Among the pleasant stories told of him is one similar to an incident previously related of Viotti.  One day, as he was walking in Vienna, Paganini saw poor little Italian boy scraping some Neapolitan songs before the windows of a large house.  A celebrated composer who accompanied the artist remarked to him, “There is one of your compatriots.”  Upon which Paganini evinced a desire to speak to the lad, and went across the street to him for that purpose.  After ascertaining that he was a poor beggar-boy from the other side of the Alps, and that he supported his sick mother, his only relative, by his playing, the great violinist appeared touched.  He literally emptied his pockets into the boy’s hand, and, taking the violin and bow from him, began the most grotesque and extraordinary performance possible.  A crowd soon collected, the great virtuoso was at once recognized by the bystanders, and when he brought the performance to an end, amid the cheers and shouts of all assembled, he handed round the boy’s hat, and made a considerable collection of coin, in which silver pieces were very conspicuous.  He then handed the sum to the young Italian, saying, “Take that to your mother,” and, rejoining his companion, walked off with him, saying, “I hope I’ve done a good turn to that little animal.”  At Berlin, where he soon afterward astonished his crowded audiences by his marvelous playing, the same fanatical enthusiasm ensued; and, with the exception of Palermo, Naples (where he seems to have had many detractors), and Prague, his visits to the various cities of Europe were one continued triumph.  People tried in vain to explain his method of playing, professors criticised him, and pamphlets were published which endeavored to make him out a quack or a charlatan.  It was all to no purpose.  Nothing could arrest his onward course; triumph succeeded triumph wherever he appeared; and, though no one could understand him, every one admired him, and he had only to touch his violin to enchant thousands.  A curious scene occurred at Berlin, at a musical evening party to which Paganini was invited.  A young and presumptuous professor of the violin performed there several pieces with very little effect; he was not aware of the presence of the Genoese giant, whom he did not know even by sight.  Others, however, quickly recognized him, and he was asked to play, which he at first declined, but finally consented to do after urgent solicitation.  Purposely he played a few variations in wretchedly bad style, which caused a suppressed laugh from those ignorant of his identity.  The young professor came forward again and played another selection in a most pretentious and pointed way, as if to crush the daring wretch who had ventured to compete with him.  Paganini again took up the instrument, and played a short piece with such touching pathos and astonishing execution, that the audience sat breathless till the last dying cadence wakened them into thunders of applause, and hearts thrilled as the name “Paganini” crept from mouth to mouth.  The young professor had already vanished from the room, and was never again seen in the house where he had received so severe a lesson.