hich in one of its sudden gusts tore Chopin from his native
soil, like a bird dreamy and abstracted surprised by the storm upon the
branches of a foreign tree, sundered the ties of this first love, and
robbed the exile of a faithful and devoted wife, as well as disinherited
him of a country. He never found the realization of that happiness of
which he had once dreamed with her, though he won the glory of which
perhaps he had never thought. Like the Madonnas of Luini whose looks are
so full of earnest tenderness, this young girl was sweet and beautiful.
She lived on calm, but sad. No doubt the sadness increased in that pure
soul when she knew that no devotion tender as her own, ever came to
sweeten the existence of one whom she had adored with that ingenuous
submission, that exclusive devotion, that entire self-forgetfulness,
naive and sublime, which transform the woman into the angel.

Those who are gifted by nature with the beautiful, yet fatal energies
of genius, and who are consequently forbidden to sacrifice the care of
their glory to the exactions of their love, are probably right in
fixing limits to the abnegation of their own personality. But the divine
emotions due to absolute devotion, may be regretted even in the presence
of the most sparkling endowments of genius. The utter submission, the
disinterestedness of love, in absorbing the existence, the will, the
very name of the woman in that of the man she loves, can alone authorize
him in believing that he has really shared his life with her, and that
his honorable love for her has given her that which no chance lover,
accidentally met, could have rendered her: peace of heart and the honor
of his name.

This young Polish lady, unfortunately separated from Chopin, remained
faithful to his memory, to all that was left of him. She devoted herself
to his parents. The father of Chopin would never suffer the portrait
which she had drawn of him in the days of hope, to be replaced by
another, though from the hands of a far more skilful artist. We saw the
pale cheeks of this melancholy woman, glow like alabaster when a light
shines through its snow, many years afterwards, when in gazing upon this
picture, she met the eyes of his father.

The amiable character of Chopin won for him while at college the love
of his fellow collegiates, particularly that of Prince Czetwertynski
and his brothers. He often spent the vacations and days of festival with
them at the house of th