t met: but
the encounter, which was to be the seed of so fine a flower of
friendship, occurred before the publication of the _New Monthly_
article. Before this, however, Browning had already made one of the most
momentous acquaintanceships of his life.

His good friend and early critic, Mr. Fox, asked him to his house one
evening in November, a few months after the publication of "Paracelsus."
The chief guest of the occasion was Macready, then at the height of his
great reputation. Mr. Fox had paved the way for the young poet, but the
moment he entered he carried with him his best recommendation. Every one
who met Browning in those early years of his buoyant manhood seems to
have been struck by his comeliness and simple grace of manner. Macready
stated that he looked more like a poet than any man he had ever met. As
a young man he appears to have had a certain ivory delicacy of
colouring, what an old friend perhaps somewhat exaggeratedly described
to me as an almost flower-like beauty, which passed ere long into a less
girlish and more robust complexion. He appeared taller than he was, for
he was not above medium height, partly because of his rare grace of
movement, and partly from a characteristic high poise of the head when
listening intently to music or conversation. Even then he had that
expressive wave o' the hand, which in later years was as full of various
meanings as the _Ecco_ of an Italian. A swift alertness pervaded him,
noticeable as much in the rapid change of expression, in the deepening
and illuming colours of his singularly expressive eyes, and in his
sensitive mouth, with the upper lip ever so swift to curve or droop in
response to the most fluctuant emotion, as in his greyhound-like
apprehension, which so often grasped the subject in its entirety before
its propounder himself realised its significance. A lady, who remembers
Browning at that time, has told me that his hair--then of a brown so
dark as to appear black--was so beautiful in its heavy sculpturesque
waves as to attract frequent notice. Another, and more subtle, personal
charm was his voice, then with a rare flute-like tone, clear, sweet,
and resonant. Afterwards, though always with precise clarity, it became
merely strong and hearty, a little too loud sometimes, and not
infrequently as that of one simulating keen immediate interest while the
attention was almost wholly detached.

Macready, in his Journal,[11] about a week later than the date