For Italy the change is significant enough; in a few more years spontaneous melody will be as rare at Naples or Venice as on the banks of the Thames.
Happily, the musicians errant still strum their mandoline as you dine.
The old trattoria in the Toledo is as good as ever, as bright, as comfortable.

I have found my old corner in one of the little rooms, and something of the old gusto for _zuppa di vongole_.

The homely wine of Posillipo smacks as in days gone by, and is commended to one's lips by a song of the South.

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