hoped to
realise from this concert a substantial sum, which he could add to that
received from his opera of "Oberon," and use all in providing for his
wife and children. "The following day Weber was somewhat better. He
was still supported by the hopes of his benefit; he still found
sufficient strength to write to his wife in such wise as to place in
its least painful light his cruel disappointment. As yet, in spite of
his bodily weakness, his handwriting had remained distinct and clear.
In this letter, it displays the utter ruin of his strength. 'Writing
is somewhat painful to me,' runs one phrase of it; 'my hands tremble
so.' Fuerstenau saw only too clearly the sinking state of the poor man,
and generously offered to give up his own concert, in order to hasten
the departure of his friend. 'What a word of comfort you have spoken!'
gasped Weber, clutching the hand of the kind fellow. He wrote again to
his wife, with a last gleam of his spirit: 'You will not have many more
letters from me; and so receive now my high and mighty commands. Do
not answer this to London, but to the _poste restante_, Frankfurt. You
are astounded! Well! I am not coming home through Paris. What should
I do there? I cannot walk--I cannot speak. I will have nothing more
to do with business for years to come. So it is far better I should
take the straight way home by Calais, through Brussels, Cologne,
Coblentz, and thu