The bill of fare on these occasions is more substantial than elegant; as if to indemnify themselves for so seldom partaking of animal food, their wedding-tables are furnished with little else. The repast begins with macaroni, dressed with coarse cheese, gravy, and spices; after which there come quantities of meat, boiled, stewed, and roasted; pigeons and fowls, all with most incongruous sauces of eggs and garlic, vinegar and sugar; upon the composition of which two or three cooks, friends of the family, who have condescendingly volunteered their services for the occasion, have been displaying their abilities. Sweet dishes they do not seem to care for, excepting sometimes _Zuppa Inglese_—sponge-cake, soaked in rum, and covered with custard, so named in compliment to our national taste for ardent spirits, supposed indispensable to a Briton's daily refection. The padrone is seated at the right hand of the sposa, and enters very unaffectedly into the jokes and hilarity of the company; sometimes, under the influence of excitement, one of the party breaks forth into an _improvisazione_, and chants a rude epithalamium in honour of the newly-wedded pair. The native wine circulates freely, and healths are drunk, and showers of sugar-plums discharged at the bride, amidst roars of laughter. These _confetti_, which are villanous compounds of almonds and plaster of Paris, hold the same place at weddings in Southern Italy that bridecake does in England; and are distributed as presents amongst the friends and relations of the families.
Rural christenings, particularly that of the first child, are celebrated much in the same manner. We received an invitation to one in the spring, at the house of some peasants, who were not personal friends, but who asked us out of compliment to a Polish lady, a patroness of theirs, who was to stand god-mother, and with whom we were very intimate. As the ceremony always takes place the day following the birth of the child, we were apprized of the event as soon as it occurred, and requested to hold ourselves in readiness at an early hour the following morning. We set out, a merry party—our friend and her two daughters, my cousins and myself, besides the two ladies-maids of the establishments, friends or connections of our host's, wild with delight, yet never throughout the day transgressing the bounds of the strictest respect towards us. Outside the gates of the town, we found the contadino, all smiles and importance, with his _biroccio_—a primitive cart, rudely painted with heads of saints, wreathed with flaming red and yellow roses, and drawn by two white oxen—waiting to convey us to the scene of festivity. Here we also met the Conte M——, the young owner of the possessione, a perfect stranger to all of us, but who was to be associated in the sponsorial duties with Madame V——, or _la Consolessa_—as she was generally termed, in allusion to the official rank of her husband, who was consul for one of the northern Powers. The introduction was soon effected by his tenant, in compliment to whom all superfluous etiquette seemed laid aside, and the count gallantly placed at our disposal his equipage—a very high, antiquated barouche, with a step like a ladder; to this vehicle was harnessed a cow, the hills we had to ascend being considered too steep for horses; and in it our friend, one of her daughters, myself, and the padrone were accommodated; while the rest of the party took their seats on two rough benches in the cart, which, by way of awning, had a sheet supported on four canes.