Produced by Ron Swanson
VIOLIN MAKING.
PRINTED BY J. H. LAVENDER AND CO.,
3, GREEN TERRACE, ROSEBERY AVENUE, LONDON, E.C.
[Frontispiece: Walter H. Mayson]
_"THE STRAD" LIBRARY, No. IX._
VIOLIN MAKING
BY
WALTER H. MAYSON.
WITH THIRTY-ONE ILLUSTRATIONS.
SECOND EDITION.
London:
"THE STRAD" OFFICE, 3, GREEN TERRACE, ROSEBERY AVENUE, E.C.
J. LENG & CO., 186, FLEET STREET, E.C.
New York:
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS, 153-157, FIFTH AVENUE.
1909.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
INTRODUCTION . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1
CHAPTER I.
SELECTION OF WOOD . . . . . . . . . . 7
CHAPTER II.
THE BACK . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 20
CHAPTER III.
PURFLING . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 28
CHAPTER IV.
BENDING THE PURFLING . . . . . . . . . 33
CHAPTER V.
MODELLING THE BACK . . . . . . . . . . 36
CHAPTER VI.
WORKING OUT THE BACK . . . . . . . . . 41
CHAPTER VII.
THE BELLY . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 46
CHAPTER VIII.
THICKNESSES OF THE BELLY . . . . . . . 51
CHAPTER IX.
THE SOUNDHOLES . . . . . . . . . . . . 55
CHAPTER X.
THE BASS BAR . . . . . . . . . . . . . 59
CHAPTER XI.
THE RIBS . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 63
CHAPTER XII.
FIXING RIBS, ETC. . . . . . . . . . . 71
CHAPTER XIII.
FIXING THE BELLY . . . . . . . . . . . 75
CHAPTER XIV.
THE SCROLL . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 78
CHAPTER XV.
FIXING NECK, FINGERBOARD, ETC. . . . . 82
CHAPTER XVI.
OF VARNISH AND VARNISHING . . . . . . 88
CHAPTER XVII.
FITTING UP FOR USE . . . . . . . . . . 95
CHAPTER XVIII.
CONCLUSION . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 101
PREFACE.
I do not like Prefaces.
They remind me somewhat of awaiting dinner in a drawing-room after a
long walk in wintry weather. It is one thing to get there an
occasional whiff of viands cooking in the basement of the house, and
quite another to feel the same accentuate your gnawings of hunger.
Therefore, did I touch on motives for writing this book, or sketch
outlines of heads of matters to follow in detail, I should engage
little or no attention, so shall simply refer you who may read this
preface, which is only a fraud, to the matter embodied in the
following pages, for which, at least, I claim Honesty.
WALTER H. MAYSON.
62, OXFORD STREET, C.-ON-M.,
MANCHESTER.
The great success of the previous edition, and the numerous letters
sent in praise of "VIOLIN MAKING," prompts me (the author's son) to
take the opportunity of saying a few words, and to thank the public
for their appreciation of the work.
I have received many communications (several from abroad) from
enthusiasts, bestowing the warmest praise on the writer as a Maker
and an Author; and all are unanimous in declaring that the simple
and explicit style of the work has enabled them to readily grasp the
difficulties pertaining to the Violin as a work of Art. These
correspondents (who are quite strangers to me) have also greatly
commended the high class appearance of the volume, particularly the
excellence of the fine illustrations. Such expressions of approval
would have been gratifying to the late W. H. MAYSON, who, as the
maker of over 800 instruments, had attained complete mastery over
his work. Therefore the reader can have every confidence in
faithfully following all his methods and strictly adhering to every
detail set forth in this volume.
STANSFIELD MAYSON.
48, OXFORD ROAD, MANCHESTER,
_June, 1909_.
INTRODUCTION.
Many admirable works on this interesting subject have appeared in
several languages, but, to my mind, in a form too sternly technical,
cold, if I may be allowed--the writers barely in touch with the
anxious youth or man, who, as amateur, yearns to get at that
knowledge of correct construction without which he scarce may hope
to become a professional violin maker, some notable instances to the
contrary, all the same.
I hold simplicity to be the very essence of the conveyance of matter
from mind to mind, as in words; from mind to eye, as by pencil,
brush, or chisel; palpable or otherwise, the impression intended
should be beyond doubt, and that this end may be secured,
mystification by high flown figures of rhetoric, or false drawing,
or sculpture out of line or proportion, must at the outset of all
work, art work above all, be sternly trodden under foot, and the
solid and truthful experience of ripe years offered with the same
eagerness to impart information as it is awaited by the student.
If you spend ten minutes in _telling_ a man what form an oval
assumes, when you can, by drawing it for him on a blackboard,
present it before his eye in one minute, and more to the purpose,
you not only waste your own time but his also, and commit a breach
of trust, in that you mislead and mystify when it was your duty to
faithfully guide and teach in all sincerity and simplicity.
Therefore I propose, in the following pages, to adopt an entirely
different treatment from any work I have had the honour of studying
on the construction of the violin; writing as though orally
addressing the students, or those anxious to become students, of the
whole world--a vast semicircle of bright faced, intelligent
creatures before me, following eagerly every movement of the
numerous tools I use in the extremely delicate manipulations of the
instrument as it almost imperceptibly assumes that form so noble and
so beloved, and almost devouring the, I hope, lucid explanations,
which, from time to time, I may think it necessary to make, and
which will appear as letterpress, the illustrations speaking for
themselves as the work progresses.
This little thing that I am about to make, this shell of scarce
sixteen ounces in weight, constructed of about eighty pieces of
wood, and united by glue as one complete whole; this, that is a
mighty factor, where mirth, and mirth only, is to the fore, in its
embodiment; this, that draws from the soul the tear which has long
yearned for an outlet of intense sympathy such as it now finds;
this, that beautifies as it ennobles to the pinnacle of sublimity
all music, even as it takes it by the hand, guides and cements it.
What is the origin of this violin or fiddle, and to what country
does the honour belong?
To this day its origin, as a violin, is a contested point, and in my
opinion will so remain; that is to say, how it worked its way, so to
speak, out of now obsolete instruments, into what it is (for it was
certainly a growth, not a complete conception), by whom it was so
worked, and where--these points, aggravating points, if you will,
seeing there is nothing of clearness around them, had better be left
by you where they are; for, when Germany and Italy are supposed
strong claimants, and assert a right not borne out by fact,
according as I read the so-called evidence, it were futile to enter
into discussion destined to have no satisfactory result.
But, though we cannot give this thing a "local habitation," we _can_
give it a name, aye, and a name destined to live as long as lips
move to pronounce it.
And we can make it noble, too, of exquisite shape and colour,
possessing a voice capable of we know not what compass and
expression; just as we can turn it out by the thousand, degrading
the name of art to which it has the impudence to lay claim, on every
feature of its brazen face stamped that nationality which, so far
from seeking, it in vain tries to get rid of.
If in the progress of these lectures I touch on cause and effect in
relation to acoustics, my remarks will be merely superficial,
sufficient for my purpose, but not for him who wishes fully to
master this absorbing doctrine, which he will find most useful
should his purpose be to try experiments in relation to tone.
As to giving diagrams of supposed eccentric or concentrated curves
relative to the vibration of the back or belly of the violin, or to
the motions of the air waves, rapid or slow, that I do not intend to
do; others have done that, with what benefit to their work or their
supposed pupils we may probably ascertain later should more be added
on the subject.
Therefore, gentlemen, if it be your strong, stern desire to sit out
these somewhat prolonged lectures, whilst I endeavour to make for
you, step by step, a true work of art, according to my conception
and in strict accordance with my deeply thought-out principles, and
with such tools as I find most simple and most suitable for the work
I have to do, then do so, and I shall feel highly honoured and very
proud; but, if a lighter, more trivial creation will, or would
satisfy your (craving I will not call it, that suggests pertinacity,
a great end being in view), say, passing fancy, then I would rather
see vacant the place occupied by you, as in such an one I should
take no interest whilst speaking or working, just as that one would
appear of too shallow a nature to absorb lasting benefit from what
was said or done by me.
In concluding this introduction to a subject which I hold to be of
much moment as the leading instrument, never to be replaced by
another, let me beg of you to abandon a half-hearted consideration
of its adoption in actual work later on, unless you be prepared to
suffer for this fine art, a member of the body of which it is your
present thought to become; for, be assured, there _will_ be
suffering, which will dog your progress; aye, and the greater your
talent, so much more will be jealousy of it, from those, at least,
so on the alert to decry that which they cannot create; so much more
will be contumely; so much more will be innuendoes which _can_ not
be met openly, as they certainly _will_ not be in the slimy words
and manner of utterance of bitter heartlessness, that is to say, if
you be made of that stuff which presents to the world an artist, who
is nothing if he be not noble.
Contumely, jealousy, suffering, but not necessarily failure
therefrom, despite an occasional reverse, hard to bear; nay, the
feeling that there is something good in you, and worthy of
acknowledgment and acceptance by the world later on, will spur you
to greater exertion, and act as a mantle beneath which you may
shelter from the cold shower hurled by those so prone to drown or
starve that which, not feeling themselves, they are determined shall
neither spring from nor be passed to the credit of others--enthusiasm.
VIOLIN MAKING
CHAPTER I.
SELECTION OF WOOD.
Many persons of good, practical ability, and moderately versed in
the laws of acoustics, with an eye for form, and not deficient in a
certain conception of art _as_ art; who have the instinct to check
any approach to vulgarity, and work on lines, curves and
thicknesses, more or less true, elegant, and the best for producing
fine tone, have seen, and will yet again see, their efforts of small
avail, cast aside, never to assume even mediocre rank in the stern
array of violins of modern make, much less of those of ancient
Italy, merely because the wood chosen for the instrument made is of
an inferior, probably worthless character, which would have been
employed to much more purpose had it been used in the construction
of a windmill, or the shaft of a mine.
That is to say, if, as I presume and premise, the first germ in the
conception of construction of the instrument be _tone_, as most
assuredly tone it ought to be, not to the detriment of appearance,
or to its subjugation as an art work, but as an adjunct or accessory
of such importance that it is apparent it must imperatively assume
pre-eminence; just as we forget the plain box of the AEolian harp
the moment the strings are struck by the passing gale into the most
exquisite chords; as, on the contrary, do we seem to wish for no
song from the tropical bird of magnificent plumage, and express no
surprise that none comes from it. I may put this more plainly as I
proceed, and in more homely words. What I want to lay before you
now, and must _insist_ upon, is, that you seek for tone, tone before
all. Tone you must get at all cost; and to get it, you must have as
choice wood as ever can be procured, and fashion it into a singing
shell, so that from it pure music may be evolved.
Then you must get this choice wood, but how? Now, the word "choice"
presupposes variety from which to select, as I select or choose
so-and-so, which is my choice. But I use the word in another way, on
the face of it bearing the same significance, but not quite so. I
say it is _fine_, of superb quality for my purpose, which is the
emission of the grandest tone possible, rapid, strong and sonorous,
from two plates of wood, becoming, if they possess these attributes,
choice to me.
We will consider the back wood first. I have thirty pieces from
which to take one, which shall act in conjunction with the belly, to
be selected later on. Some are plain, pear tree, in fact; others are
also plain (I mean as regards figure, or flames, as the Germans
say), and of sycamore, others are of maple. I do not select a
handsome one for its beauty, just as surely as I do not reject an
ordinary one for its plainness. This will show you at once that I am
seeking for that which, to my mind, will yield me the finest tone.
Well, but we must determine this before we go farther, and in the
rough, the initial stage of the wood, supposed to be old, and fit
for the under table of the instrument about to be made. I will try
this one of maple--moderately handsome, looking old, but, I fear,
not quite honest, as it is too heavy for its bulk. I take the half
of it (it being in two parts) and about one third from the top,
having the thick edge, or that to which, later on, I join the other
thick edge, close to my left ear, my left first finger and thumb
grasping it there so as just to free the body for vibration, I
strike it near the lower part of the thin side rapidly, with the
large joint of the first finger of my right hand. With what result?
That of strengthening, almost confirming, my suspicion of its
honesty. For I find a lack of energy, of resonance, and of that
quality to which I apply the word sympathy. It is crude, it is dull,
and it will _not_ do for my purpose.
Well, but as so many go by what so many advocate and so many do, why
not try it by placing the plate in this vice, and applying a well
rosined bow to draw forth its sonority, etc., etc.? I will do so. I
fear many of you, even just in front of me, will scarce gather much
from the thin, miserable stuff which the wood says is its voice, and
which its vendors assert to be old, well dried, and that for which
it was bought. And I pity, indeed, those receding into the misty
background, for nought of this squeak will they hear, and well for
them! But as this second test is condemnatory and more and more
convinces me of the unworthiness of the wood for a violin of high
class (or of any violin destined to live), let me put it to a still
more searching one, in fact, to two, neither of which, I venture to
assert, will it bear.
I clamp it to the bench and proceed to cut with a gouge several
pieces from the _surface_ of an area of about three inches, close to
the thick edge. These I lay aside as No. 1. Deeper, but still from
the same area, more, as No. 2. Deeper, but not now as deep as
before, for an obvious reason, according to my theory, which is my
last heap and No. 3. Now, gentlemen, will you pass round this
handful. No. 1, what is there about it? Really, an acid smell! and
No. 2, the same, but less pungent; No. 3, less still! Well, there
you have absolute proof of roguery, which, if it were lacking in
strength, would be borne out by the diminution of the lying brown
colour towards the centre of the wood, that colour, not of age, but
of fraud, which, named acid, affects the surface more than the
interior, and which the novice gloats over as old and pure as God's
mountains!
Well, but in addition to these two farther tests of smell and
colour--making wood, almost green wood, of probably not more than
four years old, appear to the ignorant one hundred--there is another
which I often use, and that is, as I do now, I make the plate rigid,
but free to vibrate, so as to allow those mysterious motions play,
and I place my ear at one extremity whilst I scratch or scrape, or
move the rosined bow over the other.
With a similar result--the tone is not what I want, nor what it
ought to be from a piece of really old, well grown wood. But mind,
it does not follow that, given these conditions, the genuine thing
would be what I want; but there would be more likelihood of its
being so, and less annoyance in laying it aside us worthless, as I
do this, selecting, for a second trial, a piece of what I call
crabbed wood, known by a peculiar curl, and its very handsome and
uncommon appearance.
But before I test this, I must tell you that none but a workman of
great skill would undertake to put it to use, as it is so "crabbed,"
so twisted in its fibre, that on the least carelessness of the
artist, out flies a chip from where it should not, and a very
delicate operation is resorted to in consequence to amend the
blunder--insertion of a slip which must match the grain of the
original every way, not only in flame, but even just as the flash of
that fire falls in its movement when it becomes part of a violin.
I have said earlier "I do not select handsome wood for its beauty,"
etc., and the loveliness of this piece must not tempt me to
sacrifice what I hold of more consequence--tone. But I should do so
did I now choose it; for it is weak where it should be strong, and
poor, flabby and wretched from the view of acoustics.
So you see how difficult it is even for the eye of experience and
the mind of knowledge to wade through the vile to the pure
uncontaminated: how much more so him, the sanguine amateur, at once
the plaything and the dupe of those who do not scruple to beguile
him by the one to the safe usage of the other!
Still, do not let it be supposed that this slight tinge of the minor
key is intended to make you despond; on the contrary, I want to show
you better things, and mean to do so. And should the doing of it
seem to prolong this part of my address beyond moderate limits, my
excuse must be its deep importance.
I have laid aside three pieces of sycamore, all, as I believe, very
good for the back I purpose making. One is what is called "on the
quarter," the other two "on the slab" (these terms I shall explain
later, when I have fully spoken of the selection of wood). The two
on the slab are in one piece, of course; the one on the quarter in
two pieces, one of which, while I have been speaking, I have glued
slightly, but firmly, to an upright support of glass, made very
rough at the place where I fix the plate, so that the glue may the
better hold, temporarily.
The glass, being a non-conductor (or, if it respond in any way,
however infinitesimally, it does not perceptibly affect my plate,
and in no way my argument), leaves me the absolute control of this
wood, and I proceed to lay an English lever watch on several places
of it, keeping my ear near to that nodal point where I know will
come the inner bout, or D of the violin, consequently the bridge,
which I mark with a X. The tick-tack of the watch varies in strength
as I get farther from or nearer to a nodal point, as, of course, it
was bound to do; but, from experience, it is a fine-toned piece of
wood. I detach it from the glass rod, and I try it by my finger and
thumb test, and the vibrations and their quality are all I could
desire. The signs of age appear genuine: the small pieces I cut from
it do not give out any smell which they should not, and I pronounce
the wood honest. I try the two whole backs, on the slab: both are
good, one very fine in tone and handsome in appearance, which I
finally select for the violin about to be made.
Well, but you may say, in all your experiments, it appears to us the
result is a question of degree. Exactly, a question of degree, as
purity of air is, but who chooses the foul when he can live in the
pure? As with flowers in their unassuming simplicity up to such
elegance of form, colour and fragrance, that we stand amazed before
them! As with man, from the worse than bestial state to which
intemperance and crime have brought him, to the calm majesty of that
eminence, attained only by the love of truth, of self-government,
and scorn of evil-doing!
This question of degree strikes at the root of the whole subject
before you: for, upon how you answer it, or to what person or
persons you repair for guidance in the selection of wood (being
novices), will depend in a great measure your success or failure in
the instrument yet unmade.
The upper table or belly, made of pine, Swiss pine by preference, is
the most important factor in the production of tone, consequently
that to which the chief attention of the artist should be directed.
No matter how good be his back or his ribs, or the sweep of his
lines or curves, or quality of his varnish and its elasticity or its
superb colour, the selection of wood for his upper table or belly,
or soundboard, must be his chief concern, and neither money nor
energy spared to secure the best.
Well, I have by me several, of various degrees of excellence, and
some of very doubtful reputation; nay, I may at once say they are
bad--even by their look they are bad. This one is fairly straight in
the grain, but it has been dried artificially, not as were the
backs, yet more wickedly treated--impregnated with a deleterious
something having the power of destroying a germ destined, if left to
age, to become the soul of resonance, bringing it at once to a
wretched maturity, its cells starved so, that when the strain of
three hours' play in a hot room is put upon it, dumb is its voice,
poor at the best, and it is played out.
Do you not see that the soft part of the wood running between the
lines or reeds, and where lie the cells of the pine, are too rapidly
agitated, and cannot possibly hold their own under such worn-out
conditions? whereas, given honest wood and genuine age, we should
get strength to resist, and from such resistance would come what we
seek, richness, possible only from sound resonance.
For these cells must have the vigour of mature age, if that age be
150 years when naturally dried, in them; and my contention is, that
the soundest is that which has not been robbed of its sap, as
turpentine, before it be felled on the mountain side; but cut when
well-grown, and well looked after for some years, then cut on the
quarter (of which, later), and left for at _least_ seven more years
before we use it; and mind, even then, it is _new wood_.
I say, this is _my_ contention, and how I account for many superior,
great-souled violins, which it has been my hard struggle to produce,
yet now gaze on with pride; almost glorying in that enthusiasm which
enabled me to combat all against my theory, and do that which I
believe was done two hundred years ago, to such fine issues, reviled
or not for so doing, is now to me of little consequence.
Yet you must be told that there has been fierce, very fierce,
controversy on this point, some going half-way and asserting only a
portion of the sap should be withdrawn; some (and one of them a
great chemist, a friend of mine) fighting hard to have it all taken
away, and artificially dried after that! Does nature do this to the
lungs of a Madame Patti or a Sims Reeves before she turns them on
the world? Nonsense!
But it is tests you want, and I will supply another, somewhat
original. This piece I called above, bad, I lay aside, as No. 1;
another, worse in grain, but, I believe, honest, as far as having
the sap left in it goes, but not old, No. 2; and a magnificent piece
of very old Swiss pine, brown, and honestly brown, with, probably,
two or three hundred years of exposure as a beam in a Swiss chalet
(for from that place and that dwelling I am prepared to prove it
comes to me), which I number 3.
The No. 1 is what I call feverish in its vibrations, and would be
certain to give any instrument a hollow tone, an instrument cuddled,
tempered, and made to fit the ear of the expected purchaser by the
experienced one who has it to dispose of. The tone would not be
intermittent--if it were that, we might have some hope of ultimate
fulness and fair quality; but it would be loud and coarse; bawling
when it should be energetic, yet somewhat hoarse, scarce knowing
where to vibrate, it being capable of doing so, and well, when
fairly mature. But that which, like the brazen actress, has a word
or a sentence ready at any moment, and in any key and in any pitch,
say good-bye to _that_ at once.
The No. 2 will be good in about four or five years, but would be bad
to work just now, so we will take up No. 3, upon which I must dwell
somewhat.
I can depend on the gentleman's word who procured this and other
pieces for me; and I imagine his estimate of age is much under the
approximate date, for I should say it was nearer three than two
hundred years old. The colour all through is a mellow brown; the
reed is of medium width, well developed, and nearly equal all over,
and it is singularly bowed from bottom to top, meeting, when joined
(for it is in two parts), just as will a string of a violin when you
hold it in both hands, and twang it to test its equal vibration.
Who is bold enough to assert that this is not a piece of finely
developed virgin pine, grown on the southern slope of some Alp
adjacent to where it had rested so long, in so mean a position for
such finely sounding wood which I have proved it to be, yet destined
to fill such an honourable place in the grand instrument of which I
treat? No one, I venture to reply; but to my mind, and from
experience, it _is_ such, the softer part, where run the cells,
being firm, full, and mellow to the thumb nail on pressure (showing,
I think, good sap lies dried there), which I have found before in
such wood, proved to be grand beyond doubt by its superb tone in a
violin.
But I must give you, besides my other tests, that to which I
occasionally resort. No. 1, you see, is as I intimated, loud and
vulgar, ceasing its vibrations the instant I draw away my test of
bow, etc., etc., whereas No. 2 does behave better in this respect,
but is crude, and must lie some years longer neglected, when it will
be interesting again to test it, by me or some other. No. 3 is all I
could wish, or was prepared for, so I will hasten to the final trial
and bring this lecture to a close, not subjecting this No. 3 to the
trial which the others have undergone, as I am quite convinced of
its great superiority, but shall, along with the others, put it now
to the concluding one.
From each of the three pieces, 1, 2, 3, I cut a slip, and, as you
observe, I put No. 1 in this bright clear fire behind me, prepared
so that it shall be as nearly free from _flame_ as possible, to
enable me to make the manner of burning of each separated piece more
real to you.
From what I have said, leading up to what I now do, I imagine you
will be somewhat prepared for the manner in which No. 1 burns, and
perhaps the other two. But I hardly think you expected such a
wretched flare up as you see here, such a fizzing, spluttering,
ragged exhibition of imbecility. What of that sonority which could
fill a mighty hall where we find five thousand listeners? Is such
flabby nonsense as _this_ to be put into an immortal violin, because
it purports to be fine Swiss pine at tenpence? But I reverence its
ashes, and will lay them aside for a moment, as I wish you to see
them alongside the others, when burnt.
No. 2 is all right as to the sap being in it, but it is too
volatile, somewhat crackling in its burning, yet far more steady in
its flame, not spending its energy in fireworks, nor giving great
cracks, like a whip, and a jump afterwards as No. 1, so we will lay
aside _his_ ashes.
Now, look at No. 3, as _it_ burns; and do not say, "You invariably
have nothing but praise for your best things, how is that?" because,
gentlemen, there is no blame which can be laid to them; that is why,
and that is all. I ask you to look at this No. 3. It is a steady
piece of business altogether. The flame is strong, bright, and
well-sustained, with little or no smoke, and it gradually dies down,
as, if you will allow my fancy, does he who has grown in uprightness
to fine maturity, hale and beautiful to the last. Look at the
remains of the three slips. The first is little more than black
fluff; I can actually blow it away, poor rubbish! while the second
and third are similar to each other, but the No. 3 is more compact,
if I may so say, and this is what its excellence before burning
would prepare one for.
And do you now wonder that I so insist on every test possible being
brought to bear in this important matter of selection? Which of you
would hesitate one moment in his choice between these three bellies
_now_? But you must still bear in mind that what I say _I_ bear out
by test, others will decry as false, as their theory is as
absolutely opposite to mine as the poles. But it will be proved yet,
and on stable grounds; and if I, in conjunction with a man of great
scientific attainments, succeed, on my theory, in the injection of
liquid rosin, or turpentine, into the cells of a piece of
broad-grained pine from which we can be sure its original sap has
been withdrawn, and keep it well exposed to dry air for seven or so
years; by its side a belly, cut from the same piece, in its sapless
state; and then make two violins exactly alike in back and
thicknesses of plates, etc., of the two pieces of pine, the one raw
and sapless, its other half with an injection of rosin; I say we
have done somewhat to allay anxiety on such a vital question, and
can the more readily meet argument should we triumph on the point of
tone--which is our standpoint--or settle down to take the tapped or
the untapped indiscriminately.