Browning Mobbed by American Girls

Te Aroha News, 15 February 1890, Page 3

Browning Mobbed by American Girls

A good story comls to me from the other side about Robert Browning. One day last summer the famous poet was strolling through Hyde Park and was just turning into Picadilly, when a bevy of American girls who were in one of Cook s parties espied him. They knew him from his picture, from his peculiar dress, from his hair and from his manner. The old man was walking along, leisurely sniffing the early morning air and smiling contentedly at himself and a pretty parlour maid who was dusting in a window of one of the big mansions overlooking the park. He is particularly fond of feminine admiration, but he was not prepared for the united attack that was in store for him. An elderly chaperone in the party was the first to espy the poet, and at once gave the note of discovery- ‘ There’s Browning !’ she said. There was a temporary panic, and 39 women caught their breath and sprang forward a foot or two.

* Where ?’ they ejaculated. ‘ There !’ said the old damsel, pointing to the poet in his black velvet jacket, walking leisurely ahead of them. ‘ How do you know ?’ was the reply. ‘ Know, of course I know ; haven’t I seen his pictures often enough ? Don’t you suppose I know Browning when I see him ?’

‘ Are you certain ?’ said the thirty-nine shrill maiden voices in unison. ‘Yes,’ was the calm reply, ‘you can’t fool me on Browning; I know him,’ and she started after him on a run. The others followed. They swooped down on the old man like the locusts of Egypt. He stood still and threw up his hands in horror ; he retreated to a stoop, looked down on the forty pretty maidens and asked almost breathlessly what they wanted. ‘ls this Mr Browning, the poet ?’ asked one of the girls. The poet nodded an assent." ‘ Then you are just the man we want to see,’ the forty women chimed in chorus. ‘ Really, ladies,’ said the poet, ‘ you overwhelm me. I have not the honour of your acquaintance. , I—l—’ He could proceed no further, but retreated a step or two farther up the stoop as the forty women moved forward like one man. It was no use. The grey - haired poet continued until he backed up against the front door and the women followed him remorse lessly. ‘You may think our conduct strange, said one of them, ‘ but we have read so much about you and read so much of your works that we really are anxious to see you and know you.’ ‘ Yes,’ said another, ‘ and we want your autograph, every one of us.’ Instantly forty autograph albums were pulled out and shoved under the old man’s nose. Forty hands were stretched out to grasp his. There was no getting away from them. He was backed up against the door and the women were obdurate. He shook each hand as it was presented to him until the whole number had retired satisfied; then, ! after one girl had handed him a stylographic pen, he proceeded to write his name in his cramped hand in each autograph album. This took some time and attracted some attention, but there was no getting away from it. When his name was placed on the last book he ran,down the steps a 3 nimbly as a boy and off across the park like a Heightened deer. That night forty tired heads rested softly on forty autograph albums under forty pillows in a London hotel. If the rest of their European trip had-been a failure they were satisfied ; they had seen Browning ; they had taken him by the hand ; they had his autograph they were indeed happy American, girls ‘ N.Y, Commercial Advertise^’