]
The superior was a tall, polite, middle-aged man. "I expected you long
ago," said he; "the Archbishop advised me of your arrival: but we
thought something might have happened, or that you had missed us."
"I prolonged my tour," said I, "beyond the limits of my original
project. The circumstance of this convent having been the burial-place
of Knes Lasar, was a sufficient motive for my on no account missing a
sight of it."
The superior now led us into the refectory, where a long table had
been laid out for dinner, for with the number of Tiuprians, as well as
the monks of this convent, and some from the neighbouring convent of
Manasia, we mustered a very numerous and very gay party. The wine was
excellent; and I could not help thinking with the jovial Abbot of
Quimper:
"Quand nos joyeux verres
Se font des le matin,
Tout le jour, mes freres,
Devient un festin."
By dint of _interlarding_ my discourse with sundry apophthegms of
_Bacon_, and stale paradoxes of Rochefoucaud, I passed current
throughout Servia considerably above my real value; so after the usual
toasts due to the powers that be, the superior proposed my health in a
very long harangue.
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