It was found that the violin was capable of simulating all the subtle inflexions of song, whether of passion or tenderness, and players sighed for an ideal bow that should be tongue-like in its response to the performer's emotion. A bow that should at once be flexible to "whisper soft nothings in my lady's ear"; strong--to sound a clarion-blast of defiance; and, withal, be ready for any _coquetterie_ or _badinage_ that might suit its owner's whim. This is what Francois Tourte, the starving clockmaker, gave them. We fiddlers have to be very thankful that the master clockmakers of Paris were not more liberal to their employes! Illiterate as he was he at once grasped all the points of art and physics involved, and commenced diligently experimenting with a view to solving the various problems that presented themselves to his consideration. To gain facility in the manipulation of his tools, he made countless bows from old barrel staves; he could not afford to make his first attempts on anything better. When he had attained sufficient skill in the actual workmanship, and had satisfied himself as to the most suitable form, he set to work investigating the question of material. He tried all kinds of wood, and at last decided that the red wood of Pernambuco, then largely imported into Europe for dyeing purposes, was the best. To obtain this in sufficient quantities was no easy matter, for the Anglo-French wars were interfering seriously with international commerce; a circumstance that rendered this material unusually expensive. Then the nature of this wood is not by any means a bow maker's ideal. Billets and logs amounting to several tons in weight may be examined before a piece is found sufficiently free from knots and cracks, and of straight enough grain to be suitable for the purpose. However, genius _and_ a capacity for taking infinite pains overcame all difficulties, and we now have bows worthy of the greatest masterpieces of Cremona. How little are the workings of genius understood by the "painstaking" ones. They cannot conceive the suddenness of inspiration--the almost instantaneous grasp of essentials that precedes the plodding mechanical work necessary even to genius. The results of "infinite pains," or of genius alone are equally unsatisfactory. It is only where these qualities are combined in perfect balance that true greatness can be achieved. In the case of Tourte we have a remarkable example of this combination. His genius made him grasp spontaneously the qualities required, and his capacity for taking infinite pains helped him to produce the perfect bow. He it was who determined finally the length and weight of a bow, its equilibrium, the angle of the hair necessary for a good "attack," the length and breadth of the hair and sundry other points that, prior to 1775, had been quite undecided.