the
Syrians, Armenians, Persians, and Arabians; and, wonderful to say,
convey our wood to the Greeks and Egyptians. From all these countries
they bring back in return articles of merchandise, which they diffuse
over all Europe. They go even as far as the Tanais. The navigation of
our seas does not extend farther north; but, when they have arrived
there, they quit their vessels, and travel on to trade with India and
China; and, after passing the Caucasus and the Ganges, they proceed as
far as the Eastern Ocean."

It is natural to suppose that Petrarch took all proper precautions for
the presentation of his books; nevertheless, they are not now to be seen
at Venice. Tomasini tells us that they had been placed at the top of the
church of St. Mark, that he demanded a sight of them, but that he found
them almost entirely spoiled, and some of them even petrified.

Whilst Petrarch was forming his new establishment at Venice, the news
arrived that Pope Innocent VI. had died on the 12th of September. "He
was a good, just, and simple man," says the continuator of Nangis. A
simple man he certainly was, for he believed Petrarch to be a sorcerer
on account of his reading Virgil. Innocent was succeeded in the
pontificate, to the surprise of all the world, by William Grimoard,
abbot of St. Victor at Marseilles, who took the title of Urban V. The
Cardinals chose him, though he was not of their Sacred College, from
their jealousy lest a pope should be elected from the opposite party of
their own body. Petrarch rejoiced at his election, and ascribed it to
the direct interference of Heaven. De Sade says that the new Pope
desired Petrarch to be the apostolic secretary, but that he was not to
be tempted by a gilded chain.

About this time Petrarch received news of the death of Azzo Correggio,
one of his dearest friends, whose widow and children wrote to him on
this occasion, the latter telling him that they regarded him as a
father.

Boccaccio came to Venice to see Petrarch in 1363, and their meeting was
joyous. They spent delightfully together the months of June, July, and
August, 1363. Boccaccio had not long left him, when, in the following
year, our poet heard of the death of his friend Laelius, and his tears
were still fresh for his loss, when he received another shock in being
bereft of Simonides. It requires a certain age and degree of experience
to appreciate this kind of calamity, when we feel the desolation of
losing our accus