quickly upon the heels of the victories of Solferino
and San Martino, it is no marvel that what stunned Italy should have
almost killed Mrs. Browning. That it hastened her into the grave is
beyond a doubt, as she never fully shook off the severe attack of
illness occasioned by this check upon her life-hopes. The summer of 1859
was a weary, suffering season for her in consequence; and although the
following winter, passed in Rome, helped to repair the evil that had
been wrought, a heavy cold, caught at the end of the season, (and
for the sake of seeing Rome's gift of swords to Napoleon and Victor
Emmanuel,) told upon her lungs. The autumn of 1860 brought with it
another sorrow in the death of a beloved sister, and this loss seemed
more than Mrs. Browning could bear; but by breathing the soft air of
Rome again she seemed to revive, and indeed wrote that she was "better
in body and soul."

Those who have known Mrs. Browning in later years thought she never
looked better than upon her return to Florence in the first days of last
June, although the overland journey had been unusually fatiguing to her.
But the meeting was a sad one; for Cavour had died, and the national
loss was as severe to her as a personal bereavement. Her deep nature
regarded Italy's benefactor in the light of a friend; for had he not
labored unceasingly for that which was the burden of her song? and could
she allow so great a man to pass away without many a heart-ache? It is
as sublime as it is rare to see such intense appreciation of great deeds
as Mrs. Browning could give. Her fears, too, for Italy, when the patriot
pilot was hurried from the helm, gave rise to much anxiety, until
quieted by the assuring words of the new minister, Ricasoli.

Nor was Mrs. Browning so much engrossed in the Italian regeneration that
she had no thought for other nations and for other wrongs. Her interest
in America was very great,--

"For poets, (bear the word!)
Half-poets even, are still whole democrats:
Oh, not that we're disloyal to the high,
But loyal to the low, and cognizant
Of the less scrutable majesties."

In Mrs. Browning's poem of "A Curse for a Nation," where she foretold
the agony in store for America, and which has fallen upon us with the
swiftness of lightning, she was loath to raise her poet's voice against
us, pleading,--

"For I am hound by gratitude,
By love and blood,
To brothers of mine across the sea,
Who stretch out kindly