And before them all cometh a maiden with dark, glorious eyes, and
she beareth garlands of roses; the moonlight falleth like a
benediction upon the Florentine garden slope, and the night wind
seeketh its cradle in the laurel tree, and fain would sleep to
the song of the nightingale.

As for Judge Methuen, he loves his Boccaccio quite as much as I
do mine, and being somewhat of a versifier he has made a little
poem on the subject, a copy of which I have secured
surreptitiously and do now offer for your delectation:


One day upon a topmost shelf
I found a precious prize indeed,
Which father used to read himself,
But did not want us boys to read;
A brown old book of certain age
(As type and binding seemed to show),
While on the spotted title-page
Appeared the name ``Boccaccio.''

I'd never heard that name before,
But in due season it became
To him who fondly brooded o'er
Those pages a beloved name!
Adown the centuries I walked
Mid pastoral scenes and royal show;
With seigneurs and their dames I talked--
The crony of Boccaccio!