face was rather German than French, and bore the stamp of purity and goodness in every line; but the eyes especially had the fire of genius tempered by gentleness and love.  It was a face which satisfied you at once, answering to all you could ask of the painter of “Mignon,” and the “Christus Consolator.”  His manner was quiet and reserved, but courteous.  Unconscious modesty was the peculiar charm of his appearance.  One of our party said that he reminded him strongly of Allston.  It was a reverend presence, which forbade common topics, and strangers thus meeting had few words to say.  As we turned away, we knew that we should never meet again on earth; but we had gained a new life, and we had beheld, as it were, the face of an angel.

Two American artists stood with us in that room:  one a fair young girl, whose purity of soul was mirrored in her beautiful face, who had gone to Paris to continue her studies in an art which she loved as she did her life; the other, a man of mature age, whose high and reverent genius has always met with a loving and faithful appreciation among his countrymen, which does them as much honor as it did him.  The young girl lay down to die amid her labors, and her frail body rests amid the flowers and trees of Montmartre; the grown man came home but to bid farewell to home, friends, and life; the great artist whom we met to honor has gone home too.  A threefold halo of sanctity rests on that room to us.

To those who shared the privilege of Scheffer’s friendship this room was endeared by hours of the richest social enjoyment.  His liberal hospitality welcomed all ranks and all classes.  It is related that Louis Philippe once sat waiting for him in the atelier, and answered a knock at the door.  The visitor was delivering his messages to him, when the artist returned, and was somewhat surprised to find his royal friend playing the part of concierge.  “It was not rare to meet in this atelier the great men of finance, who counted themselves among his most passionate admirers.”  Here was conversation, not without gayety, but without loud laughter or revelry.  Scheffer was very fond of music of the highest order.  He was a generous patron of musicians, and loved to listen to music while he was engaged in painting.  His friends sometimes held an extemporaneous concert in his room, without preparation, programme, or audience.  Think of listening to an andante of Mozart’s, played in that room!  “Music doubled her power, and painting seemed illuminated.”  Beethoven was his favorite composer; his lofty genius harmonized with, and satisfied the longings of, Scheffer’s aspiring nature.