Introducing himself to the Italian master as a musician, Corelli asked what was his instrument. Strungk replied that he could play upon the harpsichord, and a little upon the violin; but he particularly wished to hear Corelli on the latter instrument, his fame being widely known. Corelli obligingly consented, and played a piece to the harpsichord accompaniment of Strungk. Strungk afterwards played a toccata, with which Corelli was so much taken that he laid aside his instrument in his transport of admiration. When Strungk had finished at the harpsichord, he took up the violin, and began handling it in a careless manner, whereupon Corelli remarked that he had a good bow-hand, and wanted nothing but practice to become a master of his instrument. At that moment Strungk put the violin out of tune, and played on with such dexterity, attempering the dissonances occasioned by the mistuning with such amazing skill, that Corelli cried out in broken German: "I am called Arcangelo, a name that in the language of my country signifies an Archangel; but let me tell you, that you, Sir, are an Arch-devil!" There is nothing malicious in these stories of the devil and the fiddler; and if Paganini had experienced nothing worse than what has just been related, he might have treated the matter as a joke. But that which malice or envy originated, a "reptile press" promulgated. Innocent of crime, Paganini was branded as a felon; gifted with genius of the rarest order, cultivated to a perfection absolutely unique, his skill was attributed to the aid received from the devil. Add to this his wretched health, and there is both mental and bodily suffering. In his later years he was cut off from intercourse with others, like Beethoven--but with this difference: Beethoven employed a tablet or note-book for his friends to convey their words to him; Paganini transmitted, through a similar medium, his thoughts to others. He was dumb! Is there no brighter side to this picture? If there be, let us turn to it. It is, perhaps, fortunate that no man can be consistent throughout his life; the morose must smile at times, and the misanthrope mitigate his hatred of mankind. Paganini was but human, and his life was not all shadow. Though his intimate friends were few, there were some who were able to place on record details of the private life of the great violinist. Of such, the most useful to biographers was George Harris. He was an Englishman, attached to the Court at Hanover then connected with Britain; a dramatist of a certain order, he accompanied Paganini on his tours in Germany, acting for a time as his secretary, and apparently he was with him when in England. From him we learn a good deal.