Luigi Pulci has furnished the
most peccant exemplar--a compendium of extravagances and incongruities
the farthest removed from the models of a pure age, and resembling
rather the _grylli_ or conceits of a period when mystic meaning was held
a warrant for monstrosity of form; with this difference, that while the
monstrosity is retained, the mystic meaning is absent; in contemptible
contrast with the great poem of Virgil, who, as I long held with
Filelfo, before Landino had taken upon him to expound the same opinion,
embodied the deepest lessons of philosophy in a graceful and well-knit
fable. And I cannot but regard the multiplication of these babbling,
lawless productions, albeit countenanced by the patronage, and in some
degree the example of Lorenzo himself, otherwise a friend to true
learning, as a sign that the glorious hopes of this century are to be
quenched in gloom; nay, that they have been the delusive prologue to an
age worse than that of iron--the age of tinsel and gossamer, in which no
thought has substance enough to be moulded into consistent and lasting
form."

"Once more, pardon," said Nello, opening his palms outwards, and
shrugging his shoulders, "I find myself knowing so many things in good
Tuscan before I have time to think of the Latin for them; and Messer
Luigi's rhymes are always slipping off the lips of my customers:--that
is what corrupts me. And, indeed, talking of customers, I have left my
shop and my reputation too long in the custody of my slow Sandro, who
does not deserve even to be called a _tonsor inequalis_, but rather to
be pronounced simply a bungler in the vulgar tongue. So with your
permission, Messer Bardo, I will take my leave--well understood that I
am at your service whenever Maso calls upon me. It seems a thousand
years till I dress and perfume the damigella's hair, which deserves to
shine in the heavens as a constellation, though indeed it were a pity
for it ever to go so far out of reach."

Three voices made a fugue of friendly farewells to Nello, as he
retreated with a bow to Romola and a beck to Tito. The acute barber saw
that the pretty youngster, who had crept into his liking by some strong
magic, was well launched in Bardo's favourable regard; and satisfied
that his introduction had not miscarried so far, he felt the propriety
of retiring.

The little burst of wrath, called forth by Nello's unlucky quotation,
had diverted Bardo's mind from the feelings which had ju