iostro,--mere fables. I will believe them when I see this diamond
turn to a wisp of hay. For the rest," he added gravely, "I consider this
illustrious gentleman my friend; and a whisper against his honour and
repute will in future be equivalent to an affront to myself."

Cetoxa was a redoubted swordsman, and excelled in a peculiarly awkward
manoeuvre, which he himself had added to the variations of the stoccata.
The grave gentleman, however anxious for the spiritual weal of the
count, had an equal regard for his own corporeal safety. He contented
himself with a look of compassion, and, turning through the gateway,
ascended the stairs to the gaming-tables.

"Ha, ha!" said Cetoxa, laughing, "our good Loredano is envious of my
diamond. Gentlemen, you sup with me to-night. I assure you I never met a
more delightful, sociable, entertaining person, than my dear friend the
Signor Zanoni."

CHAPTER 1.V.

Quello Ippogifo, grande e strano augello
Lo porta via.
"Orlando Furioso," c. vi. xviii.

(That hippogriff, great and marvellous bird, bears him away.)

And now, accompanying this mysterious Zanoni, am I compelled to bid
a short farewell to Naples. Mount behind me,--mount on my hippogriff,
reader; settle yourself at your ease. I bought the pillion the other
day of a poet who loves his comfort; it has been newly stuffed for
your special accommodation. So, so, we ascend! Look as we ride
aloft,--look!--never fear, hippogriffs never stumble; and every
hippogriff in Italy is warranted to carry elderly gentlemen,--look down
on the gliding landscapes! There, near the ruins of the Oscan's old
Atella, rises Aversa, once the stronghold of the Norman; there gleam the
columns of Capua, above the Vulturnian Stream. Hail to ye, cornfields
and vineyards famous for the old Falernian! Hail to ye, golden
orange-groves of Mola di Gaeta! Hail to ye, sweet shrubs and wild
flowers, omnis copia narium, that clothe the mountain-skirts of the
silent Lautulae! Shall we rest at the Volscian Anxur,--the modern
Terracina,--where the lofty rock stands like the giant that guards the
last borders of the southern land of love? Away, away! and hold your
breath as we flit above the Pontine Marshes. Dreary and desolate, their
miasma is to the gardens we have passed what the rank commonplace of
life is to the heart when it has left love behind.

Mournful Campagna, thou openest on us in majestic sadness. Rome,
seven-hilled Rome! rece