ecdote of Paganini, as related by one who took part
in some of the frequent demands upon his goodness of heart. When
Paganini was in London, he resided at No. 12 Great Pulteney Street, in
a house belonging to the Novellos, next door to which was a "young
ladies'" school, kept by a humpbacked old lady. The girls were
perfectly aware who their next-door neighbour was, and, with the
fondness of female youth for mischief, had nicknamed Paganini "the
devil."

Now, in order to avoid being heard from the street, "the devil" used to
practise his violin in a back room, which happened to be divided only
by a thin partition from the next house. The adjoining room was one
devoted by the old lady to the most advanced of her pupils, and here
they were allowed to do their needlework apart from the others, and
were frequently left to themselves.

When the cat's away, however, the mice will play. The temptation to
make overtures to "the devil" was too great for the young ladies; and
whenever they heard him in his room, while one kept a lookout at the
door for the intrusions of "old humpback," there was a delicate
"tat-tat-tat" at the partition, and a half-singing, half-speaking call,
"Pag-an-in-ee, Pag-an-in-ee--the Carnival--'Carnival de Venise';"
whereupon he would go to his window, open it, and accede to the
request, playing the piece exactly as he did in public, nor did the
maestro ever once fail to gratify the wishes of his fair neighbours.

"Paganini received some enthusiastic receptions in his time, but
probably never a more spontaneous outburst than that which came from a
son of Erin's Isle, after one of his performances in Dublin. On the
occasion in question, Paganini had just completed that successful
effort, the rondo _a la Sicilienne_ from 'La Clochette,' in which was a
silver bell accompaniment to the fiddle, producing a most original
effect (one of those effects, we presume, which have tended to
associate so much of the marvellous with the name of this genius). No
sooner had the outburst of applause ended, than the excited Paddy in
the gallery shouted out as loud as he was able:

"'Arrah now, Paganini, just take a drop o' whisky, my darling, and ring
the bell again like that!'

"At a soiree given by Troupenas, the music publisher, in Paris, in
1830, Paganini gave one of the most wonderful exhibitions of his skill.
Rossini, Tamburini, Lablache, Rubini, De Beriot, and Malibran were of
the party. Malibran, after