r doom at
the foot of the blood-spattered wall.

Wild beasts if you like--but men and women--our brothers and our
sisters--alas! born in squalor, bred in vice, and tainted with
hereditary ugliness of body and mind.

* * * * *

Who made them what they are? Let us try to find out, and, if we can, let
us stand the guilty ones up against that wall, and clear them away with
the other human wreckage. But no! neither you nor I would be left to do
the clearing away.

[Illustration]

[Illustration: Portrait of Robert Browning]

CHAPTER XI

SOME INCIDENTS OF ROBERT BROWNING'S VISITS TO THE STUDIO

I well remember, and it is often a source of infinite enjoyment to me to
recall, many a trifling incident connected with the name of Robert
Browning. He was the kindest and most indulgent of friends, and, as
such, I remember him with gratitude and devotion; and he was the most
honourable and lovable of men, and so it was but natural I should honour
and love him.

What I can record about him is mostly of a personal character, and I
only trust that, if any member of a Browning Society happens to come
across these pages, he will not resent my inability to add more than a
few descriptive touches to what is already known of the poet.

He was well aware that I had never really studied his works, in fact
that I had only read a small portion of them; but he made allowances for
that, as for my other shortcomings. He also knew that when, by dint of
perseverance, I did master some difficult pages of his writing, none
could more warmly appreciate the subtle beauties they contained than his
humble friend.

"Last night I read Bishop Blougram," I told him on one occasion. "I
went as far below the surface as I could get, but I need not tell you I
did not reach the bottom."

"Try again," was all he answered; and when I asked who had been his
models, he said that Cardinal Wiseman was his Bishop, and that Gigadibs
was not sketched from any one particular person. The Cardinal, he told
me, had himself reviewed the poem favourably.

I first met Browning at my cousins the Bensons. They occupied one of
those unique houses in that finest of avenues, Kensington Palace
Gardens. Notwithstanding the name, the houses really have gardens, and
command an unlimited view over the grounds which extend from Kensington
to Hyde Park. Inside the hospitable mansion all that was best in the
world of art and literature wo