One great attribute he was unquestionably blessed with, and that was the power of throwing off his mind, completely, any thought of music, once he had accomplished any given task. In fact, when he was not actively engaged with it, music was seldom a subject of conversation with him. Of this I have had convincing proof. Some years ago, I was spending a part of one winter with him, at his villa on the Mediterranean. During the whole time, I can only remember two occasions on which he spoke of it; the first initiated by him, the second by me. We were reading in the drawing-room one evening, after dinner, when he suddenly turned round to me, and said, "What do you say, Ernest, to playing a Schumann symphony? I have an arrangement for four hands here." I naturally acquiesced, and his dwelling affectionately over many of the passages, the profound knowledge he displayed as he talked of Schumann's genius, and his intensely interesting comparison of it with that of Schubert, remain with me as a memorable experience. The other occasion was of a very different character. I was walking with him one day, on the road to Cap S. Martin--walking, it may be said, was not a form of recreation to which he was much addicted. The weather was glorious, and Sir Arthur in high spirits, thoroughly enjoying his unwonted exercise. Seeing him in this mood, I said, "Sir Arthur, I should like to make a bet with you." He turned to me, and laughingly replied, "Well, if the amount is not quite beyond my resources--a franc?--_quel soulagement!_--then go on." "It is that I tell you your favourite Savoy opera, and that you don't tell me mine." He walked on for a few minutes, and then said, "I think I must say 'The Yeoman of the Guard.'" "So far, I have won," I remarked. Again, after a little while, he continued, "I should not be surprised if it were 'Princess Ida.'" I called out, "Sir Arthur the bet is off," handing him, at the same time, a slip of paper, on which I had previously written these two titles. The incident led him to speak of various reminiscences in connection with the Savoy Theatre, one of which, I remember, he told me with great zest and evident appreciation. Considerable exception had been taken to the title Mr. (later Sir William) Gilbert had chosen for one of the operas, "Ruddygore." The author professed to see no objection to it, but eventually announced to the composer that he intended to change it. He did. He renamed it "Rudd-i-gore." Sir Arthur Sullivan left many and great claims on the gratitude of his countrymen. In the sphere of light opera, he enormously advanced the standard of taste.