id="pgepubid00006"/> But his thoughts were not for words, they did not weave the pretty phrases of idle talk. They were busy making nocturnes, waltzes, mazurkas, impromptus and many other kinds of music that we shall learn to love as we hear them.

Music was Chopin's true speech. The world soon learned to love what he said in it. And it always will love it.

See how beautifully he wrote his music.

CHOPIN'S AUTOGRAPH Listen

There was neither telephone nor telegraph in those days. Yet it did not take long for another composer, Robert Schumann, who lived far away, in Germany, to learn that a genius by the name of Chopin lived in Paris.

The post carried to Schumann a copy of Chopin's first printed music. This was a theme taken from Mozart's Opera Don Juan, which Chopin arranged with variations for the piano.

When Schumann played it to his friends everyone exclaimed: "How beautiful it is!"

Then someone said:

"Chopin—I never heard the name. Who can he be?"

R. SCHUMANN

So we see that his thoughts printed as music flew like winged messengers to carry news of him to others in distant places. And people not merely asked: "Who can he be?" but they found out who he was, and kept passing the news on and on until finally it has reached us!

Chopin was never a robust person, though he was well and busy most of his life. But in the last years he suffered much from illness. This led him to travel to many places from Paris for the good of his health.

Chopin was devoted to Poland, the beloved land of his birth. Here is a picture of the great composer who has fallen asleep at the keyboard and is dreaming of a glorious future for Poland.

CHOPIN DREAMING OF POLAND

Once he went to England and to Scotland. He played in London and was highly praised for the beautiful way he performed his own music.

While it is true that Chopin was ill in the last years of his life, we must notice that he kept right on with his work. He played and composed just as he always had done. Chopin died in Paris, October 17, 1849, just two years after Mendelssohn, who died in 1847.

Many men, who would have given up everything had they not been brave, have worked right on through illness.

Milton was blind, but he dictated Paradise Lost to his daughter.

Beethoven was deaf, but he did not give up composing.

Robert Louis Stevenson, who wrote the lovely Child's Garden of Verses, was ill all his life, but he kept on writing. Grieg was probably never well all his life, but he never gave up.

MILTON

BEETHOVEN