In 1874 the turn was Cologne's, and with no little pride and hardly less anxiety I saw my name announced for the first time in a list of soloists comprising some of the most renowned of the day. But above all, Brahms was to be there. For weeks beforehand my mind was occupied with the thought of seeing face to face the great composer whose name was then on every musician's lips as that of the man whose genius Robert Schumann had publicly proclaimed in the glowing language of an inspired prophet. And I well remember my embarrassment, and the sensation it gave me, when at last I was permitted to shake hands with him after the rehearsal of Handel's Samson, in which oratorio I had been engaged to sing the part of " Harapha." A few kind and encouraging words soon put me at my ease, and I could give myself up to scrutinising Brahms' personal appearance.