116 IN A WINTER CITl.
it had a pot pourri of nationalties, it had some of
the most agreeable persons of every nation; if
trying to be very naughty it generally only became
very duU—that was the doom of modem society
There were charming houses in it, where there
were real wit, real music, and real welcome. If
people saw each other too often, strong friend-
chips could come out of such frequency as weU
as animosities ; and there was a great charm in
the famUiar, easy, pleasant intimacies which so
naturally grew out of the artistic idling under
these sombre and noble waUs, and in the jialaces
where aU the arts once reigned.
She had begun to take the fair city into her
heart, as everyone who has a heart must needs
do, having once dwelt within the oUve girdle of
its pure pale hiUs, and seen its green waters wash
the banks erst peopled with the gorgeous splen¬
dours of the Eenaissance.
She even began to like her daily life in it; the
mornings dreamed away before some favourite
Giorgione or Veronese, or spent in dim old
shops fuU of the oddest mingUng of rubbish and of