to the accompaniment of two violins.[S] La Fantastici preferred the guitar; and I should have preferred either to our jingling harpsichord.  However, a few chords struck at intervals were sufficient to support the voice, and mark the time.  Several airs were tried, and considered before the poet could fix on one suited to his subject and the measure he intended to employ.  In general they were pretty and simple, consisting of very few notes, and more like a chant or recitative, than a regular air:  one of the most beautiful I have obtained, and shall bring with me to England.

The moment Sestini had made his choice, he stepped forward, and without further pause or preparation, began with the first subject upon his list,—­“Il primo Navigatore.”

Gesner’s beautiful Idyl of “The First Navigator,” supplied Sestini with the Story, in all its details; but he versified it with surprizing facility:  and, as far as I could judge, with great spirit and elegance.  He added, too, some trifling circumstances, and several little traits, the naivete of which afforded considerable amusement.  When an accurate rhyme, or apt expression, did not offer itself on the instant it was required, he knit his brows and clenched his fingers with impatience; but I think he never hesitated more than half a second.  At the moment the chord was struck, the rhyme was ready.  In this manner he poured forth between thirty and forty stanzas, with still increasing animation; and wound up his poem with some beautiful images of love, happiness, and innocence.  Of his success I could form some idea by the applauses he received from better judges than myself.

After a few minutes’ repose and a glass of water, he next called on the company to supply him with rhymes for a sonnet.  These, as fast as they were suggested by various persons, he wrote down on a slip of paper.  The last rhyme given was “Ostello,”—­(a common alehouse)—­at which he demurred, and submitting to the company the difficulty of introducing so vulgar a word into an heroic sonnet, respectfully begged that another might be substituted.  A lady called out “Avello” the poetical term for a grave, or a sepulchre, which expression bore a happy analogy to the subject proposed.  The poet smiled, well pleased;—­and stepping forward with the paper in his hand, he immediately, without even a moment’s preparation, recited a sonnet on the second subject upon his list,—­“La Morte di Alfieri.”—­I could better judge of the merit of this effusion, because he spoke it unaccompanied by music; and his enunciation was remarkably distinct.  The subject was popular, and treated with much feeling and poetic fervour.  After lamenting Alfieri as the patriot, as well as the bard, and as the glory of his country, he concluded, by indignantly repelling the supposition that “the latest sparks of genius and freedom were buried in the tomb of Vittorio Alfieri.”  A thunder of applause followed; and cries of “O bravo Sestini! bravo Sestini!” were echoed from the Italian portion of the audience, long after the first acclamations had subsided.  The men rose simultaneously from their seats; and I confess I could hardly keep mine.  The animation of the poet, and the enthusiasm of the audience, sent a thrill through every nerve and filled my eyes with tears.