his singular ways and his simplicity very diverting.  There was also at the same time at Florence one Maso del Saggio, a fellow marvellously entertaining by his cleverness, dexterity and unfailing resource; who having heard somewhat touching Calandrino’s simplicity, resolved to make fun of him by playing him a trick, and inducing him to believe some prodigy.  And happening one day to come upon Calandrino in the church of San Giovanni, where he sate intently regarding the paintings and intaglios of the tabernacle above the altar, which had then but lately been set there, he deemed time and place convenient for the execution of his design; which he accordingly imparted to one of his comrades:  whereupon the two men drew nigh the place where Calandrino sate alone, and feigning not to see him fell a talking of the virtues of divers stones, of which Maso spoke as aptly and pertinently as if he had been a great and learned lapidary.  Calandrino heard what passed between them, and witting that ’twas no secret, after a while got up, and joined them, to Maso’s no small delight.  He therefore continued his discourse, and being asked by Calandrino, where these stones of such rare virtues were to be found, made answer:—­“Chiefly in Berlinzone, in the land of the Basques.  The district is called Bengodi, and there they bind the vines with sausages, and a denier will buy a goose and a gosling into the bargain; and on a mountain, all of grated Parmesan cheese, dwell folk that do nought else but make macaroni and raviuoli,(1) and boil them in capon’s broth, and then throw them down to be scrambled for; and hard by flows a rivulet of Vernaccia, the best that ever was drunk, and never a drop of water therein.”  “Ah! ’tis a sweet country!” quoth Calandrino; “but tell me, what becomes of the capons that they boil?” “They are all eaten by the Basques,” replied Maso.  Then:—­“Wast thou ever there?” quoth Calandrino.  Whereupon:—­“Was I ever there, sayst thou?” replied Maso.  “Why, if I have been there once, I have been there a thousand times.”  “And how many miles is’t from here?” quoth Calandrino.  “Oh!” returned Maso, “more than thou couldst number in a night without slumber.”  “Farther off, then, than the Abruzzi?” said Calandrino.  “Why, yes, ’tis a bit farther,” replied Maso.

Now Calandrino, like the simple soul that he was, marking the composed and grave countenance with which Maso spoke, could not have believed him more thoroughly, if he had uttered the most patent truth, and thus taking his words for gospel:—­“’Tis a trifle too far for my purse,” quoth he; “were it nigher, I warrant thee, I would go with thee thither one while, just to see the macaroni come tumbling down, and take my fill thereof.  But tell me, so good luck befall thee, are none of these stones, that have these rare virtues, to be found in these regions?” “Ay,” replied Maso, “two sorts of stone are found there, both of virtues extraordinary.  The one sort are the sandstones of Settignano and Montisci,