I was welcomed by a shout; and the cavaliers Benedetto del Castagno and Marco di Castelermo received me with the utmost politeness and warmth of manner. Both these gentlemen were of noble families, and enjoyed a high reputation for courage. The first was a merry Neapolitan, who laughed at everything he said; the second the scarred and sun-burnt knight of Malta, on whose handsome features were marked a stern gravity and settled melancholy, no less striking than his garb. He was now enveloped in the dark mantle of his order, having on the left shoulder an eight-pointed cross, sewn in white velvet upon black cloth; the same sacred badge appeared upon the housings of his horse, and various parts of his attire: in silver on his epaulettes, in red enamel on his black velvet forage cap, and in scarlet cloth on the tops of his white leather gauntlets. To my surprise, I understood that, before marching, solemn mass must be performed; and the Visconte led me to the private oratory, at the altar of which stood Fra Adriano, the chaplain and confessor of the family. The chapel was as gorgeously decorated as many coloured marbles, painted windows, a roof of gilding and fresco, springing from columns covered with the richest mosaic, and shining tessellated floor, could make it. Near the altar stood the celebrated statue of the patron of the Alfieri—Sant’ Ugo. It was of oak, carved, gilt, and evidently of great antiquity; but so hideous that it might have passed for Thor, or any monster-god whom our rude forefathers worshipped in the dark ages of druidical superstition. At St. Eufemio, this image was regarded with the utmost veneration; from a belief in the wondrous miracles it wrought, and a tradition that it had been transported through the air by angels, from the saint’s little hermitage in the beautiful plain near Palermo. Other relics in the chapel were viewed with no less reverence. I was shewn a leg of the cock which crew to Peter, a rag of the virgin’s petticoat, a packet of the egg-shells on which San Lorenzo was broiled, and a tooth of the blessed Ugo! which, from its size and the number of rings, bore so strong a resemblance to the tooth of a horse, that the venerable aspect and earnestness of Adriano scarcely restrained me from laughing outright. "Fra Adriano is the oldest of our Calabrian priests," observed Luigi, in a whisper: "he has been the confessor of our family for three generations."