While touching upon the subject of worm-holes, a few words more may not be out of place when contemplating the ravages of these voracious creatures. Almost all devotees to the "gentle art" of fiddling have a great horror of the possible presence or the ungauged depths of the mysterious tunnellings the entrance or exit to which will cause a start of dismay in a searcher after the beautiful, when, in an otherwise perfectly preserved specimen of art by one of the giants of old, his eye alights upon that sharply defined circular hole, cut with no uncertainty of purpose, but with a ruinous intent, for it is business with the boring party to consume the whole, if possible, at its leisure and in quietude. This last is an important item in the consideration of the circumstances under which the "gem of art, old master, Cremona, real Strad," or whatever title the wooden structure may have been sailing under. Those who have suffered much from the Italian fiddle-hunting mania--a condition mostly chronic or quite incurable--but who may have kept their "considerating cap" well poised on their head, will know that the worm-eaten fiddles are often devoid of evidence of usage, sometimes even in the absolute sense of the term.
Such a one we may suppose before us now; after lying neglected for generations, or since the time when it was bought by one of our periwigged ancestors from the maker, perhaps after a little haggling about the price, which most likely was one hundredth part of its commercial value at present. It was placed many years since in its present comfortable case, after being taken out of the old ragged leather covered one, with the brass nails along its side. Tradition has it that in long bye-gone days it used to hang suspended from a nail in the oak panelling of the "old house at home," but that during a more recent generation and less musical one, it was placed aside in the old case, as being somewhat interesting from having been brought over to England from some place in Italy during the reign of James II. Later on it was taken from this old case, and placed in one of modern construction, and occasionally was taken out for musical people to see, some of whom expressed their admiration for its elegant form, others for the singular transparency of its varnish. None had come forward with the request to hear what it had to say for itself or what its tone was. But the day came round at last when someone more inquisitive than usual, by nature as well as by training, having inquired as to the possibility of seeing the antiquity, was afforded the rare opportunity and treat of seeing a perfectly preserved Cremona, nearly as possible untouched; the connoisseur was informed that no one had been known to have played upon it. The case is brought forward and opened, the violin, with perhaps one very brown string dangling from it, is taken gently up, the left hand encircling the neck, while the forefingers and thumb of the right, hold the lower part near the tail-piece.