nds, for I am a
friend to all England. Even in the glowing sun of Italy I have thought
with pleasure of your dear, smoky London, which seems to wrap itself
round one like a friendly cloak. It was England that gave me my first
recognition as a serious musician, when Berlin was merely inclined to
think that I was an interesting young prodigy with musical gifts that
were very amusing in a young person of means."

"You have seen much of England, have you not, sir?" I asked.

"A great deal," he replied, "and of Scotland and Wales, too. I have
heard the Highland pipers in Edinburgh, and I have stood in Queen Mary's
tragic palace of Holyrood. Yes, and I have been among the beautiful
hills that the great Sir Walter has described so wonderfully."

"And," I added, "music-lovers do not need to be told that you have also
penetrated

'The silence of the seas
Among the farthest Hebrides.'"

"Ah!" he said, smiling, "you like my Overture, then?"

I hastened to assure him that I admired it greatly; and he continued,
with glowing eyes: "What a wonder is the Fingal's Cave--that vast
cathedral of the seas, with its dark, lapping waters within, and the
brightness of the gleaming waves outside!"

Almost instinctively he sat down at the piano, and began to play, as
if his feelings must express themselves in tones rather than words. His
playing was most remarkable for its orchestral quality. Unsuspected
power lay in those delicate hands, for at will they seemed able to draw
from the piano a full orchestral volume, and to suggest, if desired, the
peculiar tones of solo instruments.

This Overture of his is made of the sounds of the sea. There is first a
theme that suggests the monotonous wash of the waters and the crying of
sea-birds within the vast spaces of the cavern. Then follows a noble
rising passage, as if the spirit of the place were ascending from the
depths of the sea and pervading with his presence the immensity of his
ocean fane. This, in its turn, is succeeded by a movement that seems to
carry us into the brightness outside, though still the plaint of crying
birds pursues us in haunting monotony. It is a wonderful piece, this
Hebrides Overture, with all the magic and the mystery of the Islands
about it.

"That is but one of my Scottish impressions," said Mendelssohn; "I have
many more, and I am trying to weave them into a Scottish Symphony to
match the Italian."

"You believe in a programme then?" I asked.

[Illu