The admiration of Mother Hubbard, in that renowned epic of our infancy, on finding her faithful canine attendant travestied in a court-suit, has its parallel in the father's astonishment and laughter at this apparition, in which he was chorused by Padre Fiorenzo, and the others; until, hearing the provincial approaching, they wiped their eyes, and entreated them to remove their impromptu attire; while, to keep them out of further mischief, and provide some employment for the more sober members of the party, they asked the superior's permission to show us the church vestments. This was graciously accorded; and one after another the presses were opened by the monks; and rich brocades, tissues of gold and silver, silks embroidered in various colours, were successively drawn forth, the provincial himself deigning to explain for what they were designed.
The welcome announcement of dinner still found us thus engaged. We were ushered with great glee—for I cannot repeat too often that, with the exception of the provincial, they all seemed as easily set laughing as a parcel of school-boys—into the next room, where our venerable host and the fathers who had previously been making _conversazione_, took their seats with us at the table. We were waited upon by two lay brothers, whose broad smiles and occasional remarks showed they participated in the general hilarity; the provincial himself playing the courteous, attentive host to perfection, seeming to sanction and approve it. To say the repast was seasoned with Attic salt would be a flower of speech; neither was there anything peculiarly droll in the sallies with which Padre Alberto, the _bel esprit_ of the convent, sustained, or, in Father O'Grady's opinion, enhanced his reputation; but there was something so pleasant in the intense childlike happiness of these good Carmelites, that it would have been invidious to scan their intellectual attainments at such a moment. Dr Primrose's oft-quoted words were exactly applicable to that party: “I can't say whether we had more wit among us than usual, but certainly we had more laughing.”
Of the dinner itself, I shall say but little; the readers of these sketches must be by this time familiar with Italian bills of fare. The soup of clear broth, wherein floated little squares of a compound resembling hard custard; the unfailing _lesso_; a _frittura_ of brains and bread-crumbs, sprinkled with powdered sugar; larded capons; a dish of fennel-root, dressed with butter and cheese; roast kid; a pie, of which cocks'-combs were the principal ingredients, with a sweet crust; a _zuppa Inglese_, “on purpose,” the provincial said, “for the English ladies, accustomed from childhood to mix spirits with their food;” and, lastly, Father O'Grady's plum-pudding, but, alas! served in a soup-tureen, for the flour had been forgotten in its composition, and no amount of boiling had availed to give it the desired consistency. Still the innumerable jokes this furnished, amply compensated for its partial failure; the young barrister told them it was exactly like the plum-broth served out at Christmas at St Cross's Hospital, one of the most famous institutions in England, he asserted, for good cheer, and incited every one by example as well as precept to do justice to Father O'Grady's culinary achievements. Though he had already shown himself emulous of a boa constrictor's capacity, he now sent his plate for a second supply, compelling Padre Fiorenzo, as a tribute to friendship, to do the same.