I often saw Schumann in Leipsic, and I heard him conduct his cantata, "The Pilgrimage of the Rose." His conducting was awkward, as he was neither active nor of commanding presence. However, I liked his looks, as he seemed good-natured, though perhaps not like a man with whom one might easily become acquainted. This impression, however, may be due to anecdotes which I had heard regarding his lack of sociability. SCHUMANN'S ABSENT-MINDEDNESS Up to the time of Mendelssohn's death his followers and the small body of musicians who appreciated Schumann had rubbed pretty hard together. Naturally, Moscheles and Schumann had not been intimate. But Moscheles felt Mendelssohn's loss so keenly that he cast about for some one to take his place, and finally decided to make overtures to Schumann by inviting him to his house to supper. What occurred there was told to me by a fellow-pupil. He said that while the company was gathering in the drawing-room, Schumann sat in a corner apparently absorbed in thought, without looking at any one or uttering a word. He did not impress my friend as morose, but rather as a man whose thoughts were at the moment in an entirely different sphere. Supper was announced, and the guests being seated, it was discovered that there was a vacant place at the table. Moscheles looked about for Schumann, but he was not there. The host and several guests went back to the salon to look for him, and found him sitting in his corner, still deep in thought. When aroused, he said, "Oh, I hadn't noticed that you had gone out." Then he went in to supper, but hardly said a word. What a contrast there was between his personality and that of the ever-affable, polished Mendelssohn! There is the same contrast between their music: Schumann's profound, and appealing to us most when we wish to withdraw entirely within the very sanctuary of our own emotions; Mendelssohn's smooth, finished, and easily understood. Early in 1844 Schumann had moved to Dresden, and I called upon him in that city and received a pleasant welcome, contrary to my expectation, for I had heard much of his reticence. Judging by the brief entry in my diary, nothing of importance was said. I could not see Mme. Schumann, because she was giving a lesson. This was on April 13, 1850. I called again later in the month, and Schumann gave me his musical autograph, a canon for male voices; and the next day I received an autograph from Clara Schumann. In 1880 I learned from Mme. Schumann that the canon referred to had already been published at the time when I received it from Schumann. (See Op. 65, No. 6.)