our vases, so it is the secret of worldly wisdom to replace by fresh, friendships those that fade from our path."
"True philosophy!" exclaimed the Prince. "'Not to admire,' was the Roman's maxim; 'Never to mourn,' is mine. There is nothing in life to grieve for, save, indeed, Signor Zanoni, when some young beauty, on whom we have set our hearts, slips from our grasp. In such a moment we have need of all our wisdom, not to succumb to despair, and shake hands with death. What say you, Signor? You smile! Such never could be your lot. Pledge me in a sentiment — 'Long life to the fortunate lover — a quick release to the baffled suitor?'"
"I pledge you," said Zanoni; and, as the fatal wine was poured into his glass, he repeated, fixing his eyes on the Prince, "I pledge you even in this wine!"
He lifted the glass to his lips. The Prince seemed ghastly pale, while the gaze of his Guest bent upon him, with an intent and stern brightness, beneath which the conscience-striken host cowered and quailed. Not till he had drained his draught, and replaced the glass upon the board, did Zanoni turn his eyes from the Prince; and he then said, "Your wine has been kept too long; it has lost its virtues. It might disagree with many, but do not fear; it will not harm me, Prince. Signor Mascari, you are a judge of the grape; will you favour us with your opinion?"
"Nay," answered Mascari, with well-affected composure, "I like not the wines of Cyprus; they are heating. Perhaps Signor Glyndon may not have the
