of paying attention to Greek literature, which it is my desire to devour with avidity, were it but to avoid those wretched translations, which so torment me that there is more pain in reading than pleasure in acquiring knowledge.” He then wrote: “If I undertake a journey to Hungary, it will be unknown to everybody but a few, and down the throats of these I shall cram all sorts of speeches, since I will pretend I have come from here [England].” Apparently matters were soon satisfactorily arranged; for, from this time, Bracciolini commenced to prepare for his forgery. He made good use of the library of Cardinal Beaufort, and searched everywhere for old writers from whom he could gather information respecting the old Roman empire; and, finally, made arrangements for quitting England. In a letter to Niccoli, dated London, July 17th, 1420, he says that he has “skimmed over Aristotle during the spring of the year, not for the purpose of studying him then, but reading and seeing what there was in each of his works.” He had found that sort of “perusal not wholly unprofitable, as he had learnt something every day, superficially though it might be, from understanding Aristotle in his own language, where he found him in the words of translators either incomprehensible or nonsensical.” It was arranged between the three friends that Bracciolini should repair at once to Italy, where consultations could be held frequently, “to deliberate fully what was best to be done;” so, after vainly attempting to dispose of his living, Bracciolini finally departed for France, _en route_ for Italy. Before doing so, however, he wrote to Niccoli, expressing his fear that the forgery he had undertaken was too great a toil for him, but declaring his intention to proceed at all hazards. He says: “I want you to have no distrust; give me the leisure and the time for _writing that history_, and I will do something you will approve. My heart is in the work, though I question my powers ... I have not for four years devoted any attention to literature, nor read a single book that can be considered well written—as you may judge from these letters of mine, which are not what they used to be; but I shall soon get back into my old manner. When I reflect on the merits of the ancient writers of history, I recoil with fear from the undertaking, though, when I consider what are writers of the present day, I recover some confidence in the hope that, if I strive with all my might, I shall be inferior to few of them.” A few days afterwards he wrote his last letter from England to Niccoli on June 25th, 1422, still expressing fear about the ultimate result, and especially the payment: “If Lamberteschi would only place something certain before us, which we could adopt or approve,” he wrote; and “How heartily I hope that Lamberteschi will do what would be agreeable to us both.”