1885 AT SAN REMO IO9 



To his Youngest Daughter 



Hotel Beau Sejour, San Remo, March 30, 1885. 



Dearest Babs — We could not stand "beautiful Venice the 

 pride of the sea " any longer. It blew and rained and colded for 

 eight-and-forty hours consecutively. Everybody said it was a 

 most exceptional season, but that did not make us any warmer 

 or prevent your mother from catching an awful cold. So as 

 soon as she got better we packed up and betook ourselves here 

 by way of Milan and Genoa. At Milan it was so like London 

 on a wet day, that except for the want of smoke we might have 

 been in our dear native land. At Genoa we arrived late one 

 afternoon and were off early in the morning — but by dint of 

 taking a tram after dinner (not a dram) and going there and 

 back again we are able to say we have seen that city of palaces. 

 The basements we saw through the tram windows by mixed 

 light of gas and moon may in fact all have belonged to palaces. 

 We are not in a position to say they did not. 



The quick train from Genoa here is believed to go fully 

 twenty-five miles an hour, but starts at 7 a.m., but the early 

 morning air being bad for the health, we took the slow train at 

 9.30, and got here some time in the afternoon. But mind you 

 it is a full eighty miles, and when we were at full speed be- 

 tween the stations — very few donkeys could have gone faster. 

 But the coast scenery is very pretty, and we didn't mind. 



Here we are very well off and as nearly warm as I expect to 

 be before reaching England. You can sit out in the sun with 

 satisfaction, though there is a little knife-edge of wind just to 

 remind us of Florence. Everybody, however, tells us it is quite 

 an exceptional season, and that it ought to be the most balmy air 

 imaginable. Besides there are no end of date-palms and cac- 

 tuses and aloes and odorous flowers in the garden — and the 

 loveliest purple sea you can imagine. 



Well, we shall stop some days and give San Remo a chance 

 — at least a week, unless the weather turns bad. 



As to your postcards which have been sent on from Venice 

 and are really shabby, I am not going to any dinners whatsoever, 

 either Middle Temple or Academy. Just write to both that 

 " Mr. H. regrets he is unable to accept the invitation with which 

 have honoured him." * 



* " It's like putting the shutters up," he said sadly to his wife, 

 when he felt unable to attend the Royal Academy dinner as he had 

 done for many years. 



