honeymoon at Venice, to stay with me till to-morrow week only, when
they leave for Liverpool and America--there to pass the winter. During
their short stay, I am bound to consult their convenience, and they
will be engaged in visiting, or being visited by friends, so as to
preclude me from any chance of an hour at my own disposal. If you
please--or, rather, if circumstances permit you to give me the
pleasure of seeing you at twelve on Saturday morning, the first day
when I shall be at liberty, I shall be happy to receive you."

[Illustrations: Manuscript Letter]

The stranger did so arrange that his visit should extend itself over the
magic date of "November 5th," and on that day he stood at the portal to
DeVere Gardens house.

"I was taken up to the poet's study," he writes. "There had been that
day a memorial meeting for Matthew Arnold, to which Browning had been,
and he spoke with reminiscent sadness of Arnold's life.

"'I have been thinking all the way home of his hardships,' said Mr.
Browning. 'He once told me, when I asked why he had not recently
written any poetry, that he could not afford to, but that when he had
saved enough, he intended to give up all other work, and devote
himself to poetry. I wonder if he has turned to it now?' Browning
added musingly."

One interesting incident related by this caller is that, having just been
reading and being greatly impressed by Mr. Nettleship's analysis and
interpretation of "Childe Roland," he asked the author if he accepted it.
"Oh, no," replied Mr. Browning; "not at all. Understand, I don't repudiate
it, either; I only mean that I was conscious of no allegorical intention
in writing it. 'Twas like this; one year in Florence I had been rather
lazy; I resolved that I would write something every day. Well, the first
day I wrote about some roses, suggested by a magnificent basket that some
one had sent my wife. The next day 'Childe Roland' came upon me as a kind
of dream. I had to write it, then and there, and I finished it the same
day, I believe. But it was simply that I had to do it. I did not know then
what I meant beyond that, and I'm sure I don't know now. But I am very
fond of it."

This interesting confession emboldened the visitor to ask if the poet
considered 'James Lee's wife' quite guiltless in her husband's
estrangement. "Well, I'm not sure," replied Mr. Browning; "I was always
ver