Then, my friends, reward your many anxious moments of thought and work string your fiddle, for, be assured, you will be rewarded, be your instrument somewhat crude in tone; and he is of a miserably cold, prosaic temperament indeed, who does not warm up at this juncture this climax, this crisis. It may be the tone is good, very good; with what pride it is shown and tried; should it be mediocre, or even poor, a certain amount of pride is excusable, and faults are condoned.

Should there be faults that a touch of the soundpost may minimise, gently touch it, moving it hither and thither, until it meets with a desired response. Or your strings may be too thick or too thin; all may be of no avail, however, so work the fiddle for six months, and note if it shows signs of improvement; if not, look well to your construction next time, and build for posterity on early failures, on disappointments after long study and careful manipulation, or resolve to be master, after hearing your praiseworthy devotion rewarded by the empty sneers of those who, maybe, care nothing whatever whether you do ill or well, but only that they have the chance of showing their superior wisdom and making stagnant that which, given warm encouragement, would have flowed on until the future would proudly record the noble work of real genius.