I sat under the spirit of Paganini's power. The flow of his melody
turned the very air into music. I thought I was in the presence of
Divinity as I listened to the warbles, and murmurs, and the ebb and flow
of the silver tides, from his violin. And I said: Music is the dearest
gift of God to man. The sea, the forest, the field, and the meadow, are
the very fountain heads of music.
I believe that Mozart, and Mendelssohn, and Schubert, and Verdi, and all
the great masters, caught their sweetest dreams from nature's musicians.
I think their richest airs of mirth, and gladness, and joy, were stolen
from the purling rivulet and the rippling river. I believe their
grandest inspirations were born of the tempest, and the thunder, and the
rolling billows of the angry ocean.