have read since I came here. Hear and wonder! I have in the first
place read Boccacio's Decameron, a tale of a hundred cantos. He
is a wonderful writer. Whether he tells in humorous or familiar
strains the follies of the silly Calandrino, or the witty pranks
of Buffalmacco and Bruno, or sings in loftier numbers

Dames, knights, and arms, and love, the feats that spring
From courteous minds and generous faith,

or lashes with a noble severity and fearless independence the
vices of the monks and the priestcraft of the established
religion, he is always elegant, amusing, and, what pleases and
surprises most in a writer of so unpolished an age, strikingly
delicate and chastised. I prefer him infinitely to Chaucer. If
you wish for a good specimen of Boccacio, as soon as you have
finished my letter, (which will come, I suppose, by dinner-time,)
send Jane up to the library for Dryden's poems, and you will find
among them several translations from Boccacio, particularly one
entitled "Theodore and Honoria."

But, truly admirable as the bard of Florence is, I must not
permit myself to give him more than his due share of my letter. I
have likewise read Gil Blas, with unbounded admiration of the
abilities of Le Sage. Malden and I have read Thalaba together,
and are proceeding to the Curse of Kehama. Do not think, however,
that I am neglecting more important studies than either Southey
or Boccacio. I have read the greater part of the History of James
I. and Mrs. Montague's essay on Shakspeare, and a great deal of
Gibbon. I never devoured so many books in a fortnight. John
Smith, Bob Hankinson, and I, went over the Hebrew Melodies