trument of exceptional value.
The extreme beauty of its varnish impressed him vividly, and though he
had never seen a genuine Stradivarius, he felt a conviction gradually
gaining on him that he stood in the presence of a masterpiece of that
great maker. On looking into the interior he found that surprisingly
little dust had penetrated into it, and by blowing through the
sound-holes he soon cleared it sufficiently to enable him to discern a
label. He put the candle close to him, and held the violin up so that
a little patch of light fell through the sound-hole on to the label.
His heart leapt with a violent pulsation as he read the characters,
"_Antonius Stradiuarius Cremonensis faciebat_, 1704." Under ordinary
circumstances it would naturally be concluded that such a label was
a forgery, but the conditions were entirely altered in the case of a
violin found in a forgotten cupboard, with proof so evident of its
having remained there for a very long period.

He was not at that time as familiar with the history of the fiddles of
the great maker as he, and indeed I also, afterwards became. Thus he
was unable to decide how far the exact year of its manufacture would
determine its value as compared with other specimens of Stradivarius.
But although the Pressenda he had been used to play on was always
considered a very fine instrument both in make and varnish, his new
discovery so far excelled it in both points as to assure him that it
must be one of the Cremonese master's greatest productions.

He examined the violin minutely, scrutinising each separate feature,
and finding each in turn to be of the utmost perfection, so far as his
knowledge of the instrument would enable him to judge. He lit more
candles that he might be able better to see it, and holding it on his
knees, sat still admiring it until the dying fire and increasing cold
warned him that the night was now far advanced. At last, carrying it to
his bedroom, he locked it carefully into a drawer and retired for the
night.

He woke next morning with that pleasurable consciousness of there
being some reason for gladness, which we feel on waking in seasons of
happiness, even before our reason, locating it, reminds us what the
actual source of our joy may be. He was at first afraid lest his
excitement, working on the imagination, should have led him on the
previous night to overestimate the fineness of the instrument, and he
took it from the drawer half expecting to b