IN A WINTER CITY.
dious taste, and did really know something about
the arts, and such persons suffer very acutely
from what the peculiar mind of your modern
municipalities calls, in its innocence, "improve¬
The Lady Hilda had been to a reception too
the night before, and had gone with the pre¬
conceived conviction that a certain illustrious
Sovereign had not been far wrong when she
had called Floralia the Botany Bay of modern
society; but then the Ludy Hilda was easUy
bored, and not easily pleased, and liked very
few things, almost none ;—she liked her horses,
she Uked M. Worth, she hked bric-k-brac, she
liked her brother. Lord Ciairvaux, and when she
came to think of it,—well, that was really aU.
The Lady Hilda was a beautiful woman, and
knew it; she was dressed in the height of
fashion, i. e., hke a raedij.QVi'i saint out of a
picture; her velvet robe clung close to her, and
her gold belt, with its chains and pouch and
fittings, would not have disgraced Cellini's o^vn
working; her hair was in a cloud in front and
in a club behind; her figure was perfect: M.