is a very intelligent man.  All Englishmen of note who come to Scotland go to him; he has always an open house, so that there are daily on an average about thirty people at dinner with him.  In this way one has opportunities of seeing the most different English beauties; lately there was, for instance, for some days a Mrs. Boston here, but she is already gone.  As to dukes, earls, and lords, one now sees here more of them than ever, because the Queen has sojourned in Scotland.  Yesterday she passed close by us by rail, as she had to be at a certain time in London, and there was such a fog on the sea that she preferred to return from Aberdeen to London by land, and not (as she had come) by boat—­to the great regret of the navy, which had prepared various festivities for her.  It is said that her consort, Prince Albert, was very much pleased at this, as he becomes always sea-sick on board, while the Queen, like a true ruler of the sea, is not inconvenienced by a voyage.  I shall soon have forgotten Polish, speak French like an Englishman, and English like a Scotchman—­in short, like Jawurek, jumble together five languages.  If I do not write to you a Jeremiad, it is not because you cannot comfort me, but because you are the only one who knows everything; and if I once begin to complain, there will be no end to it, and it will always be in the same key.  But it is incorrect when I say:  “always in the same key,” for things are getting worse with me every day.  I feel weaker; I cannot compose, not for want of inclination, but for physical reasons, and because I am every week in a different place.  But what shall I do?  At least, I shall save something for the winter.  Invitations I have in plenty, and cannot even go where I should like, for instance, to the Duchess of Argyll and Lady Belhaven, as the season is already too far advanced and too dangerous for my enfeebled health.  I am all the morning unable to do anything, and when I have dressed myself I feel again so fatigued that I must rest.  After dinner I must sit two hours with the gentlemen, hear what they say, and see how much they drink.  Meanwhile I feel bored to death.  I think of something totally different, and then go to the drawing-room, where I require all my strength to revive, for all are anxious to hear me.  Afterwards my good Daniel carries me upstairs to my bedroom, undresses me, puts me to bed, leaves the candle burning, and then I am again at liberty to sigh and to dream until morning, to pass the next day just like the preceding one.  When I have settled down in some measure, I must continue my travels, for my Scotch ladies do not allow me—­to be sure with the best intentions in the world—­any rest.  They fetch me to introduce me to all their relations; they will at last kill me with their kindness, and I must bear it all out of pure amiability.—­

Your

         Frederick.

Chopin to Gutmann; Calder House, October 16, 1848 (twelve miles from Edinburgh):—­