[Footnote M:  Quid times? &c.]

[Footnote N:  Wordsworth.]

[Footnote O:  Beyond Fondi I remarked among the wild myrtle-covered hills, a wreath of white smoke rise as if from under ground, and I asked the postilion what it meant?  He replied with an expressive gesture, “Signora,—­i briganti!” I thought this was a mere trick to alarm us; but it was truth:  within twenty hours after we had passed the spot, a carriage was attacked; and a desperate struggle took place between the banditti and the sentinels, who are placed at regular distances along the road, and within hearing of each other.  Several men were killed, but the robbers at length were obliged to fly.]

[Footnote P:  It is understood that this beautiful group has since been executed in marble for Sir George Beaumont.—­EDITOR.]

[Footnote Q:  Written on an old pedestal in the gardens of the Villa Pamfili, yesterday (March 29th).]

[Footnote R:  See the admirable and eloquent “Essays on Petrarch, by Ugo Foscolo,” which have appeared since this Diary was written—­EDITOR.]

[Footnote S:  Corilla (whose real name was Maddaleno Morelli) often accompanied herself on the violin; not holding it against her shoulder, but resting it in her lap.  She was reckoned a fine performer on this instrument; and for her distinguished talents was crowned in the Capitol in 1779.—­ED.]

[Footnote T:  Othello—­Thou mak’st me call what I intend to do
                      A murder,—­which I thought a sacrifice.—­]

[Footnote U:  Sestini died of a brain fever at Paris in November, 1822.—­ED.]

[Footnote V:  The allusion is to La Francia.  When Raffaelle sent his famous St. Cecilia to Bologna, it was intrusted to the care of La Francia, who was his particular friend, to be unpacked and hung up.  La Francia was old, and had for many years held a high rank in his profession; no sooner had he cast his eyes on the St. Cecilia, than struck with despair at seeing his highest efforts so immeasurably outdone, he was seized with a deep melancholy, and died shortly after.—­ED.]

[Footnote W:  Forsyth complains of some celebrated Madonnas being unimpassioned:  with submission to Forsyth’s taste and acumen—­ought they to be impassioned?]

[Footnote X:  Dr. Holland once told me, that when travelling in Iceland, he had heard one of Mozart’s melodies played and sung by an Icelandic girl, and that some months afterwards he heard the very same air sung to the guitar by a Greek lady at Salonica.  Yet the son of that immortal genius, who has dispensed delight from one extremity of Europe to the other, and from his urn still rules the entranced senses of millions—­Charles Mozart, is a poor music master at Milan! this should not be.]

[Footnote Y:  What Beccaria said in his day is most true of ours, “on paie les musiciens pour emouvoir, on paie les danseurs de corde pour etonner, et la plus grande partie des musiciens veulent faire les danseurs de corde.”]