He was short of stature, a little bent with age, frail-looking perhaps, but wiry. His eyes were bright and piercing, his profile clear-cut and distinguished. He had an olive complexion, a gift of his native Spain which fifty years of London fog and de-oxygenised air had been unable to take from him. His white hair was partially covered by a red skull-cap, and his moustache was closely cut. He spoke in rapid tones, yet with absolute distinctness of clear enunciation. Every word gave proof of that keen interest which he felt in all that was going on around him. In expression, voice, and gesture there was an amazing alertness, vigour, and mental activity which few men of seventy could equal, fewer still surpass. His conversation gave evidence of the fire of youth, tempered with the tolerance of old age. [Illustration: FACSIMILE OF A LETTER WRITTEN BY MANUEL GARCIA AT THE AGE OF NINETY-ONE.] A more intimate acquaintance with the great teacher revealed further qualities which made him loved, nay, worshipped, by all his pupils. Loyal and staunch, he had an old-world courtesy, a charm of manner, and a patience which was quite remarkable. When Manuel Garcia had heard me sing he asked a few penetrating questions. Then he turned to my mother and said that he would take me as a pupil: he thought, however, that it would be better for me to wait a year before starting work. There was something almost uncanny in being told by a man ninety years of age to come back in twelve months and commence singing-lessons. But seeing and hearing him, one could not doubt that he would be ready and waiting at the appointed time. Nor was the supposition wrong. In the first week of April of the following year, when he was approaching his ninety-second birthday, the first lesson took place. From that time on, my studies continued under his care and guidance until April 1900, when he was in his ninety-sixth year. In this I had the honour of being the last pupil to be regularly trained by him for the musical profession with the full four-years' course of tuition. That he should have been able to continue teaching at all at such an age is sufficiently astonishing. That during those years he should have postponed lessons through indisposition upon only some three or four occasions gives a still keener insight into the extraordinary life led by him as a nonagenarian.