Half way to Alefeld, stood a solitary mill. I once entered there during a heavy shower of rain, and gained the good will of the miller’s wife to such a degree, that from that time I was obliged to call every day I passed by, and was treated with coffee, cakes and fruit; for which I used to improvise something upon my violin by way of thanks. I still remember having once so completely ravished her by playing Wranitzky’s variations upon “Du bist liederlich’, into which all the juggles with which Paganini afterwards enchanted the world were introduced, that she would not let me leave her during the whole day. << less