son, 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 which 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 bookcases
constructed of specimens of Florentine carving 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, 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, which
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."

Here Mrs. Browning held her small court, and here she entertained in the
course of these years many of the most famous men and women of her time.
Almost all visitors to Florence, especially English and American, sought
her acquaintance, and all were kindly received by her. The conversation
was always earnest there; she demanded a great deal of a person,--one
felt it instinctively; and few came to waste her time upon trifles. Her
own conversation was especially earnest, sometimes vivid, and lighted up
by a humor peculiarly her own. She cared nothing for talk about people.
Books and humanity, great deeds, and the great questions of the day,
were the staple of her conversation. Religion, too, was an ever present
topic. She was one of the most religious women of her day, and she
interwove it in all her conversation, as she did in her writings.
Indeed, her religion was a part of herself, and whoever knew her must
know of this strong, deep feeling. One cannot conceive of Mrs. Browning
apart from her religion. She would no