ELIZABETH BARRETT was born near Ledbury, Herefordshire, in 1805. She received a thorough classical education, and began to write for publication very early. At the age of twentyone she published "An Essay on Mind, with other Poems," but the entire contents of that volume were discarded by her in the later collections of her works. In 1833 she published a translation of the "Prometheus" of Eschylus, together with some minor poems. She did not consider the translation a success, and some years later she replaced it with the one which now stands in her works. In 1838 she published "The Seraphim, and other Poems," in which appear the first traces of her genius.

In 1837 she met with two serious misfortunes, which made her an invalid for years, and cast a shade of sadness over her whole life: the first was the rupture of a blood-vessel in her lungs; the other, the drowning of her brother near Torquay, Devonshire, in plain sight from a balcony where she stood powerless to help him. In a darkened room in London, surrounded by her books, but often suffering extreme pain which precluded all study, she passed the next nine years. Miss Mitford, who made her acquaintance about 1836, and became a warm personal friend, thus describes her in "Recollections of a Literary Life: ""Such is the influence of her manners, her conversation, her temper, her thousand sweet and attaching qualities, that they who know her best are apt to lose. sight altogether of her learning and of her genius, and to think of her only as the most charming person that they have ever met. . . . Of a slight, delicate figure, with a shower of dark curls falling on either side of a most expressive face, large tender eyes richly fringed by dark eyelashes, a smile like a sunbeam, and such a look of youthfulness that I had some difficulty in persuading a friend, in whose carriage we went together to Chiswick, that the translatress of the Prometheus' of Eschylus, 'the authoress of the Essay on Mind,' was old enough to be introduced into company."

During these nine years of seclusion she studied especially the Greek philosophers and poets, and the Old Testament, and wrote a series of essays on the Greek Christian poets, which were published in the London Athenæum. In 1844 she revised her poems for a collected edition, which appeared that year in two volumes. Being required to write something more, to make the second volume equal in bulk to the first, she produced "Lady Geraldine's Courtship" at one sitting of twelve hours. In connection with

this a pretty story is told, respecting her introduction to Robert Browning, but its authenticity has been disputed. The poem contains the stanza:

"Or at times a modern volume-Wordsworth's solemnthoughted idyl, Howitt's ballad-verse, or Tennyson's enchanted reverieOr from Browning some Pomegranate,' which, if cut deep down the middle, Shows a heart within, blood-tinctured, of a veined humanity."

It is said that the poet called to acknowledge the compliment in person, and by the blunder of a servant was shown into the darkened chamber where only Miss Barrett's most intimate friends were ever admitted, and that from this incident sprang the acquaintance which resulted in their marriage. The wedding took place in the autumn of 1846, and they went immediately to Italy, settling in Florence, which was their residence during the remainder of her life. The house they inhabited gave name to her next volume of poems, "Casa Guidi Windows," published in 1851.

Whatever may have been the outward circumstances of this most romantic and happy marriage, there is no question that the true history of her love is told in the so-called Sonnets from the Portuguese," which, read consecutively as one poem, constitute her noblest and most perfect work. They were first printed in the second edition of her collected poems, 1850.

Their home in Florence has been thus described by a visitor: "Those who have known Casa Guidi as it was, can never forget the square anteroom, with its great picture and piano-forte at which the boy Browning passed many an hour, the little dining-room, covered with tapestry, where hung medallions of Tennyson, Carlyle, and Robert Browning-the large 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 that 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, selected by Mr. Browning, were brimming over with wise-looking books. Tables were covered with more gaily bound volumes, the gifts of brother authors. Dante's profile, a cast of Keats's