have been for a fortnight yet."[134] And from Primiero in 1888, when his strength had considerably declined, a letter tells of unabated pleasure; of mountains “which morning and evening, in turn, transmute literally to gold,” with at times a silver change; of the valley “one green luxuriance”; of the tiger-lilies in the garden above ten feet high, every bloom and every leaf faultless; and of the captive fox, “most engaging of little vixens,” who, to Browning’s great joy, broke her chain and escaped.[135] As each successive volume that he published seemed to him his best, so of his mountain places of abode the last always was the loveliest.

At Venice for a time the quiet Albergo dell’ Universo suited Browning and his sister well, but when Mrs Bronson pressed them to accept the use of a suite of rooms in the Palazzo Giustiniani Recanati and the kind offer was accepted, the gain was considerable; and the Palazzo has historical associations dating from the fifteenth century which pleased Browning’s imagination.  It was his habit to rise early, and after a light breakfast to visit the Public Gardens with his sister.  He had many friends—­Mrs Bronson is our informant—­whose wants or wishes he bore in mind—­the prisoned elephant, the baboon, the kangaroo, the marmosets, the pelicans, the ostrich; three times, with strict punctuality, he made his rounds, and then returned to his apartment.  At noon appeared the second and more substantial breakfast, at which Italian dishes were preferred.  Browning wrote passionately against the vivisection of animals, and strenuously declaimed against the decoration of a lady’s hat with the spoils of birds—­

     Clothed with murder of His best
    Of harmless beings.

He praised God—­for pleasure as he teaches us is praise—­by heartily enjoying ortolans, “a dozen luscious lumps” provided by the cook of the Giustiniani-Recanati palace; to vary his own phrasing, he was

     Fed with murder of His best
    Of harmless beings,

and laughed, innocently enough, with his good sister over the delicious “mouthfuls for cardinals."[136] As if the pleasure of the eye in beauty gained at a bird’s expense were more criminal than the gusto of the tongue in lusciousness, curbed by piquancy, gained at the expense of a dozen other birds!  At three o’clock came the gondola, and it was often directed to the Lido.  “I walk, even in wind and rain, for a couple of hours on Lido,” Browning wrote when nearly seventy, “and enjoy the break of sea on the strip of sand as much as Shelley did in those old days."[137] And to another friend:  “You don’t know how absolutely well I am after my walking, not on the mountains merely, but on the beloved Lido.  Go there, if only to stand and be blown about by the sea wind."[138] At one time he even talked of completing an unfinished villa on the Lido from which “the divine sunsets” could be seen, but the dream-villa faded after the manner of such dreams.  Sunsets, however, and