which had struck his fancy while he was looking through a collection of songs years before, when his ideas of "Carmen" were still undeveloped. With the aid of this melody he composed the "Habañera," with which she at last professed herself contented. The singer's instinct was quite right, for not only does the famous air express the character of the wayward gypsy in a nutshell, and put it before the audience in vivid colors at the outset of the piece, but it was one of the few numbers which was praised unreservedly by the critics at the first performance, and it still remains as popular as ever.
234.—MENDELSSOHN'S KINDNESS.
Henry Chorley, an English critic and musical writer of much note, on one of his trips to the continent went to Leipzig for the purpose, among other things, of meeting Mendelssohn and hearing some of his works.
Shortly after his arrival he was taken with an acute attack of illness and confined to his room, a small apartment in a crowded German inn. He had met Mendelssohn and other musicians before his illness. It is not pleasant to be sick among strangers in a foreign land, and his feelings were not of the most enjoyable kind.
His illness had been known but a few hours when he heard a heavy tramping up the stairs. It stopped at his door.
"Who is there?" he called.
"A grand piano to be put in your room," was the reply, "and Dr. Mendelssohn is coming directly."
And soon Dr. Mendelssohn did come, with his warm smile and hearty greeting.
"If you like," said he, "we will make some music here to-day, since you must not go out," and down he sat and began to play a lot of music about which Chorley had expressed some curiosity the day before. For hours Mendelssohn stayed there delighting, as Chorley mod-
