t have been herself, but another.
It was a rare sight, indeed, to see this frail, spiritual-looking woman,
when she talked upon some phase of her favorite theme, with her great
expressive eyes fairly glowing with the intensity of her feeling, and a
light shining through her face, as from the soul beyond. Her other great
theme was Italy, and upon this she was always eloquent. Indeed, both Mr.
and Mrs. Browning may almost be said to have adopted Italy for their
home, and to have transferred their home affections to her soil. Many
great Englishmen have loved Italy, but none more warmly than the
Brownings. They suffered with her through all those dark hours which
preceded her final emancipation from the foreign yoke, and they aided by
their strong, brave words in bringing about that emancipation. Their
pens were used in her behalf, perhaps too much for their own fame,
because many of the subjects on which they wrote were of somewhat
transient interest and more political than poetical. They were both
friends and helpers to the great statesman Cavour in all his labors for
the reconstruction of Italy, and one of the deepest interests of their
lives was that reconstruction. Mrs. Browning's frail health was really
injured at times by the serious grief she felt for temporary reverses,
and by the absorbing interest she took in the cause.

The dream of her life, a free and united Italy, was fulfilled in
Napoleon's formal recognition of Italian freedom and unity, the very
week she died. It is given to few in this world thus to see the fruition
of their fondest desires, and to pass away just as the clear morning
light is dispelling the shadows of a long night of watching and waiting.
The Napoleonic poems added nothing to her reputation as a poet, and were
much regretted by some of her friends; but her literary reputation was
nothing to her compared with her love for Italy, and she at least had
faith in Napoleon's promises.

Mr. Hilliard, in his "Six Months in Italy," says of the home behind the
Casa Guidi windows:--

"A happier home and a more perfect union than theirs it is not easy
to imagine; and this completeness arises not only from the rare
qualities which each possesses, but from their perfect adaptation
to each other. . . . As he is full of manly power, so she is a type
of the most sensitive and delicate womanhood. . . . I have never
seen a human frame which seemed so nearly a transparent veil