Of Lady Blessington’s tact, kindness, and remarkable beauty Procter always spoke with ardor, and abated nothing from the popular idea of that fascinating person.  He thought she had done more in her time to institute good feeling and social intercourse among men of letters than any other lady in England, and he gave her eminent credit for bringing forward the rising talent of the metropolis without waiting to be prompted by a public verdict.  As the poet described her to me as she moved through her exquisite apartments, surrounded by all the luxuries that naturally connect themselves with one of her commanding position in literature and art, her radiant and exceptional beauty of person, her frank and cordial manners, the wit, wisdom, and grace of her speech, I thought of the fair Giovanna of Naples as painted in “Bianca Visconti":—­

“Gods! what a light enveloped her!
....  Her beauty
Was of that order that the universe
Seemed governed by her motion..... 
The pomp, the music, the bright sun in heaven,
Seemed glorious by her leave.”

One of the most agreeable men in London literary society during Procter’s time was the companionable and ever kind-hearted John Kenyon.  He was a man compacted of all the best qualities of an incomparable good-nature.  His friends used to call him “the apostle of cheerfulness.”  He could not endure a long face under his roof, and declined to see the dark side of anything.  He wrote verses almost like a poet, but no one surpassed him in genuine admiration for whatever was excellent in others.  No happiness was so great to him as the conferring of happiness on others, and I am glad to write myself his eternal debtor for much of my enjoyment in England, for he introduced me to many lifelong friendships, and he inaugurated for me much of that felicity which springs from intercourse with men and women whose books are the solace of our lifelong existence.

Kenyon was Mrs. Browning’s cousin, and in 1856 she dedicates “Aurora Leigh” to him in these affectionate terms:—­

“The words ‘cousin’ and ‘friend’ are constantly recurring in this poem, the last pages of which have been finished under the hospitality of your roof, my own dearest cousin and friend;—­cousin and friend, in a sense of less equality and greater disinterestedness than Romney’s....  I venture to leave in your hands this book, the most mature of my works, and the one into which my highest convictions upon Life and Art have entered; that as, through my various efforts in literature and steps in life, you have believed in me, borne with me, and been generous to me, far beyond the common uses of mere relationship or sympathy of mind, so you may kindly accept, in sight of the public, this poor sign of esteem, gratitude, and affection from your unforgetting

    “E.B.B.”