Abstract
No one took greater measures of protection against the probings of posterity than Robert Browning. Unfinished poems, personal letters, anything that might betray his personal inner life, he ruthlessly destroyed. Indeed, when T. J. Wise, his bibliographer and acolyte, first met him in 1884, he was "dipping into" an old leather trunk and burning his early poems and some letters from Carlyle. From that time, till Thurman L. Hood published his edition of Browning correspondence forty-nine years later, letters of the poet have been bobbing up in many places. More have been published since Thurman Hood's collection, each adding its quota to knowledge of his life.
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