far the wily mendicant, to whom Juccio said, “Well, go and try to get money soon, and bring it; you know where to find me, but look sharp about you and the Lord speed you; farewell.”  “Farewell,” said Cola; “and I am well rid of thee,” he whispered to himself, and going upon his way, in a short time he doubled his capital; but he no longer went near his friend Juccio to know how he should invest it.  He had great diversion in telling the story to his companions during their feasts, always concluding, “By St. Lucia!  Juccio is the blinder man of the two:  he thought it was a bold stroke to risk his hundred to double the amount.”

For my own part, I think the blind must possess a more acute intellect than other people, inasmuch as the light, exhibiting such a variety of objects to view, is apt to distract the attention, of which many examples might be adduced.  For instance, two gentlemen may be conversing together on some matter of business, and in the middle of a sentence a fine woman happens to pass by, and they will suddenly stop, gazing after her; or a fine equipage or any other object is enough to turn the current of their thoughts.  And then we are obliged to recollect ourselves, saying, “Where was I?” “What was it that I was observing?”—­a thing which never occurs to a blind man.  The philosopher Democritus very properly on this account knocked his eyes out in order to catch objects in a juster light with his mind’s eye.

It is impossible to describe Juccio’s vexation on going to church and finding the florins were gone.  His regret was far greater than if he had actually lost a hundred of his own; as is known to be the case with all inveterate rogues, half of whose pleasure consists in depriving others of their lawful property.

There are many analogous stories, one of which is the well-known tale of the merchant who, before going on a journey, deposited with a dervish 1,000 sequins, which he thought it prudent to reserve in case of accidents.  When he returned and requested his deposit, the dervish flatly denied that he ever had any of his money.  Upon this the merchant went and laid his case before the kazi, who advised him to return to the dervish and speak pleasantly to him, which he does, but receives nothing but abuse.  He informed the kazi of this, and was told not to go near the dervish for the present, but to be at ease for he should have his money next day.  The kazi then sent for the dervish, and after entertaining him sumptuously, told him that, for certain reasons, he was desirous of removing a considerable sum of money from his house; that he knew of no person in whom he could confide so much as himself; and that if he would come the following evening at a late hour, he should have the precious deposit.  On hearing this, the dervish expressed his gratification that so much confidence should be placed in his integrity, and agreed to take charge of the treasure.  Next day the merchant returned to the kazi, who bade him