the great Scotchman’s definition is inadequate, but nothing is more false than the popular notion that the great authors throw off their works with the pleasantest ease, that creation is an act of pure enjoyment.  Beethoven’s sketch-books tell a different story; so do also Balzac’s proof-sheets and the manuscripts of Pope’s version of the Iliad and Odyssey in the British Museum.  Dr. Johnson speaking of Milton’s MSS. observed truly:  “Such reliques show how excellence is acquired.”  Goethe in writing to Schiller asks him to return certain books of “Wilhelm Meister” that he may go over them A few times before sending them to the press.  And on re-reading one of these books he cut out one third of its contents.  Moreover, if an author writes with ease, this is not necessarily a proof that he labours little, for he may finish the work before bringing it to paper.  Mozart is a striking instance.  He has himself described his mode of composing—­which was a process of accumulation, agglutination, and crystallisation—­in a letter to a friend.  The constitution of the mind determines the mode of working.  Some qualities favour, others obstruct the realisation of a first conception.  Among the former are acuteness and quickness of vision, the power of grasping complex subjects, and a good memory.  But however varied the mode of creation may be, an almost unvarying characteristic of the production of really precious and lasting artwork is ungrudging painstaking, such as we find described in William Hunt’s “Talks about Art":—­“If you could see me dig and groan, rub it out and start again, hate myself and feel dreadfully!  The people who do things easily, their things you look at easily, and give away easily.”  Lastly and briefly, it is not the mode of working, but the result of this working which demonstrates genius.

As Chopin disliked the pavilion in the Rue Pigalle, George Sand moved with her household in 1842 to the quiet, aristocratic-looking Cite (Court or Square) d’Orleans, where their friend Madame Marliani arranged for them a vie de famille.  To get to the Cite d’Orleans one has to pass through two gateways—­the first leads from the Rue Taitbout (close to the Rue St. Lazare), into a small out-court with the lodge of the principal concierge; the second, into the court itself.  In the centre is a grass plot with four flower-beds and a fountain; and between this grass plot and the footpath which runs along the houses extends a carriage drive.  As to the houses which form the square, they are well and handsomely built, the block opposite the entrance making even some architectural pretensions.  Madame Sand’s, Madame Marliani’s, and Chopin’s houses, which bore respectively the numbers 5, 4, and 3, were situated on the right side, the last-mentioned being just in the first right-hand corner on entering from the out-court.  On account of the predilection shown for it by artists and literary men as a place of abode, the Court d’Orldans has not inaptly