physicians
wished him to leave England immediately, but he delayed for some time
his departure. Who can read the feelings which caused this delay!... He
played again at a concert given for the Poles. It was the last mark of
love sent to his beloved country--the last look--the last sigh--the last
regret! He was feted, applauded, and surrounded by his own people. He
bade them all adieu,--they did not know it was an eternal Farewell! What
thoughts must have filled his sad soul as he crossed the sea to return
to Paris! That Paris so different now for him from that which he had
found without seeking in 1831!

He was met upon his arrival by a surprise as painful as unexpected. Dr.
Molin, whose advice and intelligent prescriptions had saved his life in
the winter of 1847, to whom alone he believed himself indebted for the
prolongation of his life, was dead. He felt his loss painfully, nay,
it brought a profound discouragement with it; at a time when the
mind exercises so much influence over the progress of the disease, he
persuaded himself that no one could replace the trusted physician, and
he had no confidence in any other. Dissatisfied with them all, without
any hope from their skill, he changed them constantly. A kind of
superstitious depression seized him. No tie stronger than life, no more
powerful as death, came now to struggle against this bitter apathy!
From the winter of 1848, Chopin had been in no condition to labor
continuously. From time to time he retouched some scattered leaves,
without succeeding in arranging his thoughts in accordance with his
designs. A respectful care of his fame dictated to him the wish that
these sketches should be destroyed to prevent the possibility of their
being mutilated, disfigured, and transformed into posthumous works
unworthy of his hand.

He left no finished manuscripts, except a very short WALTZ, and a
last NOCTURNE, as parting memories. In the later period of his life he
thought of writing a method for the Piano, in which he intended to give
his ideas upon the theory and technicality of his art, the results of
his long and patient studies, his happy innovations, and his intelligent
experience. The task was a difficult one, demanding redoubled
application even from one who labored as assiduously as Chopin. Perhaps
he wished to avoid the emotions of art, (affecting those who reproduce
them in serenity of soul so differently from those who repeat in them
their own desolation of