I might be able to say more of my sense of your goodness: but I can do
no more now than a week ago. You "hope I shall not find too much to
disapprove of": what I ought to protest against, is "a load to sink a
navy--too much honor": how can I put aside your generosity, as if cold
justice--however befitting myself,--would be in better agreement with
your nature? Let it remain as an assurance to younger poets that,
after fifty years' work unattended by any conspicuous recognition, an
over-payment may be made, if there be such another munificent
appreciator as I have been privileged to find--in which case let them,
even if more deserving, be equally grateful.

I have not observed anything in need of correction in the notes. The
"little tablet" was a famous "Last Supper," mentioned by Varwn, (page.
232) and gone astray long ago from the Church of S. Spirito: it turned
up, according to report, in some obscure corner, while I was in
Florence, and was at once acquired by a stranger. I saw it,--genuine
or no, a work of great beauty. (Page 156.) A "canon," in music, is a
piece wherein the subject is repeated--in various keys--and being
strictly obeyed in the repetition, becomes the "Canon"--the imperative
_law_--to what follows. Fifty of such parts would be indeed a notable
peal: to manage three is enough of an achievement for a good musician.

And now,--here is Christmas: all my best wishes go to you and Mrs.
Corson--those of my sister also. She was indeed suffering from grave
indisposition in the summer, but is happily recovered. I could not
venture, under the circumstances, to expose her convalescence to the
accidents of foreign travel--hence our contenting ourselves with Wales
rather than Italy. Shall you be again induced to visit us? Present or
absent, you will remember me always, I trust, as

Yours most affectionately

Robert Browning.

The year of 1887 was an eventful one in that the "Parleyings" were
published in the early spring; that Browning removed from Warwick Crescent
to 29 DeVere Gardens; and that the marriage of his son to Miss Coddington
of New York was celebrated on October 4 of that year, an event that gave
the poet added happiness. To a stranger who had asked permission to call
upon him Browning wrote about this time:

"... My son returns the day after to-morrow with his wife, from their