ly spaced, but very heavy
lidded. The mouth and chin were, I must own, too delicate and
sensitive for the rest of the face. His dark hair, young as he was,
had streaks of grey. In bearing he was so erect, so sufficient, that
he seemed taller than he was. If he had the vanity which so often goes
with his kind of temperament, it was most cleverly concealed. Safe in
the dignified consciousness of his unquestioned gifts, secure in his
achievements, he had a winning gentleness, and an engaging manner
difficult to resist.

But for a singular magnetic light in his eyes, which belied the calm
of his bearing, when he chanced to raise the heavy lids full on
one--they usually drooped a little--but for a sensitive quiver along
the too full lips, as if they still trembled from the caress of
genius--the royal accolade of greatness--he might have looked to me,
as he did to many, more the diplomat than the artist.

It would be useless for me to analyse his command of his instrument.
I could not. It would be superfluous for me to recount his triumphs.
They are too recent to have been forgotten. Both tasks have, moreover,
been done better than I could do either.

This I can do, however, bear witness to the glowing wings of hope, of
longing, of aspiration which his singing violin lent to hearts
oppressed by commonplace every-day cares, to the moments of courage,
of re-awakened endeavor which he inspired in his fellowmen, to the
marvellous magnetism of his playing which seemed for the moment to
restore to a soul-weary world its illusions, and to strike off the
fetters of despondency which bind mortality to earth.

It was not alone the musically intelligent who felt this, for his
playing had a universal appeal. Thorough musicians marvelled at and
envied him his mastery of the details of his art, but it seemed to me
that those who knew least of its technique were equally open to his
influence.

I don't presume to explain this. I merely record it. There were those
who analysed the fact, and explained it on the ground of animal
magnetism. For myself, I only know that, as the magic music which
Hunold Singref played in the streets of Hamelin, whispered in the ears
of little children words of promise, of happiness, of comfort that
none others could hear, so, to the emotional heart, Rodriguez's violin
spoke a special message.

The man who sets the faces of the throng upward, and lights their eyes
with the magic fire of hope, has surely not