The Portland daily press. [volume] (Portland, Me.) 1862-1921, 1894-12-22
THACKERAY AND THE BROWNINGs.
A Child's RecOllectiOns of the Poets
and the Novelist.

Mrs. Browning, the Little Browning Boy
and the Dog Flush-Thackeray's Giant
Who Slept on Confectionery With
Blankets of Jelly.
Looking back through the mists of time
distinctly remember visit that MI ana
Mrs Robert Barrett Browning paid to my
mother in Paris, writes Henriette COCHRAN
in Temple Bar. We were theE living IN the
Rue Base de Remparts, on the Boulevard
des Italiens. As was then mere child
l think what has impressed this particular
visit on my mind is the fact hat my mother
had told me that poets were coming to see
her that afternoon. / had never beheld
poet, and imagined that they must be Won
derful beings. walking about with wreaths
of laurel round their heads had seen pic
lures of Dante and Tasso-so l was keenly
disappointed when the French servant
opened the door and announced. Monsieur
ct Madame Brunig.''
Could that frail little lad, attired in
simple gray dress and straw bonnet, and
he cheerful gentleman in brown over
coat. be great poets? They had brought
with them their little son, Penini; he had
long. flowing, fair, curly hair, and wore
white drawers edged with embroidery
These peculiarities impressed me, for l
thought he looked like a girl. The trio
were followed by beautiful brown dog.
with golden eyes. We lived on the fifth
floor; Mrs Browning was quite exhausted
after climbing SO many stairs; she was pale,
and she painted a great deal. Ny mother
gently pushed her into large. low arm
o1,a A. 1uha M
ing back in the big seatl / remember star
ing at her, overpowered by kind OF awe.
wondering where was the poetry; and then
] felt sure it was in her large dark eyes. SO
full of soul. She wore her thick brown hair
in ringlets which hung down on each side
of her cheeks; she struck me then as being
all eyes and hair, not unlike spaniel dog.
After few minutes of general converse
ton, which thought commonplace talk Tor
such great poets, Mrs. Barrett Browning
beckoned to me. approached her feeling
very shy; what was this great woman going
to speak about to a little girl like me! But
! was soon put at my ease. she kissed me.
and, turning to Penini. placed his little
hand in mine. saying, You must be fllends,
you and P en- He is my Florentine boy"
stroking his head lovingly. Has he not
got beautiful hair-so golden-that is be-
cause he was born in Italy. where the sun
is always golden"
The tea-things were brought in; on the
tray was big plumcake. The dog wagged
his tail. and then Mrs. Browning said to
me; Flush is a dear old dog; ! love him.
Whom was so i'll about a year ago Flush
never left my side day or night. Every
time Il put my hand out of the bed / could
always feel his curly head and cold nose.
Flush now looked up in his mistress's face
with intense devotion in his wistful eyes.
We gave Flush some slices of bread and
butter. which he accepted, but, instead OF
eating them. he disappeared underneath
big yellow satin diyan: when | presented
him with piece of plum cake he swallowed
it there and then with much gusto.
remember Mrs. Barrett Browning whis-
pered to me that if I looked under that d.
van ouId fiId the bread and butter hid
den there; she said that Flush was far too
polite a dog to refuse anything offered TO
linn. but from personal observation she
knew that he could not eat bread and but
Ter when he saw any chance of getting
plumcake.
Penini and crept on all tours, and looked
under the divan. Yes, there were three
slices of thin bread and butter all in a row
and untouched.
During her visit Mrs. Barrett Browning
kept her right arm round her little boys
neck, running her fingers through his gold
en- ours. she truck me as being very low
ing.
A few days after l heard that the Brown
ings had left for Florence; my mother often
received letters from Casa Guidi,'' but l
never met again Mrs Barrett Browning.
When MI. Thackeray came to Paris he
continually visited my parent is. who lived
th.re, my father being the Paris corre-
pondent of THE Morning Herald" etc. We
hid at that period of our existence q
French woman servant called Refine, de-
spo. ic being. who ruled our no usehold with
rod of IRON she often made is little ones
tremble in ourshoes. Among her any many
ideas on the proper rearing of children W
that of nourishing US with soup. consist
ing of dabby pieces of bread swimming in
bouillon. As we dislikcd this Gage, Relne
insisted upon feeding US herself, ]. e.. we
five children had to stand round her, while
she, holding the tureen in one hand ana
spoon in the other, thrust the soup IN our
open mouths, like birds in nest. Re1ne
had will of iron; no use grumbllng was
the most troublesome, and often kept my
mouth tightly closed WI en- the awful spoon
full approached me.
One sultry afternoon-we were then spend
ing the summer months in pretty house
near the Bois de Boulogne-Reine had de-
termineG to feed us in the garden in front
of the house. can see he'll now, in her
black dress. black lace cap; hook nose, small
piercing gray eyes-she reminded me of a
vulture She Rugged the tureep, with it's
greasy contents, in her lett arm; in the
right she held the spoon; it was her sceptre.
eAlons enfants.' she called out to us all.
Her voice was like herself, despntic. We
gathered round her. The Illuminating fact
OF my still being fed like baby was becoln-
ing un bea1 able. and that day I was in a
particularly rebellious frame of mind.
just as Refine WAS digging the spoon in
the soup, there was a ring at the front gate.
as rybody happened TO be out, Refine
had to leave US children in order to answer
the door. She deposited The tureen on the
grass plot and departed.
Horrible, most horrible soup!" Kissed
out, making ugly faces at the tureen. TLen
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