Dear Lady Martin,--The date of your kind letter,--June 18,--would affect me indeed, but for the good conscience I retain despite of appearances. So uncertain have I been as to the course we should take,--my sister and myself--when the time came for leaving town, that it seemed as if 'next week' might be the eventful week when all doubts would disappear--perhaps the strange cold weather and interminable rain made it hard to venture from under one's roof even in fancy of being better lodged elsewhere. This very day week it was the old story--cold--then followed the suffocating eight or nine tropical days which forbade any more delay, and we leave to-morrow for a place called Primiero, near Feltre--where my son and his wife assure us we may be comfortably--and coolly--housed, until we can accompany them to Venice, which we may stay at for a short time. You remember our troubles at Llangollen about the purchase of a Venetian house . . . ? My son, however, nothing daunted, and acting under abler counsels than I was fortunate enough to obtain,* has obtained a still more desirable acquisition, in the shape of the well-known Rezzonico Palace (that of Pope Clement 13th)--and, I believe, is to be congratulated on his bargain. I cannot profess the same interest in this as in the earlier object of his ambition, but am quite satisfied by the evident satisfaction of the 'young people'. So,--by the old law of compensation,--while we may expect pleasant days abroad--our chance is gone of once again enjoying your company in your own lovely Vale of Llangollen;--had we not been pulled otherwise by the inducements we could not resist,--another term of delightful weeks--each tipped with a sweet starry Sunday at the little church leading to the House Beautiful where we took our rest of an evening spent always memorably--this might have been our fortunate lot once again! As it is, perhaps we need more energetic treatment than we should get with you --for both of us are more oppressed than ever by the exigencies of the lengthy season, and require still more bracing air than the gently lulling temperature of Wales. May it be doing you, and dear Sir Theodore, all the good you deserve--throwing in the share due to us, who must forego it! With all love from us both, ever affectionately yours Robert Browning. * Those of Mr. Alexander Malcolm.