"That little Mrs.Leffers would have read Longfellow in our time; but now she didn't know of his poem on Nuremberg; she was intelligent enough about the place, but you could see that its quaintness was not so precious as it was to us; not so sacred." Her tone entreated him to find more meaning in her words than she had put into them.

"They couldn't have felt as we did about that old ivied wall and that grassy, flowery moat under it; and the beautiful Damenthor and that pile-up of the roofs from the Burg; and those winding streets with their Gothic facades all, cobwebbed with trolley wires; and that yellow, aguish-looking river drowsing through the town under the windows of those overhanging houses; and the market-place, and the squares before the churches, with their queer shops in the nooks and corners round them!" "I see what you mean.

But do you think it's as sacred to us as it would have been twenty-five years ago?
I had an irreverent feeling now and then that Nuremberg was overdoing Nuremberg." "Oh, yes; so had I.We're that modern, if we're not so young as we were." "We were very simple, in those days." "Well, if we were simple, we knew it!" "Yes; we used to like taking our unconsciousness to pieces and looking at it." "We had a good time." "Too good.

Sometimes it seems as if it would have lasted longer if it had not been so good.

We might have our cake now if we hadn't eaten it." "It would be mouldy, though." "I wonder," he said, recurring to the Lefferses; "how we really struck them." "Well, I don't believe they thought we ought to be travelling about alone, quite, at our age." "Oh, not so bad as that!" After a moment he said, "I dare say they don't go round quarrelling on their wedding journey, as we did." "Indeed they do! They had an awful quarrel just before they got to Nuremberg: about his wanting to send some of the baggage to Liverpool by express that she wanted to keep with them.