m;
happening at certain intervals and changes of the moon, to be both
Fiddler and painter."

[Illustration: _Plate XIX_. GIUSEPPE GUARNERI DEL GESU. 1733. GIUSEPPE
GUARNERI DEL GESU. 1741. (LATE R. D. HAWLEY, ESQ.) ANTONIO STRADIVARI.
1726.]

The leading instrument is singularly favoured. It may be said to have
a double existence. In addition to its manifold capabilities, it has
its life of activity on the one hand, and inactivity on the other. At
one time it is cherished for its powers of giving pleasure to the ear,
at another for the gratification it affords to the eye. Sometimes it
is happily called upon to perform its double part--giving delight to
both senses. When this is so, its existence is indeed a happy one. The
Violin thus occupies a different position from all other musical
instruments. Far more than any other musical instrument it enters into
the life of the player. It may almost be said to live and move about
with him; the treasure-house of his tenderest and deepest emotions,
the symbol of his own better self. Moreover, the Violin is a curiosity
as well as a mechanical contrivance. Thus it is cherished, perhaps for
its old associations--it may have been the companion of a valued
friend, or it may be prized as a piece of artistic work, or it may be
valued, independently of other associations, for the simple purpose
for which it was made, viz., to answer the will of the player when
touched with the bow. The singular powers centred in the Violin have
been beautifully expressed by Oliver Wendell Holmes, who says:
"Violins, too. The sweet old Amati! the divine Stradivari! played on
by ancient maestros until the bow hand lost its power, and the flying
fingers stiffened. Bequeathed to the passionate young enthusiast, who
made it whisper his hidden love, and cry his inarticulate longings,
and scream his untold agonies, and wail his monotonous despair. Passed
from his dying hand to the cold _virtuoso_, who let it slumber in its
case for a generation, till, when his hoard was broken up, it came
forth once more, and rode the stormy symphonies of royal orchestras,
beneath the rushing bow of their lord and leader. Into lonely prisons
with improvident artistes; into convents from which arose, day and
night, the holy hymns with which its tones were blended; and back
again to orgies, in which it learned to howl and laugh as if a legion
of devils were shut up in it; then, again, to the gentle _dilettante_,
who calmed it