lation of Voltaire's "Henriade" into Italian verse. Tasso himself
could not have done it better. He said he hoped to finish the poem at
Florence, and to present it to the grand duke, who would be sure to make
him a magnificent present, and to constitute him his favourite.

I would not undeceive him, but I laughed to myself, knowing that the
grand duke only made a pretence of loving literature. A certain Abbe
Fontaine, a clever man, amused him with a little natural history, the
only science in which he took any interest. He preferred the worst prose
to the best verse, not having sufficient intellect to enjoy the subtle
charms of poetry. In reality he had only two passions--women and money.

After spending two wearisome hours with Medini, whose wit was great and
his judgment small, after heartily repenting of having yielded to my
curiosity and having paid him a visit, I said shortly that I could do
nothing for him. Despair drives men crazy; as I was making for the door,
he seized me by the collar.

He did not reflect in his dire extremity that he had no arms, that I was
stronger than he, that I had twice drawn his blood, and that the police,
the landlord, the vetturirco, and the servants, were in the next room. I
was not coward enough to call for help; I caught hold of his neck with
both hands and squeezed him till he was nearly choked. He had to let go
at last, and then I took hold of his collar and asked him if he had gone
mad.

I sent him against the wall, and opened the door and the police came in.

I told the vetturino that I would on no account be Medini's surety, or be
answerable for him in any way.

Just as I was going out, he leapt forward crying that I must not abandon
him.

I had opened the door, and the police, fearing he would escape, ran
forward to get hold of him. Then began an interesting battle. Medini, who
had no arms, and was only in his dressing-gown, proceeded to distribute
kicks, cuffs, and blows amongst the four cowards, who had their swords at
their sides, whilst I held the door to prevent the Irishman going out and
calling for assistance.

Medini, whose nose was bleeding and his dress all torn, persisted in
fighting till the four policemen let him alone. I liked his courage, and
pitied him.

There was a moment's silence, and I asked his two liveried servants who
were standing by me why they had not helped their master. One said he
owed him six months' wages, and the other said he wanted