dle upstairs, but I would rather you would have this than any
of mine.' Yes, I took it, as proud as a boy could be who receives such
an honor from his chief idol; prouder than I shall ever be again as I
read the inscription: 'With the best wishes and regards of Robert
Browning.' And I went away after he had made me promise--as though it
were a thing I might be unwilling to do--to let him know when I should
be next in town.

... "I called again at the beautiful house in De Vere Gardens. The
poet had just come in, he told me, from a meeting of the committee
for the memorial to Matthew Arnold, and he was evidently very
depressed by the sad thoughts which had come upon him of his 'dear old
friend, Mat.' 'I have been thinking all the way home,' he said, 'of
his hardships. He told me once, when I asked him why he had written no
poetry lately, that he could not afford to do it; but that, when he
had saved enough, he intended to give up all other work, and go back
to poetry. I wonder if he has gone back to it _now_.' Here Browning's
voice shook, and he was altogether more deeply moved than I had ever
seen him. 'It's very hard, isn't it?' he went on, 'that a useless
fellow like me should have been able to give up all his life to
it--for, as I think I told you, my father helped me to publish my
early books--while a splendid poet like Arnold actually could not
afford to write the poetry we wanted of him.'

... "The last visit I paid to Browning was short enough, but since it
_was_ the last, and was marked by one of the most graceful acts ever
done to me, I may record it as the conclusion of these memories. He
had written inviting me to call soon, but without naming a day or
hour. 'If I should happen to be engaged,' he had said, 'I know that
your kindness will understand and forgive me.' So I called on the
first morning when I was free for an hour. He came across the room
with his accustomed heartiness of voice and hand. 'But, my dear boy,
why did you come to-day? In ten minutes I have an important business
appointment which I _must_ keep.' The ten minutes went all too soon,
and I took my hat to go. He was profuse, but plainly sincere, in his
apologies for turning me out, and made me promise to come again at a
specified hour. I had hardly left the door, when I heard the scurry of
footsteps and his voice calling me. I turned and saw him, hatless, at
the foot of the steps. 'One moment,' he cried; 'I can't let you go
till you tell m