began to take lessons regularly of the convivial Paulsen.

There is a pathetic story of how Ole induced his father to buy a new
violin for him, and, unable to restrain his desire to play it, he got up
in the night, opened the case, and touched the strings. This furtive
touch merely served to whet his appetite, and he tried the bow. Then he
began to play very softly; then, carried away with enthusiasm, he
played louder and louder, until suddenly he felt the sharp sting of his
father's whip across his shoulders, and the little violin fell to the
floor and was broken.

From 1819 to 1822 Ole Bull received no violin instruction, for Paulsen
had left Bergen without explanation, though it has been hinted that Ole
Bull had outgrown him, and on that account he thought it wise to depart.

In 1822 a Swedish violinist came to Bergen, and Ole took lessons of him.
His name was Lundholm, and he was a pupil of Baillot. Lundholm was very
strict and would admit of no departure from established rules. He quite
failed to make the boy hold his instrument according to the accepted
method, but his custom of making his pupil stand upright, with his head
and back against the wall while playing, no doubt gave to him that
repose and grace of bearing which was so noticeable in later years.
Lundholm was, however, quite unable to control his precocious pupil and
a coolness soon sprung up between them, which appears to have culminated
in the following incident.

On a Tuesday evening, at one of the regular meetings, Lundholm played
Baillot's "Caprizzi," but Ole Bull was much disappointed at the
pedantic, phlegmatic manner in which he rendered the passionate phrases.
When the company went to supper Ole found on the leader's music-rack a