Visited, by appointment, the press of the celebrated Andreoni, who was banished during the late Duke’s reign for suspected liberal tendencies, but is now restored to favour and placed at the head of the Royal Typography.  Signor Andreoni received me with every mark of esteem, and after having shown me some of the finest examples of his work—­such as the Pindar, the Lucretius and the Dante—­accompanied me to a neighbouring coffee-house, where I was introduced to several lovers of agriculture.  Here I learned some particulars of the Duke’s attempted reforms.  He has undertaken the work of draining the vast marsh of Pontesordo, to the west of the city, notorious for its mal’aria; has renounced the monopoly of corn and tobacco; has taken the University out of the hands of the Barnabites, and introduced the teaching of the physical sciences, formerly prohibited by the Church; has spent since his accession near 200,000 liv. on improving the roads throughout the duchy, and is now engaged in framing a constitution which shall deprive the clergy of the greatest part of their privileges and confirm the sovereign’s right to annex ecclesiastical territory for the benefit of the people.

In spite of these radical measures, his Highness is not popular with the masses.  He is accused of irreligion by the monks that he has removed from the University, and his mistress, the daughter of a noted free-thinker who was driven from Piedmont by the Inquisition, is said to have an unholy influence over him.  I am told these rumours are diligently fomented by the late Duke’s minister, now Prior of the Dominican monastery, a man of bigoted views but great astuteness.  The truth is, the people are so completely under the influence of the friars that a word is enough to turn them against their truest benefactors.

In the afternoon I was setting out to visit the Bishop’s gallery when Count Trescorre’s secretary waited on me with an invitation to inspect the estates of the Marchioness of Boscofolto:  an offer I readily accepted—­for what are the masterpieces of Raphael or Cleomenes to the sight of a good turnip field or of a well-kept dairy?

I had heard of Boscofolto, which was given by the late Duke to his mistress, as one of the most productive estates of the duchy; but great was my disappointment on beholding it.  Fine gardens there are, to be sure, clipt walks, leaden statues, and water-works; but as for the farms, all is dirt, neglect, disorder.  Spite of the lady’s wealth, all are let out alla meta, and farmed on principles that would disgrace a savage.  The spade used instead of the plough, the hedges neglected, mole-casts in the pastures, good land run to waste, the peasants starving and indebted—­where, with a little thrift and humanity, all had been smiling plenty!  Learned that on the owner’s death this great property reverts to the Barnabites.