Such was the position in which, at the age of thirty-five, when one might think enough of a man’s zest and freshness are left to give an edge to ambition, Finch found himself. The embarrassments which had overcast his earlier prospects were lifting; royal favour seemed assured; the path to fortune lay open before his feet; and there were his brother Heneage and Lord Conway, the husband of his theosophical sister,[7] who wished for nothing better than to smooth it for him. But Finch was a singularly unenterprising man. With a natural propensity to solitude, increased by exile, and with a desultory inclination to poetry and philosophy, he found the boisterous Court of Charles little to his taste. After a very short stay in England, he went back to Tuscany and Anatomy (1663). His friends, amused rather than annoyed at such perversity, did not cease to conspire for his good, and, next year, they prevailed on him to return and let them make his fortune. Not long afterwards (March 1665) Lord Arlington, then Secretary of State, fulfilled a promise they had extracted from him by appointing Sir John His Majesty’s Minister at Florence. If there was any foreign country which Finch liked, it was Italy: he had, since he came to manhood, resided principally there, had learned its language, and had made himself thoroughly familiar with its manners and customs. If there was any Italian State for which he felt a preference, it was that of Tuscany, where he was highly esteemed and beloved by the Great Duke, his brother Prince Leopold, and every one whose love and esteem were worth having. Yet Finch was not happy. He complained that the dignity of his employment far exceeded the emolument: he would gladly have exchanged it for something better paid at home. His friends agreed; but that ideal something could not be found. The only alternative to Florence was Constantinople. To that post the Finch family, since the Restoration, seemed to have established a sort of prescriptive right: Charles II.’s first representative at the Porte, the Earl of Winchilsea (yet another Heneage Finch), was Sir John’s first cousin, and the second, Sir Daniel Harvey, his elder brother’s near relative by marriage. Sir John could have Constantinople for the asking. But Sir John cherished a profound and, in the light of subsequent events, one might well say, a prophetic aversion to Constantinople: “Nay, though to be sent to Constantinople were a charge of great gaine, yet I would not buy that charge with the affliction so long a separation would create mee,” he wrote to Lord Conway in 1667; and again, a little later: “I doe perfectly abhorr the thoughts of goeing to Constantinople.” He would rather “undertake anything then to be banished any longer from seeing your Lordship and my sister.” But at the same time he admitted, “any thing is better then my present condition, in which I neither enjoy myselfe nor any thing else.”[8] His friends sympathised