misses that etherealizing, and yet supernat- | cannot fail to amuse the Grecian ghosts of ural power, which gave to his adjectives their those who fell at Troy. She thus compower. And in another poem she calls in mences:

fragility of constitution, which rendered her | perhaps it would be nearer the exact fact to almost hermetically sealed to the world, we say, half Italian, half Judaical. Of a small have already alluded to. There is another person, very active and slender, his whole fact in her life which demands a notice. She manner is full of a marked courtesy, which had the harrowing trial of beholding a be- conveys the idea of insincerity, although loved brother drowned in her very sight, nothing can be farther from his real nature. while bathing at Torbay, in Devonshire. It That he is most admirably mated, no doubt is another proof of her mental singularity, can exist, for we have never met one who that whilst she has recorded the death of her had less sensuality than the author of first-born child in fantastic verses, she has "Sordello." never even alluded to the other affliction in the most distant manner.

In politics he is sternly but quietly republican, seldom entering into political discussions: indeed, we have heard him repeatedly declare that he considered it infra dig. for a poet to argue-on subjects of government more especially-with the masses; and he carried this pride to such an extent as to seem rather to concur with the mass than to combat the popular opinion. We remember very well, one evening at a friend's house, that he refused to come to the rescue of one of his own favorite opinions; and when reproached by his friend afterwards for his apparent want of sincerity, he rebuked the other for condescending to argue with a mixed company, which he declared was really "throwing pearls before swine."

Mrs. Browning is an ardent admirer of Mazzini and rational liberty, and has sung in her last poem the hopes and fears of a lover of true Italian freedom. We may remark, en passant, as a proof of "the silence of fame," that in a conversation with Miss Catherine Hayes, the celebrated vocalist, the other day, she told us that although she had been in Florence last year for some time, she was unaware of these two great poets residing in that birth-place of Dante. In person Mrs. Browning is petite, fragile and slender; her hair and eyes dark, her ringlets long, her features intellectual and delicately chiselled; her manners pleasant and unaffected, forming a strange contrast There is, however, much in the personal to the half pedantic tone of her muse; her history of Robert Browning, to account voice so soft and low as to be almost in- for this apparent pride and shyness. His audible across the room. She is of all family are of the middle class of gentry, his the English writers of any fame the least father being engaged in commercial purpersonally known, her acquaintance being suits. His mother is half a Creole: he entirely confined to her own family and thus has some fiery blood in his veins. His a small circle of friends. Her disposition parents being partially independent, and is most amiable, and her piety unquestion-detecting in their son, even as early as his able. Her marriage with Browning was, as Shakspeare truly says, "a marriage of true minds." We shall now devote a few words to her husband.

Browning has enjoyed for some two or three years an American fame, his poems having been reprinted here. That he will ever be popular is doubtful, as it requires a study to master his symbols. In the words of Heraud, Browning is a poet who, tired with the old symbols of poetry, cast them aside and invented new. To instance a case: he would not write "red as a rose;" that, he would say, is commonplace-every poetling has said that. No; Browning would select the name of something which nobody had ever heard of. What renders this the more curious, is the fact of his conversation being eminently intelligible. There is, however, something very foreign, indeed half Jewish, about the expression of his countenance; or

fourth year, singular traces of poetical genius, resolved to give him a careful educatian, and, in a word, to devote him to the God of Song. After acquiring the rudiments of education in Camberwell, he was sent to the London University, where he rapidly rose to the head of his class.

As an instance of his singular precocity, we have seen translations he made from Horace and Propertius even so early as in his eighth year. What is still more remarkable, they exhibit the same peculiarities which distinguish his more mature productions.

His chief productions are "Pauline," (his earliest,) published in 1833; "Paracelsus," (1836;) "Sordello," (1841.) His best works are a series of dramas, entitled "Bells and Pomegranates," comprising under this fantastical name some of the most remarkable productions of the age. He is about forty years of age.

sons.

SANTA-ROSA.

[CONCLUDED.]

"NOTTINGHAM, August 26, 1824. "If I have not written to you until this moment, I dared not appear before you know the reason. you. You are a sort of conscience to me; perhaps-I tremble in writing it to you, but I must tell the truth-perhaps I never would have written to you again, and would have renounced the friendship of the man whom I love most on earth, and of whom I think every hour of my life, if I had not been relieved from the sad condition in which

friend!

IN this manner passed the year 1823.] the first of May, 1825. The following are The year 1824 found him in this condition, two letters which I found on my arrival:— sometimes of discouragement, sometimes of exaltation, which by turns filled him with energy of soul and the misery of his position. In the first months of 1824, his let ters became successively rarer, shorter, and more sad; he was struggling against a poverty continually increasing, reproaching himself for asking aid of his embarrassed family, vainly seeking to satisfy his wants by the labors of a journalist, for which occupation he was not at all adapted. His situation became such that it was necessary for him to take a decisive resolution. He determined to quit London and retire to Nottingham, where under another name he earned his livelihood by giving French and Italian lesAdieu to his projects of great works, his dreams of honor and of happiness! The unfortunate man at the age of forty years found that his life was wasting away in an occupation, honorable doubtless, but without end and without aim. He was so much discouraged as to doubt of the future and of himself. For some time he wrote no more to me. I was obliged to inquire of others what had become of him. But soon I was hurried away myself into adventures the most unexpected and most extraordinary. Circumstances having rendered it impossible for the Duchess of Montebello to accompany her eldest son into Germany, she besought me to take her place. The noble widow of Marshal Lannes could not address herself in vain to my friendship, and in the month of September I set out with M. de Montebello for Carlsbad. What happened is well known. Arrested at Dresden, delivered up by Saxony to Prussia, cast into prison at Berlin, my refusal to reply to any question coming from a foreign Government, before the French Government had interfered, prolonged my captivity, and I did not return to Paris until

VOL. VIII. NO. VI. NEW SERIES.

have lived since my arrival in England. I have not been relieved by a resolution, but by an act, the consequence of which does not depend upon myself. But although it should result in nothing, my heart will be discharged of a great burthen, and I shall find the moral energy which I have lost. As soon as I shall ascertain the result of my proceeding, I will write to you. Every thing condemns me, I know, but if I perish, O my it will not be of light wounds. My heart had been cruelly torn before the period of our revolution. I do not know what would have become of me if the I will do myself Italian fever had not seized me. the justice to say that I have not for a single moment been influenced by interest, fear, or any degrading passion. I have been the creature of circumstances. In proportion as time removes these events from me, memory presents my faults with greater vivacity to my imagination. It is always with trembling that I recall that unfortunate affair of Novarre, when the constitutional army was so suddenly routed. That, O my friend! was the second wound; it will always bleed; I am languishing miserably on account of it. I know what replies you will make to these self-reproaches. I have said to myself, I say every day, that great and glorious duties remain for me to perform; but if the strength to fulfil them fails me, if the will, which is the whole man, vacillates continually, what can I do? If my soul is diseased, can its acts be expected to be those of a being full of vigor? I have tried the last remedy. If success attends my undertaking, I shall become myself again, I shall have a return of youth; if otherwise, reinstated in my own eyes, I shall at least lift up my head, I shall recover consciousness of myself. "What must have been your thoughts when you learned that I had become a teacher of languages at Nottingham? What would you have wished me to do! I found myself nearly destitute of

32

"LONDON, October 31, 1824.

money. Feeling that my expenses even for a week in London were imposing sacrifices for whole "To-morrow, my friend, I set out for Greece months upon my family, ashamed to ask new sums with Collegno. If you have received the letter of money, having an insurmountable repugnance which I wrote to you about two weeks since, and to writing for the journals, I determined to have which Count Prosasco was to have delivered to bread which should cost me neither shame nor dis- you on his arrival at Paris, you will not be astontasteful labor. What a wretched business it is to ished at my resolution. Extraordinary means write articles for the public journals! I have had alone could bring me out of my torpor. My disinexperience in it. Mr. Bowring asked me to fur-clination to labor arose from the consciousness nish an article for his Westminster Review. I which I possessed of having a duty still to perform wrote it. Good, very good,' said he, but too in active life. I do not know whether I shall be long. I cut it down. Now it will answer.' Then, useful. I am prepared for every kind of difficulty, at the end of a month: The editor finds it writ-resigned to every thing that is disagreeable. It ten in a spirit which does not suit him; it must be remodelled. I request that it may be returned to me. The demand is pleasantly denied. I leave it, then, to be treated as he pleases. Not long after I receive the proof-sheets; I find in them misconstructions, ridiculous omissions; I correct and arrange every thing, and return the packet to London. Months pass without hearing any thing of it. How fatiguing are all these vicissitudes! Away with articles! I feel the strength to write something else. As soon as I shall receive an answer from London, I will arrange my mode of life. I will go and shut myself up in a garret in London, near a public library; I shall have about forty-five louis d'or, and I shall labor with assiduity.

must be so. Bowring has told me that the English Committee, or at least several of their number, disapproved of my journey. I wish to believe that their motives are right. I do not know as to this, but, in any case, could I, should I retract my word? The Greek deputies alone had the right to retain me, to whom I had offered my services without any condition. They have not done so, and I am about to set out.

"My friend, I had no sympathy with Spain, and I did not go there, since by so doing I should have been good for nothing. On the contrary, I feel for Greece a love which has something solemn in it; the country of Socrates, do you understand? The Greek people are brave, they are good, and many "I seldom write to Piedmont. The news which centuries of slavery have not been able to destroy I receive from there are excellent in regard to the their fine character. I regard them, too, as brethhealth of my wife and children, and of the affec- ren. In every age the destinies of Italy and tion preserved for me by all my friends. As to Greece have been mingled, and not being able to fortune, my wife had almost prevailed upon Gov-do any thing for my own country, I consider it ernment to restore to her my effects; every thing indeed was concluded; the signature of the King was alone wanting; he has refused it. There is still hope, notwithstanding this first refusal. I suffer things to take their own course, believing that I ought neither to encourage nor hinder these proceedings. I fear, however, that if the King restores my property to my wife and children, he may wish to take charge of the education of my offspring, and I shudder at the idea of my sons being brought up by Jesuits. See, my friend, how many subjects of pain for my heart!

almost as a duty to devote to Greece the few years of strength that still remain to me. I repeat to you that it is very possible that my hope of doing some good may not be realized. But even supposing this to be the case, why should I not live in some corner of Greece, and there labor for myself? The thought of making a new sacrifice to the object of my worship, of that worship which alone is worthy of Divinity, will have restored to me that moral energy without which life is but an insipid dream.

Write

"You have not answered the letter of which I spoke. God forbid that you should have wished Oto punish my silence by imitating it. to me now, I conjure you. Send your letter to Napoli de Romanie, the seat of the Greek Government in the Peloponnesus. Lose no time in doing this.

"I carry your Plato with me. I shall write my first letter at Athens. Give me your commands for the native land of your masters and mine.

"I learn with fear that you have from time to time returns of your old disorder of the chest. my friend! I conjure you to live long enough to give me the sweetest recompense for my sacrifices, your esteem, your approbation, a word of eulogium. If you die before I take the first step in my noble career, I shall stop; I shall no longer have the strength to advance; I shall allow myself to fall. Live, I implore you. You are responsible for us both, for if I suffer the fire which is still "Speak to me particularly of your health; tell in my bosom to be extinguished, shall I live? Is me that you continue to love me, that you recogit living, to rise each morning only to fly from our-nize your friend in the feeling which inspires this selves until evening? Adieu! I embrace you with journey. Adieu, adieu! No one under heaven a heart full of hope. I am sure that you will par- loves you more than I do." don me my long silence. God is my witness that I think of you every day. I write to you in my head, I see you, I am listening to you. What would I not give for two weeks in your society! With what pleasure I call to mind our walks about Alençon, and that adieu of ten minutes at Paris. Adieu once more, Love me always, for I am always the same."

When I received these two letters on my return from Berlin, and on learning at the same time that Santa-Rosa had accomplished his resolution, that the Egyptian army had landed in the Morea, and that Santa-Rosa was before it, I said simply these words to