se to an exclamation of surprise he
said: "Oh, it's all in my head, but I shall write it out presently." His
hostess asked if he would not even say what inspired it, to which he
returned:

"Well, the birds twittering in the trees suggested it. You know I don't
like women to wear those things in their bonnets." The poem in question
proved to be "The Lady and the Painter."

Mr. Browning took the greatest enjoyment in the view from Mrs. Bronson's
loggia. "Here," he would say, "we can enjoy beauty without fatigue, and be
protected from sun, wind, and rain." His hostess has related that its
charm made him often break his abstemious habit of refusing the usual five
o'clock refreshment, and that he "loved to hear the hissing urn," and when
occasionally accepting a cup of tea and a biscuit would say, "I think I am
the better for this delicious tea, after all."

Every afternoon at three they all went to drive, exploring the region in
all directions. The driving in Asolo seemed to charm him as did the
gondola excursions in Venice. "He observed everything," said Mrs. Bronson,
"hedges, trees, the fascination of the little river Musone, the great
_carri_ piled high with white and purple grapes. He removed his hat in
returning the salutation of a priest, and touched his hat in returning the
salutation of the poorest peasant, who, after the manner of the country,
lifted his own to greet the passing stranger. 'I always salute the
church,' Mr. Browning would say; 'I respect it.'"

All his life Browning was an early riser. In Asolo, as elsewhere, he began
his day with a cold bath at seven, and at eight he and his sister sat down
to their simple breakfast, their hostess keeping no such heroic hours.
Mrs. Bronson had adopted the foreign fashion of having her light breakfast
served in her room, and her mornings were given to her wide correspondence
and her own reading and study. She was a most accomplished and scholarly
woman, whose goodness of heart and charm of manner were paralleled by her
range of intellectual interests and her grasp of affairs.

After breakfasting Browning and his sister, inseparable companions always,
would start off on their wanderings over the hills. The poet was keenly
interested in searching out the points of interest of his early years in
Asolo; the "echo," the remembered views, the vista whose fascination still
remained for him. From the ruined _rocca_ that crowned the hill, the view
comprised all the violet