margin. I was irritated by this barbarous spelling, and told him that for
four centuries 'ancora' had been spelt without an 'h'.

"Quite so," said he, "but I am quoting from Boccaccio, and one should be
exact in quotations."

"I apologize, sir; I see you are a man of letters."

"Well, in a small way. My name is Martinelli."

"Then you are in a great way indeed. I know you by repute, and if I am
not mistaken you are a relation of Calsabigi, who has spoken of you to
me. I have read some of your satires."

"May I ask to whom I have the honour of speaking?"

"My name is Seingalt. Have you finished your edition of the Decameron?"

"I am still at work on it, and trying to increase the number of my
subscribers."

"If you will be so kind I should be glad to be of the number."

"You do me honour."

He gave me a ticket, and seeing that it was only for a guinea I took
four, and telling him I hoped to see him again at the same coffee-house,
the name of which I asked him, he told it me, evidently astonished at my
ignorance; but his surprise vanished when I informed him that I had only
been in London for an hour, and that it was my first visit to the great