of Lucca (a very special hierarchical big-wig, and the greatest ecclesiastical authority in those parts, being, by reason of some ancient and peculiar privileges, a greater man than even the archbishop of Florence), in the course of an argument with the grand duke, the object of which was to induce the latter to modify in some respects some of those anti-ecclesiastical measures by which the elder Leopold had made the prosperity of Tuscany, was so far carried away by his zeal as to declare that the author of the obnoxious constitutions which he wished altered had incurred eternal damnation by the enactment of them.  The grand duke bent his head humbly before the archiepiscopal denunciation, and said nothing in reply.  But when the time came round for the disbursement of the annual sum for masses for Leopold I., his pious grandson declared that it was useless to spend any more money for that purpose, for that the archbishop of Lucca had informed him that his unhappy predecessor’s soul was in hell, and accordingly past help and past being prayed—­or paid—­for.

I remember an amusing instance of the same sort of simple shrewdness on the lookout for the main chance which was exemplified in the above anecdote showing itself in quite a different sphere.  There was in those days living in Florence an Englishman bearing the name of Sloane.  He had made a large fortune by the intelligent and well-ordered management of some copper-mines in the neighborhood of Volterra, which in his hands had turned out to be of exceptional and unexpected richness.  He was a man who did much good with his money, and was considered a very valuable and important citizen of his adopted country.  He was a Roman Catholic too, which made him all the more acceptable to the Florentines, and especially to the grand duke, with whom he was a great favorite.  This Mr. Sloane had bought some years before the date of my anecdote the ancient Medicean villa of Careggi, with a considerable extent of land surrounding it.  One day the grand duke paid him a visit at his villa of Careggi, and in the course of it proposed a walk up the slope of the Apennines through some fine woods that made a part of Mr. Sloane’s property.  They went together, enjoying the delightful walk through the woods over a dry and excellently well-made road, where everything betokened care and good tending, till all of a sudden, near the top of the hill they were climbing, they came to a place where the good road suddenly ended, and the path beyond was all bog and the wood utterly uncared for, so that their walk evidently had to come to an end there, and they would have to retrace their steps.

“Why, Sloane, how is this?  This is not like your way of doing things.  Why did you stop short in your good work?” said the grand duke, as they stood at the limit of the good road, looking out at the slough beyond them.

“In truth, Your Highness, I was sorry that the good road should break off here, but the circumstance is easily explained.  Here ends the property of your humble servant, and there begins the property of Your Royal Highness,” said Sloane with a low bow.