"It's not peculiar to Devonshire," answered Campbell; "that is, they have it abroad. At Rome there is a sort of cream or cheese very like it, and very common."
"Will butter and cream keep in so warm a climate?" asked Charles; "I fancied oil was the substitute."
"Rome is not so warm as you fancy," said Willis, "except during the summer."
"Oil? so it is," said Campbell; "thus we read in Scripture of the multiplication of the oil and meal, which seems to answer to bread and butter. The oil in Rome is excellent, so clear and pale; you can eat it as milk."
"The taste, I suppose, is peculiar," observed Charles.
"Just at first," answered Campbell; "but one soon gets used to it. All such substances, milk, butter, cheese, oil, have a particular taste at first, which use alone gets over. The rich Guernsey butter is too much for strangers, while Russians relish whale-oil. Most of our tastes are in a measure artificial."
"It is certainly so with vegetables," said Willis; "when I was a boy I could not eat beans, spinach, asparagus, parsnips, and I think some others."
"Therefore your hermit's fare is not only the most natural, but the only naturally palatable, I suppose,—a crust of bread and a draught from the stream," replied Campbell.
"Or the Clerk of Copmanhurst's dry peas," said Charles.
"The macaroni and grapes of the Neapolitans are as natural and more palatable," said Willis.