The most securely-guarded state prisoner never experienced so monotonous a course of existence as that to which Paganini condemned himself at home; he left his room with regret, and only seemed happy in perfect solitude. Many have thought his Violin occupied him constantly. Never was error greater--he never touched it except to tune it previously to going to a rehearsal or a concert. “I have laboured enough to acquire my talent,” he would say, “it is time I should rest myself.” The anecdote is perhaps known, of an Englishman, a passionate admirer and amateur of the Violin, who, intent on discovering the secret of the great artist’s study, followed in his steps for more than six months, staying at the same hotels, and always when possible in the next room. Vainly, however, did he seek to hear him study some of his difficulties--the most profound silence reigned in the artist’s apartment. It occurred, however, that on one occasion the rooms of the amateur and the artist were only separated by a door which was not used. Peeping through the keyhole, the curiosity of the amateur was, as it appeared, about to be gratified. He saw Paganini, seated on a sofa, taking from its case the precious Violin, which, on being raised to his shoulder, assured him his long-sought happiness was about to be realized; but not a note was heard, for Paganini merely moved his left hand up and down the finger-board, to calculate certain positions, without using the bow. This done, the Violin was replaced in its case. In utter despair, the Englishman gave up the fruitless pursuit, and returned to England.