asked who
he would like to see first. 'Schubert may come in first,' was the
reply. Before they left, Beethoven, regarding them with a smile, said:
'You, Anselm, have my mind, but Franz has my soul.' When for the
second time Schubert found his way to the bedside of the master death
was very near, and though as they stood around the bed he made signs
to them with his hand to show that he recognised their presence, he
could not speak, and, overcome with emotion, Schubert quitted the
room.

A little more than three weeks after the second visit Schubert was
walking as one of the torch-bearers beside the coffin of his loved
master, as the latter was borne to his last resting-place in the
Waehringer cemetery. On the way back Schubert and his friends passed
through the Himmelpfortgrund, close to the old home, and, entering a
tavern, called for wine. Schubert, having filled his glass, raised it
aloft: 'I drink,' said he, 'to the memory of Beethoven.' Then once
more filling the glass, he drained it to the first of the three
friends then present, who was destined to follow the master to his
grave.

Little did Schubert dream that he was emptying his glass to his own
memory! Nor in the eyes of his friends would there seem to have been
anything in his appearance at that moment which could be taken as
foreshadowing the early closing of that eager, active life. Gazing at
him then, as he sat drinking his grim toast, the picture presented to
his companions was that of a short, stout, thick-set man of about
thirty, with a head of thick, black hair, disposed in crisp curls,
bushy eyebrows, and a pair of bright black eyes which beamed through
his spectacles. The face was round with full cheeks, the complexion
pasty, the nose short and insignificant, the lips full and protruding,
the jaw broad and strong; the hands, like the rest of the body, were
plump, and the fingers thick and short. There was nothing striking
about his general expression; but when the conversation turned upon
music, and especially if Beethoven were the topic of discussion, his
eyes would brighten at once, and the whole face light up with
animation.

As he sat in the dingy parlour of the little tavern, beaming upon his
friends, whilst the minds of all three were rapt by the solemn event
which they had just witnessed, the proximity of death within that
circle was not contemplated. Yet the story of his life shows us that
the period which had elapsed between the date of