It is, strangely enough, from Americans that we have the best account of the Brownings in their life at Casa Guidi:  from R.H.  Stoddart, Bayard Taylor, Nathaniel Hawthorne, George Stillman Hillard, and W.W.  Story.  I can find room, however, for but one excerpt:—­

“Those who have known Casa Guidi as it was, could hardly enter the loved rooms now, and speak above a whisper.  They who have been so favoured, can never forget the square anteroom, with its great picture and pianoforte, at which the boy Browning passed many an hour—­the little dining-room covered with tapestry, and where hung medallions of Tennyson, Carlyle, and Robert Browning—­the long room filled with plaster-casts and studies, which was Mrs. 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 iron-grey 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 dreary 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 grave profile, a cast of Keats’s face and brow taken after death, a pen-and-ink sketch of Tennyson, the genial face of John Kenyon, Mrs. Browning’s good friend and relative, little paintings of the boy Browning, all attracted the eye in turn, and gave rise to a thousand musings.  A quaint mirror, easy-chairs and sofas, and a hundred nothings that always add an indescribable charm, were all massed in this room.  But the glory of all, and that which sanctified all, was seated in a low arm-chair near the door.  A small table, strewn with writing-materials, books, and newspapers, was always by her side....  After her death, her husband had a careful water-colour drawing made of this room, which has been engraved more than once.  It still hangs in his drawing-room, where the mirror and one of the quaint chairs above named still are.  The low arm-chair and small table are in Browning’s study—­with his father’s desk, on which he has written all his poems.”—­(W.W.  Story.)

To Mr. and Mrs. Hawthorne, Mr. Hillard, and Mr. Story, in particular, we are indebted for several delightful glimpses into the home-life of the two poets.  We can see Mrs. Browning in her “ideal chamber,” neither a library nor a sitting-room, but a happy blending of both, with the numerous old paintings in antique Florentine frames, easy-chairs and lounges, carved bookcases crammed with books in many languages, bric-a-brac in any quantity, but always artistic, flowers everywhere, and herself the frailest flower of all.