Do not indulge in exaggerated display of power. Too much ambition in that respect is fatal. A third runs as follows:-- You will do well not to limit yourself to singing easy songs, but also to attempt upon occasion such pieces as require the full use of your means. This will be an excellent preparation for your appearance in London, and it will give you the confidence in your powers and the facilities in using them necessary to enable you to take a place among the best of the profession. It will always give me pleasure to hear of your successes. Give my kindest regards to your mother. After this I continued to see the maestro fairly often, and was not surprised to hear of his setting off in his ninety-seventh year to spend the winter in Egypt, or of his staying with his sister in Paris for a few days on his way home. In the early winter of 1903 my mother was taken seriously ill, and Manuel Garcia on hearing of this at once wrote a sympathetic letter. On January 10, 1904, the end came, and with the announcement in the papers, one of the first tokens of sympathy was a beautiful wreath from the maestro, followed by a telegram expressing his desire to be present at the closing scene in the career of his old pupil. Despite the distance, for the service was held at Golder's Hill, the maestro drove over, stayed for the entire service, and remained behind afterwards to offer a few simple but never-to-be-forgotten words of sympathy. Two months after this he entered his 100th year. To celebrate the occasion, an address of congratulation was presented to him, signed by 127 professors of the Royal College and Royal Academy of Music. [Illustration: FACSIMILE OF A LETTER WRITTEN BY MANUEL GARCIA AT THE AGE OF NINETY-FOUR.] At the end of the year it was suggested by the editor of 'The Strand Magazine' that I should prepare an article on "Manuel Garcia and his Friends" for publication in the month of his centenary. On my communicating with the maestro, he wrote at once offering to render assistance, and asked me to bring the MS. up when ready. Accordingly, in the January, two months before his 100th birthday, I spent the afternoon with him, and was requested to read aloud the proofs of the article. It was astonishing how memory enabled him to correct immediately any mistake. He would suddenly stop and say, "No, no; it was in 1827, not 1825." Again, in the case of a story in which some details were wrong, he said, "No, that is not right. I will tell it you again"; with which words he recounted in French the tale of how his sister, Malibran, came to make her _début_ at Paris. And so the afternoon passed, until finally, after signing a photo, he insisted on coming to the door to see me out. This experience served to prepare me for the astonishing ease and energy with which, a few weeks later, he went through the Centenary festivities. CHAPTER XX. THE CENTENARY HONOURS. (1905.)