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THE SUNNY SOUTH. 9 FORGOTTEN HISTORY. Bright and Breezg Things Remembered When Recalled. ROBERT BROWNING. Of the Victorian age, there has been, per haps, no poet more widely, more diversely criticised, alternately praised, derided, eu logized, ignored. In view of this, it would be both a difficult and thankless undertaking to advance any new and original opinions about the matter, but a brief sketch calling to mind incidents in his life will not be unin teresting. Robert Browning’s grandfather was of old Anglo-Saxon family, of England, but had no literary ambitions that extended further than an annual read ing of the Bible and “Tom Jones.” His father was a deep stu dent, indeed, he was a bibliophile, and from him and bis mother, who, accord ing to Carlyle was “the. true type of a Scottish gentlewom an,” he inherited his passion for literature. At the time of Robert’s birth, May 7, 1812 it is positively stated that a great comet disappeared from the sky. Whether it was a herald of England’s coming poet one can not say; whether astrologers of the time con nected the two events, is doubtful, but, that they did do so later, is certain. That his poetic genius was as much a part of himself as was the color of his eyes, is un questioned, since, as a child just learning to talk, he would lisp in numbers. At twelve he had completed a volume of dramas, many of which he had his school-fellows play. His wealth of affection, and his broad, human sympathy were manifested in his boundless love for his mother, and his tender ness to all dumb creatures of which he usually had enough on hand to make a small menagerie. Among his special pets were monkeys, frogs, snakes, hedgehogs, eagles, magpies and owls. This same sympathy *:ansed him to resent all unfairness, all adverse criticism of people, or things, as one of Mrs. Orr’s anecdotes aptly illustrates. An acidulated maiden lady was visiting his mother. She spoke sarcastically of a matter which he was too small to understand, but by her manner of speech, he knew that she had spoken bitterly. That night, to punish her for her uncharitableness, he slipped out of bed, put on such paraphernalia as his youthful mind deemed suitable for a devil, added a long paper tail, pulled the ugliest face possible, and, regardless of dire conse quence, rushed into the drawing-room where his mother and his intended victim were drink ing tea. Some Browning writers, have said that the poet at one time contemplated entering the ministry. In his letters there is only one incident which does in the least suggest such an ambition on his part. After hearing an impressive sermon, he came home, impro vised a surplice and gown, crawled into a big armchair, and extemporized so vehemently, that his baby sister took fright and cried. He majestically turned to his imaginary audi ence and with great sterness, said: “Pew- opener, remove that child.” This was his first and last effort. That the love of art for which he was so remarkable in after years, was among his earliest tendencies is evident from a letter written when, at middle-age, he was basking in the sunlight cf Italian art. He wrote: “I love painting as I once did. In a drawer of mine lies, I well know, a certain cottage and rocks, in lead pencil and blackcurrant jam juice (paint being rank poison, as they said when I sucked my brushes), with my father’s note in the corner. R. B. aetat, two years and three months.” At twelve, when his first volume was com pleted, Robert met Miss Fowler, a well- known writer, and became deeply attached to her. She was nine years his senior, but she was his judge, his critic, and it is believed that she inspired “Pauline.” His early efforts bad a Byronic tendency, and soon Shelley and Keats weilded a slight influence, but before he reached the university age, his poetic individuality asserted itself, and from that time on, he knew no master except that burning, vigorous, eccentric, at times, unequal and obscure, but, at all times, origi nal—genius. Among those who first recognized his undeniable talent, were Lord. Houghton, Leigh Hunt, Thackery, Wordsworth, Carlyle and that curious man of letters, Walter Savage Landor, of whom Mrs. Browning, twenty years later, wrote a friend: “The old lion roars softly in Latin alcaics against his wife and Louis Napoleon; he laughs carnivorously when I tell him he will have to write an ode in honor ot the Emperor to please me.” The great actor Macraedy, became interest ed in the poet about the time he brought out that daring work Paracelsus, and said to him : “Write a play Browning and keep me from going to America.” “Strafford” was the result, and was dedi cated to Macraedy. Soon after this he met Miss Haworth, a charming, cultured lady, who is “Eyebright” in Sordello. At this time of his life Miss Bridell-Fox describes him as “the glass of fashion, the mould of form, and addicted to lemon-colored kid gloves.” His drama, “A Blot in the Scutcheon” was laughed at by Macraedy’s actors, because it was first read by the prompter, “a grotesque person with a red nose and wooden leg.” “Pied Piper of Hamlin,” was written to amuse Macready’s “little invalid son.” Bells and Pomegranates, a collection of dramas and poems created some favorable notice. His romantic marriage to that invalid gen ius, the almost spiritualized Elizabeth Bar rett, which took place at St. Pancras church, Sep. 12, 1846, is too well-known to dwell upon. A few days after their secret marriage, she stole away from her father’s home and the two embarked for Havre on their way to Paris; the only cloud in her married life was her father’s refusal to forgive or see her again. Their marriage was an ideal one, because they had not only genuine love for each other, but that equally important factor, in tellectual sympathy. As a husband, he was as uncommon as he was as a poet, of this Fanny Kemble said: “Browning is the only man I ever saw, who behaved like a Christian to his wife.” His great love and poetic instinct caused him to commemorate his marriage by going to the church kneeling down and kissing the paving stones The Brownings made their home in that “Flower of all cities and city of all flowers,” Florence, where they had the charming com panionship of the Trollopes, Miss Blagden, Landor, Jarves, George Eliot, Frances Power Cobbe, Miss Hosmer, the Hawthornes and other celebrities. From Florence they often went to Rome, where they gathered around them kindred spirits in the Kembles, Story’s, Sarlorises; in Paris, they knew George Sand and Lamar tine. Robert Browning felt the force of the maxim about the prophet in his own country. Pblegmatic England (outside of a few rare spirits), did not awaken to the honor she had done herself in producing such a son, until long after America had paid him tribute by taking him to her heart, as is testified by an extract from a letter of Mrs. Browning to her sister-in-law. “An English lady of rank, an acquaintance of ours, asked, the other day, the American Minister at Rome, whether Robert was an American. The minister answered: ‘Is it possible you ask me this? Why, there is not so poor village in the United States where they would not tell you that Robert Browning is an Englishman, and that they are sorry he is not an American.’ ” Browning was so conscious of his power, that he was peculiarly invulnerable to criti cism, saying: “As I began, so I shall end, taking my own course, pleasing myself, or aiming at doing so, and thereby, I hope, pleasing God.” After bis wife died he came back to Eng land, and worked incessantly, as his numer ous poems are testimonial. Tardy England then began to show a dis position to honor him; in 1879 the Cambridge College conferred on him the degree of LL. D., in 1882. the Oxford D. C. L., in 1884, the Edinburgh, and in 1886, he suceeded Lord Houghton as Foreign Correspondent to the Royal Academy. But all these honors came too late, they were Dead Sea fruit, because his wife, that frail being who had labored with him, who had every worthy ambition for him, who longed to see him properly understood, and appreciated, was not there to see her hopes realized. In 1878 he and his sister journey to Ravenna, to visit the grave of and “spend a day in the pine woods consecrated by Dante.” On his return to England she wanted to heap the honor of “Lord Rectorship of the University of St. Andrews,” on him, but he declined. His last day were spent in Venice where, on Dec. 12, 1889 he died. The Venetians begged to be allowed to keep the ashes of the man whom they had loved and honored, but England claimed her own, and his remains were placed in the Poet’s Corner, Westminister Abbey, Dec. 31, 1889. Merchant—Have you had any experience •in china ware? Applicant—Years of it, sir. Merchant—What do you do when you areak a valuable piece ? Applicant—Well—er—I usually put it together again and place it where some cus tomers will knock it over. Merchant—You’ll do.—London Fun. DANTE ALIGHIERI—1265-1321. Born and reared when civilization and literature were in what might be aptly called a chrysalis state, and having no poetical pro genitor, this youthful prodigy burst forth like a Vesuvius, ot, more properly, a Niagara, in a torrent of metrical measure, that swept the minds of readers before it as a whirlwind sweeps the dry leaf. His vehement, passion ate eloquence gives one the sensation of being swiftly lifted from one’s feet in the earnest effort to reach the altitude to which the poet rapidly takes the struggling, but willing thought. Living as he did, in the ennervating air of a court which was remarkable for neither its morality nor its love of literature—but whose predominating ambition was centered in the barbarous knight errantry so popular in the middle ages—it must have been peculiarly difficult to rise so successfully above such DAKTI. environments. Nothing short of superior genius could have enabled him to mount the swift-winged, high-soaring, Pegasus, and ride it as few poets ever rode before, and as no Italian poet has ever ridden since. “Love,” which Gabrielle D. Annunzio, (who, by the way, bids fair to be Italy’s Dante of to-day), describes as being “the greatest human sorrow,” and which Addi son calls “the mother of poetry,” was Dante’s never failing inspiration. When a boy of nine, be met the eight year old Beatrice, daughter of the rich Florentine, Portinacis, and fromj*‘that moment,” he says, “love ruled my soul; a new life was awakened within me.” His first work of consequence was Vita Nuova, poems full of love for Beat rice. He describes her with the same pains taking minuteness that Petrarch describes his Laura. Beatrice was tall, stately, grace ful, with beautiful curling hair, broad fore head, dimpled chin, slender neck, and arms of marble whiteness. But his special admira tion were her eyes of which he says: “Love is'enthroned in the eyes of my Beatrice: she ennobles everything she looks upon.” But for this wealth of imperishable love, Dante might never have been anything but the courtier, the good citizen, the embassa dor, the warrior and bold knight. To this overwhelming love, we are indebted for the Divina Commedia, which is a colossal monu ment to Italian literature, and in which the poet immortalizes himself and his Beatrice. In this notable work he represents himself as being led by Virgil, as the impersonation of reason, through the infernal regions; then by Beatrice, as representative of revelation, but at last, St. Bernard conducts him through several heavens until he reaches the Trinity. In impetuous, potent language, he pictures hell as a great inverted hollow, beginning small at the center of the earth and enlarged by gradually expanding circles. Purgatory is delineated as a terraced moun tain rising from the ocean, the top terrace being paradise. From paradise he continues his journey through the seven heavens, the stars, and on to the throne of God. During his celestial sojourn he converses with many of the illus trious dead, and these conversations fill the reader alternately with horror, and pity, aversion and grief. He propounds, and solves questions of philosophy, metaphysics, psychology, and the ology, and with burning words denounces the social and moral condition of Italy. His De Monarchia, which Cardinal Pagetto ordered publicly burned in the streets of. Bologna, was written after he was, for political reasons, banished from Florence by Pope Boniface. After his expulsion from his native city, where he had served in the most important civil offices, he wandered from court to court, and was under noble protection at Padua, Verona, etc. As a poet, he undeniably stands among the greatest of the world, and by far the greatest Italy ever produced. The astute Macaulay said of his style: “ I know nothing with which it can be compared. The noblest models of Greek composition must yield to it. His words are the fewest and the best which it is possible to use.” When we have reason to believe that, had there been no Beatrice, there possibly bad been no immortal Dante, we are filled wfth disappointment that his love was never re ciprocated and that she should have married the nobleman Simone de Bardi. She died at the early age of twenty-four, and Dante’s grief almost drove him to mad ness. Some years later he married Gemma, the daughter of the powerful House of Donati, and became the father of seven chil dren, but his pure, chaste, ideal love for the sainted Beatrice was his inspiration until his death. His works have been translated into most of the European languages, the best being, perhaps, Kannegiesser’s, which is in the original rhyme and measure. Dante had an ardent admirer in Giovanni Bocaccio, who was so unquestionably a genius himself, that he felt no petty jealousy of those who were greater. It was through his instrumentality that the Florentine repub lic set apart a certain sum to be spent yearly on lectures explaining the “Divine Comedy. ” The authorities manifested their good judgment by appointing Boccacio Dantean professor. With Bocaccio it was a labor of love, and among his numerous works, his “Commento.sopra la Commedia di Dante” is by no means the least interesting. The last years of the poet’s life were spent at Ravenna, under the protection of Guido Novello da Polenta.. Each year finds many literary pilgrims journeying to Ravenna to visit the earth that holds the ashes of Italy’s laurel-crowned poet; the poet into whose hand tne great Giotto placed the emblematically pomegranate fruit. POPULAR NOVELISTS. Harold Frederick in England; William Black in America. Each is Popular in the Other’s Country. Harold Frederic is an American author who is very popular in England, and William Black is an English novelist whose books are most read in America. They bqth stand very high among the story-writers of to-day, and of course all readers of their books are inter ested in knowing how they live and work. Harold Frederic, now that he has gained the approbation of the English public, is sure to become popular on this side of the water. That follows, as a matter of course. He has just written a novel, “The Damnation of Theron Ware,” which Mr. Gladstone has pro nounced to be the best of the century. This is indeed high praise, for the Grand Old Man keeps up to date in all matters, and his judg ment of fiction is acknowledged to be re markably good and sound. Mr. Frederic is a man who has climbed from the lowest rung on the ladder of jour nalism to the top notch, where he has stepped off into the roof garden where popular novel ists dwell and enjoy all the pleasures of fame and fortune. He was born in New York State, and when he was eighteen became a proof-reader in a Utica newspaper office. From proof-reading he stepped to reporting, and three years later became editor of the good old Utica Observer. In 1882 he was ap pointed editor of the Albany Journal, one of tbe most influential newspapers in the State, but by rashly swinging that staid old Republican organ out of the party and mak ing it a free trade paper he antagonized a lot of wealthy men, who bought the paper and summarily dismissed him from the sanc- HAROLD FREDERICK. turn. He lost nothing, however, by this turn of affairs, for the New York Times employed him as Albany correspondent and in 1884 sent him to England. He has been the London correspondent for that paper ever since. During his twelve years in England Mr. Frederic has been busy with his pen. Besides his regular weekly letters he has written several novels, among them being “Seth’s Brother’s Wife,” “In the Valley,” “The Lauton Girl,” “The Return of the O’Maho- ny,” “The Copperhead” and a batch of shorter tales. They have been strong, stirring stories of American life, with lots of human interest in them. The way Mr. Frederic writes novel is in teresting. He pays but little attention to the plot in his preparatory work, but he some- Continned on Sixteenth page. Principal of the RORERT BROWNING.