On seeing this, the delighted king, wishing to remunerate Ansaldo, sent for many strings of pearls, with gold, silver, and rare precious stones, which he presented to Messer Ansaldo, who, thinking he had made a good profit of his merchandise, spread his sails to the wind, prosecuted his voyage, and returned home immensely rich.
Some time afterwards, he was relating what had occurred between himself and the King of Canaria to a circle of his friends, when one of them, named Giocondo dé Finfali, was seized with a desire to make the voyage to Canaria himself, to try his fortune also; and in order to do so, sold an estate he had in the Val d’Elsa, and invested the money in a great quantity of jewels, together with rings and bracelets of immense value; and having given out that he intended to go to the Holy Land, lest any should blame his resolution, he repaired to Cadiz, where he embarked, and soon arrived at Canaria. He presented his riches to the king, reasoning in this manner—‘If Messer Ansaldo got so much for a paltry pair of cats, how much more will be my just recompence for what I have brought his majesty!’ But the poor man deceived himself, because the King of Canaria, who highly esteemed the present of Giocondo, did not think he could make him a fairer exchange than by giving him a cat; so having sent for a very fine one, son to those which Ansaldo had given him, he presented it to Giocondo; but he, thinking himself insulted, returned miserably poor to Florence, continually cursing the King of Canaria, the rats, and Messer Ansaldo and his cats; but he was wrong, because that good king, in making him a present of a cat, gave him what he considered the most valuable thing in his dominions.”
W. S. T.
INSCRIPTION ON A TOMBSTONE IN THE CHURCHYARD OF YOUGHAL,
OF ANNE MARIA CAREW, AGED 24.
’Tis ever thus, ’tis ever thus, when hope hath built a bow’r
Like that of Eden, wreathed about with many a thornless flow’r,
To dwell therein securely, the self-deceivers trust—
A whirlwind from the desert comes, and all is in the dust.
’Tis ever thus, ’tis ever thus, that when the poor heart clings
With all its finest tendrils, with all its flexile rings,