Personally, Browning is almost unknown to his countrymen; his name even has never been heard by the multitude. He is never pointed out to strangers, as are other men of letters, and never attracts any notice in a public place. But he is well known to a select circle, where he is a favorite, and he goes a good deal into society in London these later years. He is a great favorite with women everywhere; and he deserves to be, for he has always shown himself capable of sympathizing with what is truest and best in womanhood. He has been loyal to the memory of his wife during all his long years of solitude, and it still seems that she holds her old place in his heart. He is now seventy-four years old,--a fine, well-preserved man, with a light step and an easy carriage. He was a handsome man in his prime, with a charmingly expressive face and a good figure. His hair is now snow-white, but otherwise he is not old in his looks. His manners are somewhat precise, and after the old school. He is fond of admiration, and is accounted egotistical, although reserved in general society. His talk, like his writings, is a good deal upon out-of-the-way subjects, and is often deemed unintelligible by those unfamiliar with his thought. To his enthusiastic admirers it seems like inspiration. He is still busy with his pen, although his volumes of poetry now number twenty or more. He has really created a literature of his own. How life appears to him now, from the vantage-ground of his almost fourscore years, it would be interesting to know. Many years ago he wrote, a little wearily:-- "There's a fancy some lean to and others hate,-- That when this life is ended begins New work for the soul in another state, Where it strives and gets weary, loses and wins,-- Where the strong and the weak this world's congeries Repeat in large what they practised in small, Through life after life in an infinite series,-- Only the scale's to be changed, that's all. "Yet I hardly know. When a soul has seen By the means of Evil that Good is best, And through earth and its noise what is heaven's serene,-- When its faith in the same has stood the test,-- Why, the child grown man, we burn the rod; The uses of labor are surely done. There remaineth a rest for the people of God, And I have had troubles enough for one." [Illustration] [Illustration] CHARLOTTE BRONTÉ.