But though Mrs. Browning wrote her “Tale of Villafranca” in full faith, after many a mile-stone in time lay between her and the fact, her friends remember how the woman bent and was wellnigh crushed, as by a thunderbolt, when the intelligence of this Imperial Treaty was first received.  Coming so quickly upon the heels of the victories of Solferino and San Martino, it is no marvel that what stunned Italy should have almost killed Mrs. Browning.  That it hastened her into the grave is beyond a doubt, as she never fully shook off the severe attack of illness occasioned by this check upon her life-hopes.  The summer of 1859 was a weary, suffering season for her in consequence; and although the following winter, passed in Rome, helped to repair the evil that had been wrought, a heavy cold, caught at the end of the season, (and for the sake of seeing Rome’s gift of swords to Napoleon and Victor Emmanuel,) told upon her lungs.  The autumn of 1860 brought with it another sorrow in the death of a beloved sister, and this loss seemed more than Mrs. Browning could bear; but by breathing the soft air of Rome again she seemed to revive, and indeed wrote that she was “better in body and soul.”

Those who have known Mrs. Browning in later years thought she never looked better than upon her return to Florence in the first days of last June, although the overland journey had been unusually fatiguing to her.  But the meeting was a sad one; for Cavour had died, and the national loss was as severe to her as a personal bereavement.  Her deep nature regarded Italy’s benefactor in the light of a friend; for had he not labored unceasingly for that which was the burden of her song? and could she allow so great a man to pass away without many a heart-ache?  It is as sublime as it is rare to see such intense appreciation of great deeds as Mrs. Browning could give.  Her fears, too, for Italy, when the patriot pilot was hurried from the helm, gave rise to much anxiety, until quieted by the assuring words of the new minister, Ricasoli.

Nor was Mrs. Browning so much engrossed in the Italian regeneration that she had no thought for other nations and for other wrongs.  Her interest in America was very great,—­

  “For poets, (bear the word!)
  Half-poets even, are still whole democrats: 
  Oh, not that we’re disloyal to the high,
  But loyal to the low, and cognizant
  Of the less scrutable majesties.”

In Mrs. Browning’s poem of “A Curse for a Nation,” where she foretold the agony in store for America, and which has fallen upon us with the swiftness of lightning, she was loath to raise her poet’s voice against us, pleading,—­

  “For I am hound by gratitude,
  By love and blood,
  To brothers of mine across the sea,
  Who stretch out kindly hands to me.”