a long time it failed to find a purchaser | Vieuxtemps, who, in a letter to Mr. even at that low figure. When Piatti Hart - from whom he bought it first saw it, it was in the hands of a speaks of it as being "one of the finest professional musician, named Pigott, of the purest specimens of the masin Dublin. The eminent virtuoso at ter," and adds that he is "proud actuonce recognized in it a magnificent in-ally to possess it, to look at it, and to strument, and accordingly he "kept admire it." In reply to an inquiry for his eye on it." When Pigott died he some details regarding the instrument, was unfortunately unable to purchase Mr. Sons sends me the following interit, but he brought it to the notice of a esting letter: "The violin is in wondealer, who secured it for 300l. It was derful preservation, without a single shortly afterwards sold to General crack; even the linings and corner Oliver for 3501., and the general, being blocks are original, as well as the label, a friend of Piatti, ultimately presented which is dated 1741. The varnish, the 'cello to him with the remark, "I which is very thickly put on, is of a always intended it for you." When magnificent brownish-red, with the Vuillaume saw it some years afterwards he offered 8007. for it; and the experts now believe that if put into the market to-day it would bring near 2,000l. Signor Piatti, it may readily be understood, takes precious care of his possession. He never runs the risk of carrying it out of London, and has it most carefully bestowed during his absence. This is probably out of sheer affection for the instrument, for nowadays the owner of a Strad. need not be greatly afraid of the thief. Such an instrument has a personality which nothing short of entire demolition can disguise or destroy; and there is undoubtedly something in the remark of a writer that this personality has been a powerful agent in the cause of morality!

golden lustre peculiar to fine old Italian violins, only a small part of the back at the lower end being bare. Its build is flat, with very broad sides, the wood being extremely thick. It would be exceedingly difficult to find an instrument with a bigger, and at the same time, finer quality of tone; and without being prejudiced, I may say that I prefer my violin to most of the many fine ones, including those of Stradivarius, I have seen and played. The workmanship is not refined. I may even call it careless, but there is a rugged grandeur about the violin which is imposing and defies imitation." Referring to the circumstance already noted, that most of our eminent soloists seem to fight shy of instruments by Guarnerius, Mr. Sons says: But now a few words in closing "The reason why so few artists are about one or two of the Guarnerius in- | playing Guarnerius violins lies chiefly struments. Some of the violins of in the fact that there are very few Guarnerius are certainly equal to some specimens of this master compared of the Strads., but the tone-according with the immense number made by to the popular notion, at any rate is Stradivarius, but partly also because not so easily produced, and, as a rule, the Strad. is the fashionable instruour public players prefer Stradivarius ment. The latter has certainly somewhen they can get him, his tone being thing very brilliant and noble; but the more yielding and requiring less force fine violins made by Guarnerius are and pressure to bring it out. Still, quite as noble, and have far more richthere are players who prefer Stradi-ness and depth of tone besides, and are varius's great rival to Stradivarius himself. There is Mr. Maurice Sons, for example. The Guarnerius violin now in possession of this artist is probably one of the finest instruments of the master in existence. It first became famous through having belonged to quite well that in the course of time

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quite as capable of bringing out every shade of expression. My violin must have been very difficult to play when new, on account of the immense thickness of the wood; but Guarnerius was such a consummate master that he knew

this instrument would respond very from the same hands was sold by Mr. easily. It does so now in effect, and it Hart to Signor Nicolini, the husband of is certainly the contrary from being Madame Patti, for 1,500l. This looks heavy or dry in tone." On the death at least promising. of Vieuxtemps this violin was sold to the Duc de Campo Selice, who had been a pupil of the virtuoso, and who had one of the finest collections of violins then in existence. It was out of this collection that Mr. Sons acquired the instrument, but he designedly omits to say how much he paid for it.

From The Contemporary Review.

ON UNDESIRABLE INFORMATION.

I HAVE still the most vivid rememMr. J. T. Carrodus is another of our brance of the first time I saw a magic eminent soloists who believe in the lautern, and it was as if Fairyland had virtues of Guarnerius, for he has two undergone a sudden incarnation. Jack instruments of that maker in addition and the Beanstalk, Robinson Crusoe to one by Stradivarius. Mr. Carrodus on his island, Little Miss Moffat, bealways used the latter until he pur- came realities to me. I had read about chased the "Cannon " Guarnerius, so them in books; I had dreamed about called on account of the grandeur of them at night, and thought about them its tone. This latter instrument has a by day; they had been all but real. history. Once the property of a Polish Then on one memorable evening they nobleman, it was given by him to Pa- appeared; they were no phantoms, for ganini, who gambled it away in one of they moved and spoke: Miss Moffat, his eccentric escapades. "The price as large as life, hastily got up from the of the instrument," says Mr. Carrodus tuffet-which turned out to be a threein a letter," was 7001. twelve years ago legged stool on the appearance of an when I bought it, and I should not ominous and gigantic spider, uttering like to take 1,000l. for it now." The shrill cries of dismay; Jack really asvarnish, a lovely red color, is in re- cended his beanstalk; Robinson Crumarkably good preservation, and the soe alone sat unmoved in gloomy instrument is altogether in splendid silence on the pink shore of a most condition. Mr. Carrodus's second desolate land. And the incarnation Guarnerius he came across by accident about two years ago at Messrs. Hill's. "The varnish," he writes, "is amber, not so rich and artistic as the red of the 'Cannon,' but as to tone I find very little to choose between the two instruments." This second Guarnerius orig- between two of the incarnations, I saw inally belonged to W. Cramer, and latterly it was the property of Alexander Mackenzie, the father of the present principal of the Royal Academy of Music. Mr. Carrodus's Strad. is now used as a solo instrument by his son Bernhard.

took place in the dining-room where I had my dinner, and of which I thought I knew every nook and corner.

But even while I looked, wondered, and recognized, the serpent entered into my Paradise. Glancing round,

at the far end of the dining-room a black object placed on an erection consisting of a chair and a table; it had a tall funnel, and a brilliant, luminous eye. When we entered the room first, my eye, unaccustomed to the gloom, had not noticed it, and I had groped The prices of the Guarnerius instru- my way to a chair in a state of mingled ments are steadily rising, and, having apprehension and expectation, thinkregard to the caprices of fashion, it is ing of nothing but the big white sheet within the measure of probability that stretched in front of me from wall they will yet reach the highest of the to wall. But now I turned to my Strad. figures. In the Times quite re- neighbor, a horribly sophisticated and cently 1,400l. was asked for a violin of elderly person of eight, and asked this make; and another instrument what that black thing was.

DST

She replied: "Oh, don't you know? | Crusoe in the dining-room had gone 's only the magic lantern which forever, and these things are a parable. rows the pictures on to the sheet." The distinguishing characteristic of I was puzzled, and asked what pic- our age, from which even children, as res; and she stared at me in pity I have shown, are not free, is curiid disdain. osity. Our feverish efforts to strip the "Robinson Crusoe, and Miss Moffat," mystery off everything that is lovely e said. are worthy of nobler guests. We have "But they moved about and talked." | resolved the rainbow into its compoI don't know how the moving is nent parts; we have learned that the one," she said, "but of course it's pestilences that walk in darkness are ly your papa talking behind the but battalions of germs and bacteria, eet. I recognized his voice at once." infinitesimally little; we have found I wonder whether Adam took the out that sound is only a vibration, and ople the first time Eve offered it to that color is a vibration as well, but a im, or whether he did not rather re- quicker one; and, above all, we love Pect it at first, and whether, one after- to find out domestic details respecting oon, when he had nothing particular the lives of eminent artists, poets, and do, the thought of it recurred to his writers. Lawakened curiosity. At any rate, it as so with me: I devoted my attenon for the rest of the evening to the carnation of Fairyland, and it was ot till two days afterwards, when it vas raining and I could not go out, hat the thought of the fatal apple ame back to me. I reasoned with ayself; I quibbled and hesitated; I aid that I only wanted to know what had become of the curious black monter with the fiery eye, but I knew it vas not so. What I really wanted to know was the truth or the falsehood of the sophisticated person's statement. And so I went up-stairs to the lumber

room.

History, even the humblest, repeats itself, and only two days ago the apple of knowledge again presented itself to my unoccupied gaze on a rainy afternoon, as I lounged in a well-furnished library, in the shape of a complete series of "English Men of Letters," edited by Mr. John Morley. In the same library I had only lately spent a delightful hour over the "Essays of Elia," and my eye naturally sought the label "Charles Lamb." Why did I not stop there? Why did I not refrain from opening the mean deal box in the lumber-room? I do not know perhaps because I am human, if that helps at all; but, in point of fact, I did not stop there; the volume was a handy one, its bright red cover alluring when I compared it with the sombre, dripping sky. An armchair was by the fire, and I sat down and opened it.

The black monster stood there on the floor, but his eye was not luminous. took hold of the chimney, and my hands became sooty; I opened his side he was only made of japanned tin; and there was a lamp which smelt of My informant on the subject of oil. Beside him stood a mean deal box Charles Lamb, the cook who dished up of unpretentious dimensions, and in the domestic details, was Alfred Ainger; the box were little painted glass slides I found his style most agreeable and like handles, and as I slid them up readable; he told his story with great and down, the spider entered to Miss constructive clearness and lightness of Moffat, and Miss Moffat left the tuffet; touch, and I read on till I had finished Jack made his dismal little way up a the volume. Then I rose from the tiny beanstalk; only Robinson Crusoe, chair with a desire to read more that because he had no handle, sat unmoved | Alfred Ainger had written, and a newon the pink shore of a most desolate born disinclination to read the writings land. The sophisticated person was of Charles Lamb. That the disinclinaquite right, the possibility of casually tion is temporary I hope and trust; but meeting Miss Moffat and Robinson I know that I shall have to forget what

Alfred Ainger has told me, before I find the same charm I used to find in Elia.

total stranger asked Wordsworth whether he did not think Milton a great genius. Lamb was dozing by the fire; Charles Lamb, I learned, used to but he turned round and said: "Pray, drink too much, and apparently he was sir, did you say Milton was a great at his best when he had done so. I genius?" "No, sir," said the strapam not objecting to that in itself-Iger, with pardonable severity, "I asked wish to pass no moral judgment of any Mr. Wordsworth if he were not?" kind; but this habit does not suit with "Oh," said Lamb, "then you are a the idea I had formed of the author of silly fellow." This is ill-bred enough these tender, pathetic sketches. He in all conscience, but worse was to folhad a Jewish nose, and a complexion low. An " "awful pause ensued, as so dark" that, when taken in combina- well it might, and then the unfortunate tion with his complete suit of solemn stranger said: "Don't you think Newblack, it suggested an image cut in ton a great genius?" Haydon, the ebony." A most enthusiastic friend host, says he could stand it no longer; admits that to those who did not know and Keats affected to read a book. him he passed for something between Ritchie, of whom we have not heard an imbecile, a brute, and a buffoon, before, and of whom I was glad to see and that the first impression he made we do not hear again, squeezed in a on ordinary people was always unfa- laugh." The rest of the paragraph is vorable, sometimes to a violent and worth quoting verbatim. repulsive degree. To Carlyle he and his sister appeared two very sorry phenomena," and Lamb's talk a ghastly make-believe of wit." He was in the habit of "stuttering out senseless puns; "nine times out of ten he contrived by this device to send away a whole company of his enemies. In fact, to judge by the account of one who is obviously a great admirer of his, he was one of those most tiresome individuals who are always silent when they ought to be talking, and who often say what they ought not when they should have been silent.

66

on the

Lamb got up, and, taking a candle, said, "Would you allow me to examine your phrenological development?" He then turned his back poor man -the unfortunate stranger was a comptroller of stamps-and at every question of the comptroller he chanted:

Diddle, diddle dumpling, my son John
Went to bed with his breeches on.

Lamb continued to give obbligato encores of this doggrel rhyme, and then rising, exclaimed, "Do let me have another look at that gentleman's organs.' His friends very properly hurried him out of the room, but until he left the house he could be heard calling at intervals, "Who is that fellow? Allow me to see his organs once more."

Next to his execrable manners, his habit of making puns must have been

Again, we are told that at a game of whist, when, as one may charitably suppose, his tongue was unloosed by brandy-and-water- a favorite drink of his-his talk "ranged from the maddest drollery to the subtlest criticism," and, he cried, "Martin, if dirt were trumps, what a hand you'd have "most trying. He writes a letter to a Whether this offensive ejaculation is the maddest drollery, the subtlest criticism, or something betwixt and between, I do not know; but I feel perfectly certain that in any case, whether subtle or droll, it was in the worst possible taste. On another occasion, when a total stranger was having tea with Haydon the painter, Wordsworth, Keats, and Charles Lamb, the

friend, in which he records gravely that Hazlitt has written a treatise on grammar which Godwin sells bound up with one of his own on language, "but the grey mare is the better horse." It is only fair to add that he explains this pun at length. This depressing chapter on personal characteristics" ends with a joke about the "wind being tempered to the shorn Lambs."

of Sat

Now, what concerns us most about | and the chances are, both theoretically Charles Lamb is the fact that he wrote and practically, as I shall try to show, "Elia," and because he wrote "Elia "that it will not be. At present we need it is perhaps natural that we should only say that because we see a flower is wish to learn more about him; it beautiful, we do not straightway grub seems to us somehow necessary that at the roots, expecting to find them his domestic life should have about beautiful too, nor are we filled with disit some of the distinction and pathos appointment because they are not. which mark those wouderful pages. They are not even interesting, except But what, if we come to think of it, to the botanist, unless the flower is a can be more unreasonable of us? potato-flower or an artichoke-flower. What has the beauty of "Elia" got to Here, in passing, we may remark that do with the life of Charles Lamb? for the most part beautiful flowers have What charms us in such a book is style, inedible roots, and that the beauty of and style only, a training in good En- an artichoke-flower would seldom fill us glish, coupled with the genius to as- with a desire to learn more about the similate it; its charm does not depend plant, which illustrates the great truth on incidents, but on the skilful pres- which Mr. Ruskin is so fond of inculentation of images in Charles Lamb's cating, that beauty is an end in itself. mind. We are told, and there is every To return for a moment to "Elia," reason to believe it, that "Elia" is what charms in that ideal Lamb is largely autobiographical; but that is not the fact that an old man was the no reason why we should expect the faithful servant of the South Sea House, biography of Charles Lamb to charm that Mrs. Battle was a keen whistus. His ideal autobiography-his player, but the manner in which those ideal of himself, presented by himself things are presented to us. But bein an artistic form—is a widely dif- cause we know that the essays are ferent matter. There is something autobiographical, we are quite wrong pathetic in the "Confession of a if we expect to find any charm in Drunkard," because the subject is Charles Lamb's biography. In themartistically treated; but there is noth-selves the facts are not beautiful. ing beautiful in the fact that Charles Let us suppose, for instance, that Lamb drank more brandy-and-water Mr. Rudyard Kipling was than was good for him, and the knowl- sioned to read "Elia" very carefully edge that he did, if it has any effect on and produce it again in his own words us at all in relation to the "Confession and in the first person; we should, no of a Drunkard," is to produce a certain doubt, get a very charming and whimdisillusionment. The process of pro- sical piece of work, but we should be duction is seldom a beautiful one. The wrong in expecting the admirers of the pictures on the sheet, "Miss Moffat," ,"other" Elia" to be at all charmed with "Robinson Crusoe," and the rest, were it, because Charles Lamb's style is one just as beautiful after I had been to the thing, and Mr. Kipling's quite a differlumber-room and investigated the mean ent thing. Again, if Mr. Kipling wrote deal box, but they would never be the a life of Charles Lamb, it would cersame again. Because Lamb had an tainly be very unlike the essays of admirable style, why should we sup66 Elia," and those who admire the latpose that his domestic life was admi-ter would probably think the former rable, and why are we disappointed much inferior. "Elia" is an artistic when we find it was not ?

If a man writes beautiful prose or beautiful poetry, paints beautiful pictures, or composes beautiful music, we seem to think that his life must be beautiful, or at any rate interesting. It need not be either the one or the other,

commis

work, and need have nothing to do with the personal character of Charles Lamb, indeed we ought to know that in all probability it will not. For art is a life-pervading instinct to a few only; to most it is the result of patient labor and work, cultivating a special gift.