To meet and talk for an hour with an artist who has so often charmed you
from the other side of the footlights, is a most interesting experience.
In the present instance it began with my being taken up to Miss Farrar's
private sanctum, at the top of her New York residence. Though this is
her den, where she studies and works, it is a spacious parlor, where all
is light, color, warmth and above all, _quiet_. A thick crimson carpet
hushes the footfall. A luxurious couch piled with silken cushions, and
comfortable arm chairs are all in the same warm tint; over the grand
piano is thrown a cover of red velvet, gold embroidered. Portraits of
artists and many costly trifles are scattered here and there. The young
lady who acts as secretary happened to be in the room and spoke with
enthusiasm of the singer's absorption in her work, her delight in it,
her never failing energy and good spirits. "From the day I heard Miss
Farrar sing I felt drawn to her and hoped the time would come when I
could serve her in some way. I did not know then that it would be in
this way. Her example is an inspiration to all who come in touch with
her."

In a few moments Miss Farrar herself appeared, and the young girl
withdrew.

And was this Farrar who stood before me, in the flush of vigorous
womanhood, and who welcomed me so graciously? The first impression was
one of friendliness and sincerity, which caused the artist for the
moment to be forgotten in the unaffected simplicity of the woman.

Miss Farrar settled herself comfortably among the red silk cushions and
was ready for our talk. The simplicity of manner was reflected in her
words. She did not imply--there is only one right way, and I have found
it. "These things seem best for my voice, and this is the way I work.