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Updated: June 9, 2025
Browning, about whose ancestry and parentage a good deal of mostly superfluous ink has been shed, was born, the son of a city man, on 7th May 1812, in the, according to the elder Mr. Weller, exceptional district of Camberwell. He was himself exceptional enough in more ways than one.
He was right, for the man who made the third at that little dinner-party was the late Colin Hunter, A.R.A. Black lived in those days in a roomy, old-fashioned house in Camberwell Grove; and here, in course of time, I spent many a pleasant evening with him.
No stern parent rides behind, no interfering aunt beside, no demon small boy brother is peeping round the corner, there never comes a skid. Ah me! Why were there no "Britain's Best" nor "Camberwell Eurekas" to be hired when we were young? Or maybe the "Britain's Best" or the "Camberwell Eureka" stands leaning against a gate; maybe it is tired.
He had stayed at the boarding-house of Madame Charpentier, in Torquay Terrace, Camberwell. He was accompanied in his travels by his private secretary, Mr. Joseph Stangerson. The two bade adieu to their landlady upon Tuesday, the 4th inst., and departed to Euston Station with the avowed intention of catching the Liverpool express. They were afterwards seen together upon the platform.
Ida Palliser was fortunate enough to have a bed in the butterfly-room, so called on account of a gaudy wall paper, whereon Camberwell Beauties disported themselves among roses and lilies in a strictly conventional style of art. The butterfly-room was the most fashionable and altogether popular dormitory at the Manor.
Holton, the clerk, looked up from his desk. Probably my feelings showed in my face, for he said: "What is it, Mr. Knowles? No bad news, I trust, sir." "No," I answered, shortly. "Where is Street? Is it far from here?" It was rather far from there, in Camberwell, on the Surrey side of the river. I might take a bus at such a corner and change again at so and so.
When an article or two had earned enough money for immediate necessities he went off to the British Museum, and then the difficulty was to recall him to profitable exertions. Yet husband and wife had an affection for each other. Mrs Christopherson came from Camberwell, where her father, once upon a time, was the smallest of small butchers.
UNCLE GEORGE. True enough, Jervas, and as you'll remember when I fought the "Camberwell Chicken," my right ogle being closed and claret flowing pretty freely, the crowd afraid of their money Enough! My nephew shall never experience such horrors or consort with such brutish ruffians. UNCLE GEORGE. Then he'll never be a man, Julia. MY AUNT. Nature made him that. I intend him for a poet.
Camberwell, she ran hastily over her few personal possessions. As her wedding gifts had been entirely in the form of clothes the donors doubtless surmising that the wife of a rich man's son would have other gifts in abundance there remained only the trinkets George and George's parents had given her. All through luncheon, while Mrs.
B. was a woman of singular nobility and charm, and though not beautiful, was remarkably attractive. Life by J.H. Ingram ; Letters of R. Browning and E.B. Browning . Coll. ed. of her works, see above. Poet, only s. of Robert B., a man of fine intellect and equally fine character, who held a position in the Bank of England, was b. in Camberwell.
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