What? Those lesser thirds so plaintive, sixths diminished, sigh on sigh, Told them something? Those suspensions, those solutions--"Must we die?" Those commiserating sevenths--"Life might last! we can but try!" "Were you happy?"--"Yes."--"And are you still as happy?"--"Yes. And you?" --"Then, more kisses!"--"Did I stop them, when a million seemed so few?" Hark! the dominant's persistence, till it must be answered to! So an octave struck the answer. Oh, they praised you, I dare say! "Brave Galuppi! that was music! good alike at grave and gay! I can always leave off talking when I hear a master play!" Then they left you for your pleasure: till in due time, one by one, Some with lives that came to nothing, some with deeds as well undone, Death came tacitly and took them where they never see the sun. * * * * * (_A Toccata of Galuppi's._) The afternoon wore by quickly, and it was soon time to dress for dinner: for Browning was precise in adhering to the customs of civilised life: and he liked to see his sister seated opposite him, clad in beautiful gowns of sombre richness, and wearing quaint old jewelry. Browning accepted his meals with frank pleasure; he was no ascetic, and "his optimism and his belief in direct Providence led him to make a direct virtue of happiness," and to welcome it in its simplest form. Any guest who might be present was privileged to enjoy that sparkling and many-faceted eloquence to which reference has been made already. But the host was always careful to avoid deep or solemn topics--doubtless because he felt them far too keenly, to use them as mere texts for dinner-table discussion. "If such were broached in his presence, he dismissed them with one strong convincing sentence, and adroitly turned the current of conversation into a shallower channel." Later on, he would probably visit the Goldoni Theatre, where he had a large box: or, if remaining at home, he was often prevailed upon to read aloud. His delivery was forcible and dramatic,--he would strongly emphasise all the light and shade of a poem, and the touches of character in the dialogue. Especially was this the case when reading his own compositions. But often he would say with a smile, "No R. B. to-night!--let us have some real poetry," and would take down a volume of Shelley, Keats or Coleridge.