quite _en rapport_ with that of the player, and
difficulties vanish magically. It seems voluntarily to carry into
effect the player's wishes without any physical interposition
whatever.

It is like riding a thoroughbred in the "Row" after driving a donkey
across Hampstead Heath. Not that I or any of my readers would think
of indulging in any such distressingly vulgar exercise as the last
named. It may serve, however, to conjure up in the mind a
sufficiently forcible simile.

Apart from their many wonderful qualities as bows, they are quite
exceptional as works of art. Study the four heads shown in Plates V.
and VI., and note the tender sweep of the outer line; full of force
and delicacy combined. See, too, how it is supported by the
harmonious inner line, a thought more rigid, and yet full of grace.
To become an expert in bows requires years of continual observation,
for the slight differences in line are too subtle to be apparent to
those who are not constantly looking for and studying them. But I
think anyone, even "ye meanest capacitie in ye world"--to quote good
old Roger North--will be able to appreciate the contrast between the
bow heads in Plates III. and IV., and those in Plates V. and VI. It
is in the two 'cello bow heads that the greatest resemblance is seen.
But even here one can easily note the unwonted massiveness, almost
amounting to clumsiness, in that of Dodd; while the Tourte is full of
lightness, strength and vigour. There is more or less of sluggishness
observable in most of the preceding bows, but the Tourte is _awake_;
it lives!

It is at times of great interest to note by what slender threads of
chance great consequences may be suspended. Take the family of the
Tourtes for instance. We find the father a worthy craftsman making
bows as good, and possibly better, than those of his contemporaries.
He, obeying a natural law of custom, educated his eldest son in his
own craft, and probably looked to him to perpetuate those
excellencies in design and finish that had brought him fame.
Francois, the younger son, was not forgotten though, and the father
bethought him of some useful industry at which he might earn a
living, and decided on clockmaking as the most suitable. Now mark the
erratic workings of fate. The eldest son, from whom so much was
expected, proved a comparative failure, inasmuch as that, instead of
progressing, his work was distinctly inferior to that of his
father.[1] Francois, on the