wn around and about
her.

He dates from Casa Alvisi, Canal Grande, Venezia, October, 29, '88, and
after a few introductory sentences, he says:--

"I concluded that on leaving Scotland you would proceed elsewhere than
homewards, and it seemed best to wait till I was sure of finding you.
Even now--I am sorry exceedingly to be still far from sure that this
will go to you safely housed within the old easy reach of De Vere
Gardens--for there shall I live and probably die--not in the Rezzonico,
which is not mine but Pen's: I am staying here only as the guest of a
dearest of friends, Mrs. Bronson, who has cared for the comfort of my
sister and myself this many a year. No; once missing my prize of the
superlatively beautiful Manzoni Palazzo, I have not been tempted to try
a fresh spring unbaulked by rascality. So much for the causes of my
tardiness in thanking you most heartily for the charming Lady of the
Furs: why not give her that title? Everybody here paid the due tribute
to her beauty and your skill. You promised I should witness the
beginning and ending of such another picture--and it is not to be--if
things are as I apprehend. Wherever you go, may all good go with you and
your delightful wife; my two precious friends!

"And now here is a second occasion of sincere thanksgiving. Your letter
arrived yesterday--and I supposed that the gift referred to had been
consigned to the Kensington house: whereas, while I sat preparing the
paper whereon to write, came the very book itself--the dearest of boons
just now. The best way will be to thank you at once, and be certain of
finding plenty more to thank you for when I have read what will interest
me more than anything else I can imagine in the way of biography. Let me
squeeze your hand in spirit, over the many miles, this glorious day--a
sun floods the room from the open window, while an autumnal freshness
makes it more than enjoyable, almost intoxicating. In half-an-hour I
shall be on the Lido--perhaps in a month I may cower by the fireside in
Kensington. Meanwhile and ever, my dear Moscheles, believe me,
gratefully and affectionately yours,

"ROBERT BROWNING."

He was with me one day when a distinguished German officer, Graf D.,
unexpectedly came in. The count was in London to attend some grand
military pageant organised for the benefit of the German Emperor. His
Majesty, on a visit to his royal grandmother, was being entertained with
a right royal show of death-dealing s