laugh, inquiring for the _Signorine
Inglesi_. Presently a short, stout, very stout, priest entered the
room, and, apostrophized as _il Signor Canonico_, was greeted by my
cousins with unfeigned friendliness. It appeared he had known the
family some years before, having been the curate of their parish in
Ancona. The exercise of his duties used occasionally to lead him to my
uncle's house—at such times, for instance, as blessing it at Easter, or
distributing the tickets for confession to the servants—opportunities
which he never failed to improve in a little attempt at converting the
signorine. Now it would be the present of a life of Santa Filomena,
or some other saintly legend, which they were implored to substitute
for other reading; or again, a medal or relic to be suspended round
their necks, and win them to the fold. These simple devices invariably
proving abortive, the poor padre would shake his head, look at them
with tears in his eyes, and plunging his hand into a capacious pocket,
draw thence a goodly packet of sugar-plums, in the discussion whereof
all controversial bitterness was soon forgotten.

These amicable relations had for some time been suspended, owing to
his prospering in the world, and having been translated to a canon's
stall at Loretto—evidently an easy and thriving post. As soon as
the first expressions of pleasure at this unexpected meeting were
over, the canonico was introduced in form to the V——s, the officers,
and the _cugina forestiera_, and had a varied compliment for each
member of the party; after which, without the slightest modulation of
voice, but rather, if possible, pitching it in a higher key, and with
an indescribable play of feature and vivacity of gesture, he began
inveighing against his young friends for not giving him timely notice
that they were coming to Loretto, when they might have eaten _due
bocconi_ (two mouthfuls) at his house. Precisely for this reason, they
replied, had they determined not to apprize him beforehand, knowing his
hospitality would have le