so many of us regard the mortal remains of those they have loved,
or with the solemn or friendly interest in which that tenderness

so often reflects itself in more neutral minds. He would claim
all respect for the corpse, but he would turn away from it.

Another aspect of this feeling shows itself in a letter
to one of his brothers-in-law, Mr. George Moulton-Barrett,

in reference to his wife's monument, with which Mr. Barrett
had professed himself pleased. His tone is characterized

by an almost religious reverence for the memory which that monument enshrines.
He nevertheless writes:

==
`I hope to see it one day -- and, although I have no kind of concern

as to where the old clothes of myself shall be thrown,
yet, if my fortune be such, and my survivors be not unduly troubled,

I should like them to lie in the place I have retained there.
It is no matter, however.'

==
The letter is dated October 19, 1866. He never saw Florence again.

Mr. Browning spent two months with his father and sister at St.-Enogat,
near Dinard, from which place the letter to Miss Blagden was written;

and then proceeded to London, where his wife's sister, Miss Arabel Barrett,
was living. He had declared in his first grief that he would

never keep house again, and he began his solitary life
in lodgings which at his request she had engaged for him;

but the discomfort of this arrangement soon wearied him of it;
and before many months had passed, he had sent to Florence for his furniture,

and settled himself in the house in Warwick Crescent, which possessed,
besides other advantages, that of being close to Delamere Terrace,

where Miss Barrett had taken up her abode.
This first period of Mr. Browning's widowed life was

one of unutterable dreariness, in which the smallest
and yet most unconquerable element was the prosaic ugliness of everything

which surrounded him. It was fifteen years since he had spent a winter
in England; he had never spent one in London. There had been nothing

to break for him the transition from the stately beauty of Florence
to the impressions and associations of the Harrow and Edgware Roads,

and of Paddington Green. He might have escaped this neighbourhood
by way of Westbourne Terrace; but his walks constantly led him

in an easterly direction; and whether in an unconscious hugging of his chains,
or, as was more probable, from the desire to save time, he would drag

his aching heart and reluctant body through the sordidness or the squalor
of this short cut, rather than seek the pleasanter thoroughfares

which were open to him. Even the prettiness of Warwick Crescent
was neutralized for him by the atmosphere of low or ugly life

which encompassed it on almost every side. His haunting dream
was one day to have done with it all; to have fulfilled his mission

with his son, educated him, launched him in a suitable career,
and to go back to sunshine and beauty again. He learned by degrees

to regard London as a home; as the only fitting centre
for the varied energies which were reviving in him;

to feel pride and pleasure in its increasinglypicturesque character.
He even learned to appreciate the outlook from his house --

that `second from the bridge' of which so curious a presentment
had entered into one of the poems of the `Men and Women'* --

in spite of the refuse of humanity which would sometimes yell
at the street corner, or fling stones at his plate-glass.

But all this had to come; and it is only fair to admit
that twenty-nine years ago the beauties of which I have spoken

were in great measure to come also. He could not then in any mood
have exclaimed, as he did to a friend two or three years ago:

`Shall we not have a pretty London if things go on in this way?'
They were driving on the Kensington side of Hyde Park.

--
* `How it strikes a Contemporary'.

--
The paternal duty, which, so much against his inclination,

had established Mr. Browning in England, would in every case
have lain very near to his conscience and to his heart; but it especially

urged itself upon them through the absence of any injunctionconcerning it
on his wife's part. No farewell words of hers had commended their child

to his father's love and care; and though he may, for the moment,
have imputed this fact to unconsciousness of her approaching death,

his deeper insight soon construed the silence into an expression of trust,
more binding upon him than the most earnest exacted promise could have been.

The growing boy's education occupied a considerable part
of his time and thoughts, for he had determined not to send him to school,

but, as far as possible, himself prepare him for the University.
He must also, in some degree, have supervised his recreations.

He had therefore, for the present, little leisure for social distractions,
and probably at first very little inclination for them.

His plan of life and duty, and the sense of responsibilityattendant on it,
had been communicated to Madame du Quaire in a letter

written also from St.-Enogat.
==

M. Chauvin, St.-Enogat pres Dinard, Ile et Vilaine: Aug. 17, '61.
Dear Madame du Quaire, -- I got your note on Sunday afternoon,

but found myself unable to call on you as I had been intending to do.
Next morning I left for this place (near St.-Malo, but I give what they say

is the proper address). I want first to beg you to forgive
my withholding so long your little oval mirror -- it is safe in Paris,

and I am vexed at having stupidly forgotten to bring it
when I tried to see you. I shall stay here till the autumn sets in,

then return to Paris for a few days -- the first of which will be the best,
if I can see you in the course of it -- afterward, I settle in London.

When I meant to pass the winter in Paris, I hoped, the first thing almost,
to be near you -- it now seems to me, however, that the best course

for the Boy is to begin a good English education at once.
I shall take quiet lodgings (somewhere near Kensington Gardens,

I rather think) and get a Tutor. I want, if I can (according to
my present very imperfect knowledge) to get the poor little fellow

fit for the University without passing thro' a Public School. I, myself,
could never have done much by either process, but he is made differently --

imitates and emulates and all that. How I should be grateful
if you would help me by any word that should occur to you!

I may easily do wrong, begin ill, thro' too much anxiety --
perhaps, however, all may be easier than seems to me just now.

I shall have a great comfort in talking to you -- this writing
is stiff, ineffectual work. Pen is very well, cheerful now, --

has his little horse here. The place is singularly unspoiled,
fresh and picturesque, and lovely to heart's content.

I wish you were here! -- and if you knew exactly what such a wish means,
you would need no assuring in addition that I am

Yours affectionately" target="_blank" title="ad.热情地；体贴地">affectionately and gratefully ever
Robert Browning.

==
The person of whom he saw most was his sister-in-law, whom he visited,

I believe, every evening. Miss Barrett had been a favourite sister
of Mrs. Browning's, and this constituted a sufficient title

to her husband's affection. But she was also a woman to be loved
for her own sake. Deeply religious and very charitable, she devoted herself

to visiting the poor -- a form of philanthropy which was then
neither so widespread nor so fashionable as it has since become;

and she founded, in 1850, the first Training School or Refuge
which had ever existed for destitute little girls. It need hardly be added

that Mr. and Miss Browning co-operated in the work. The little poem,
`The Twins', republished in 1855 in `Men and Women', was first printed

(with Mrs. Browning's `Plea for the Ragged Schools of London')
for the benefit of this Refuge. It was in Miss Barrett's company

that Mr. Browning used to attend the church of Mr. Thomas Jones,
to a volume of whose `Sermons and Addresses' he wrote a short introduction

in 1884.
On February 15, 1862, he writes again to Miss Blagden.

==
Feb. 15, '62.