ds; as, on the contrary, do we seem to wish for no
song from the tropical bird of magnificent plumage, and express no
surprise that none comes from it. I may put this more plainly as I
proceed, and in more homely words. What I want to lay before you
now, and must _insist_ upon, is, that you seek for tone, tone before
all. Tone you must get at all cost; and to get it, you must have as
choice wood as ever can be procured, and fashion it into a singing
shell, so that from it pure music may be evolved.

Then you must get this choice wood, but how? Now, the word "choice"
presupposes variety from which to select, as I select or choose
so-and-so, which is my choice. But I use the word in another way, on
the face of it bearing the same significance, but not quite so. I
say it is _fine_, of superb quality for my purpose, which is the
emission of the grandest tone possible, rapid, strong and sonorous,
from two plates of wood, becoming, if they possess these attributes,
choice to me.

We will consider the back wood first. I have thirty pieces from
which to take one, which shall act in conjunction with the belly, to
be selected later on. Some are plain, pear tree, in fact; others are
also plain (I mean as regards figure, or flames, as the Germans
say), and of sycamore, others are of maple. I do not select a
handsome one for its beauty, just as surely as I do not reject an
ordinary one for its plainness. This will show you at once that I am
seeking for that which, to my mind, will yield me the finest tone.

Well, but we must determine this before we go farther, and in the
rough, the initial stage of the wood, supposed to be old, and fit
for the under table of the instrument about to be made. I will try
this one of maple--moderately handsome, looking old, but, I fear,
not quite honest, as it is too heavy for its bulk. I take the half
of it (it being in two parts) and about one third from the top,
having the thick edge, or that to which, later on, I join the other
thick edge, close to my left ear, my left first finger and thumb
grasping it there so as just to free the body for vibration, I
strike it near the lower part of the thin side rapidly, with the
large joint of the first finger of my right hand. With what result?
That of strengthening, almost confirming, my suspicion of its
honesty. For I find a lack of energy, of resonance, and of that
quality to which I apply the word sympathy. It is crude, it is dull,
and it will _not_ d