letters which are given me to
publish, written about three weeks after Mrs. Browning's death; and we
see also that by this time his manhood was reacting against the blow,
and bracing itself with such consoling remembrance as the peace and
painlessness of his wife's last moments could afford to him.

Florence: July 19, '61.

Dear Leighton,--It is like your old kindness to write to me and to say
what you do--I know you feel for me. I can't write about it--but there
were many alleviating circumstances that you shall know one day--there
seemed no pain, and (what she would have felt most) the knowledge of
separation from us was spared her. I find these things a comfort indeed.

I shall go away from Italy for many a year--to Paris, then London for a
day or two just to talk with her sister--but if I can see you it will be
a great satisfaction. Don't fancy I am 'prostrated', I have enough to do
for the boy and myself in carrying out her wishes. He is better than one
would have thought, and behaves dearly to me. Everybody has been very
kind.

Tell dear Mrs. Sartoris that I know her heart and thank her with all
mine. After my day or two at London I shall go to some quiet place in
France to get right again and then stay some time at Paris in order to
find out leisurely what it will be best to do for Peni--but eventually I
shall go to England, I suppose. I don't mean to live with anybody, even
my own family, but to occupy myself thoroughly, seeing dear friends,
however, like you. God bless you. Yours ever affectionately, Robert
Browning.

The second is addressed to Miss Haworth.

Florence: July 20, 1861.

My dear Friend,--I well know you feel as you say, for her once and for
me now. Isa Blagden, perfect in all kindness to me, will have told you
something perhaps--and one day I shall see you and be able to tell you
myself as much as I can. The main comfort is that she suffered very
little pain, none beside that ordinarily attending the simple attacks
of cold and cough she was subject to--had no presentiment of the result
whatever, and was consequently spared the misery of knowing she was
about to leave us; she was smilingly assuring me she was 'better',
'quite comfortable--if I would but come to bed,' to within a few minutes
of the last. I think I foreboded evil at Rome, certainly from the
beginning of the week's illness--but when I reasoned about it, there
was no justifying fear--she said on the last evening 'it is me