At the Lanfranchi Palace they thought of Byron, to see a curl of whose hair or a glove from whose hand, Browning declares (so foolish was he and ignorant) he would have gone farther than to see all Wordsworth, Coleridge and Southey condensed in Rosicrucian fashion into a vial.

In the Campo Santo they listened to a musical mass for the dead.

In the Duomo they heard the Friar preach.

And early in the morning their dreams were scattered by the harmonious clangour of the church bells.

"I never was happy before in my life," wrote Mrs Browning.