o the same.

They went to Milan without having patched up their quarrel, but the
Milanese Government ordered them to leave Lombardy, and I never heard
what arrangements they finally came to. Later on I was informed that the
Englishman's bills had all been settled to the uttermost farthing.

Medini, penniless as usual, had taken up his abode in the hotel where I
was staying, bringing with him his mistress, her sister, and her mother,
but with only one servant. He informed me that the grand duke had refused
to listen to any of them at Pisa, where he had received a second order to
leave Tuscany, and so had been obliged to sell everything. Of course he
wanted me to help him, but I turned a deaf ear to his entreaties.

I have never seen this adventurer without his being in a desperate state
of impecuniosity, but he would never learn to abate his luxurious habits,
and always managed to find some way or other out of his difficulties. He
was lucky enough to fall in with a Franciscan monk named De Dominis at
Bologna, the said monk being on his way to Rome to solicit a brief of
'laicisation' from the Pope. He fell in love with Medini's mistress, who
naturally made him pay dearly for her charms.

Medini left at the end of three weeks. He went to Germany, where he
printed his version of the "Henriade," having discovered a Maecenas in
the person of the Elector Palatin. After that he wandered about Europe
for twelve years, and died in a London prison in 1788.

I had always warned him to give England a wide berth, as I felt certain
that if he once went there he would not escape English bolts and bars,
and that if he got on the wrong side of the prison doors he would never
come out alive. He despised my advice, and if he did so with the idea of
proving me a liar, he made a mistake, for he proved me to be a prophet.

Medini had the advantage of high birth, a good education, and
intelligence; but as he was a poor man with luxurious tastes he either
corrected fortune at play or went into debt, and was consequently obliged
to be always on the wing to avoid imprisonment.

He lived in this way for seventy years, and he might possibly be alive
now if he had followed my advice.

Eight years ago Count Torio told me that he had seen Medini in a London
prison, and that the silly fellow confessed he had only come to London
with the hope of proving me to be a liar.

Medini's fate shall never prevent me from giving good advice to a poor
wre