In the autumn of 1857 I made arrangements with friends to go abroad, and pass with them the winter in Italy; and I look upon the opportunity I had of improving my acquaintance with Robert and Elizabeth Barrett Browning as one of the most noteworthy circumstances of my month's sojourn in Florence. Two or three kind notes, mostly on literary matters, and a morning visit or two made up all the personal acquaintance I could hitherto claim with her, whom I revered as the greatest of poetesses, and yet whom I seemed to know intimately from my deep womanly sympathy with her revealings. The last is not a haphazard word, for I hold that she does reveal some heights and depths of woman's nature, in a manner only to be rivalled in a very few instances by the very few greatest poets.

Most kindly was I received by both husband and wife in that Casa Guidi, which has been made famous for ever, not only from having given a title to the thrilling poem which tells of Italy's wrongs and aspirations, but from having been for many years the residence of its beloved author. To see Italy a united kingdom, with rank and prestige among European powers, seems to me a thing over which we may well sing a Te Deum, and, oh, how Mrs. Browning would have rejoiced had she lived to witness it! But instead of speculating on her feelings, let me describe her as best I can.