n one in the thoughts of many English
and Americans; and Casa Guidi, which has been immortalized by Mrs.
Browning's genius, will be as dear to the Anglo-Saxon traveller as
Milton's Florentine residence has been heretofore. Those who now pass by
Casa Guidi fancy an additional gloom has settled upon the dark face of
the old palace, and grieve to think that those windows from which
a spirit-face witnessed two Italian revolutions, and those large
mysterious rooms where a spirit-hand translated the great Italian Cause
into burning verse, and pleaded the rights of humanity in "Aurora
Leigh," are hereafter to be the passing homes of the thoughtless or the
unsympathizing.

Those who have known Casa Guidi as it was could hardly enter the loved
rooms now and speak above a whisper. They who have been so favored
can never forget the square anteroom, with its great picture and
piano-forte, at which the boy Browning passed many an hour,--the
little dining-room covered with tapestry, and where hung medallions
of Tennyson, Carlyle, and Robert Browning,--the long room filled with
plaster casts and studies, which was Mr. Browning's retreat,--and,
dearest of all, the large drawing-room, where she always sat. It opens
upon a balcony filled with plants, and looks out upon the old iron-gray
church of Santa Felice. There was something about this room that seemed
to make it a proper and especial haunt for poets. The dark shadows
and subdued light gave it a dreamy look, which was enhanced by the
tapestry-covered walls and the old pictures of saints that looked
out sadly from their carved frames of black wood. Large book-cases,
constructed of specimens of Florentine carving selected by Mr. Browning,
were brimming over with wise-looking books. Tables were covered with
more gayly bound volumes, the gifts of brother authors. Dante's
grave profile, a cast of Keats's face and brow taken after death, a
pen-and-ink sketch of Tennyson, the genial face of John Kenyon, Mrs.
Browning's good friend and relative, little paintings of the boy
Browning, all attracted the eye in turn, and gave rise to a thousand
musings. A quaint mirror, easy-chairs and sofas, and a hundred nothings
that always add an indescribable charm, were all massed in this room.
But the glory of all, and that which sanctified all, was seated in a low
arm-chair near the door. A small table, strewn with writing-materials,
books, and newspapers, was always by her side.

To those who loved M