reater magnitude, the evil influence would be lessened, the artistic
impulses would still be felt, though in a less degree; whereas so
contracted is the circle of the Violin world, that under any stress
the support given to makers willing to bestow an artist's care on
their work is totally inadequate.

The case of modern Violin-makers is unfortunate. Old Violins being
immeasurably superior to modern productions, the demand must
necessarily set steadily for the former, and the modern maker has only
the few patrons of new work to support him. It cannot be expected that
the players of to-day should patronise the modern Violin in order that
the next generation should reap the benefit. Years since it was quite
a different matter. The makers were well paid for their work, and new
instruments were then made to supply wants similar to those which the
horrid Mirecourt or Saxon copy fulfils at present. As with other
things, so is it also with Violins; if they are to be produced with
the stamp of artistic merit, they must be paid for accordingly;
without patronage the worker necessarily becomes careless. Finding
that his skill fails to attract attention, he gradually sinks down
into the mere routine of the ordinary workman. When Italy shone
brightest in art, the patronage and remuneration which the workers
received was considerable. Had it been otherwise, the powers of its
Raffaele, its Cellini, and last (though not least to the admirers of
the Violin), its Stradivari, would have remained simply dormant. Art,
like commerce, is regulated in a great measure by supply and demand.
In Raffaele's day, sacred subjects were in demand; the Church was his
great patron, and aided him in bringing forth the gift which nature
had implanted within him. In modern times, landscape-painting became
the favoured subject, particularly in England; the result of which
preference has been to place us in the foremost rank in that branch of
art. The stage furnishes another instance of the effect that patronage
has in bringing forth latent talent. If the history of dramatic art be
traced, it will be found that its chief works were written when the
taste of an appreciative public could be securely counted upon. As it
waned, so the writers of merit became rarer; or perhaps it would be
more correct to say, the plays produced became less meritorious, the
authors being constrained to pander to the prevailing tastes.

As further evidence of the effect of patrona