the public, and even by young authors, is the amount of toil it costs.
But all the standards, all the precedents of every art, show that the greatest gifts do not supersede the necessity of work.
The most astonishing development of native genius in any-direction, so far as I know, is that of Mozart in music; yet it is he who has left the remark, that, if few equalled him in his vocation, few had studied it with such persevering labor and such unremitting zeal.
There is still preserved at Ferrara the piece of paper on which Ariosto wrote in sixteen different ways one of his most famous stanzas.
The novel which Hawthorne left unfinished — and whose opening chapters when published proved so admirable — had been begun by him, as it appeared, in five different ways.
Yet how many young collegians have at this moment in their desks the manuscript of a first novel, and have considered it a piece of heroic toil if they have once revised it!
It is to rebuke this literary indolence, and