A merry party of young people, laughing and shouting, pass by towards the Uffizi we listen to their ringing voices, occupied with themselves, and, youth-like, caring for nothing at the time but their own gaiety, when sud- denly the voices fall, the twanging of the guitar ceases, a curious murmur runs through the merry throng, and not a pleasant murmur; a tall, pale man, with eyes on fire, -and strange, imperious look, has pushed brusquely in amongst them. He seizes the guitar, and, sweeping its strings with passion, causes it to wail like a zither, then peal out like the strains of a military band, and finally settle into the rich chords and settled cadences of a strong harp. All resistance and murmuring ceases as the astonished party follow him, spell-bound. His cravat flies loose, his coat-tails wave madly to and fro, he gesticulates like a maniac, and the irresistible music streams forth louder, wilder, more magical than ever he strides, leaps, dances forward with the guitar, which is no longer a guitar, but the very soul of NICOLO PAGANINI. A few days later still the mystery was cleared up. PAGANINI had been officially called to Florence by the Grand Duchess to superintend the Court concerts, and the whole of the town was soon ringing with his name.