Her letters.
Her letters ought to be published. In power, versatility, liveliness, and finesse; in perfect originality of glance, and vigor of grasp at every topic of the hour; in their enthusiastic preferences, prejudices, and inconsistencies, I have never met with any, written by men or by women, more brilliant, spontaneous, and characteristic. This was her form of conversation.
Henry F. Chorley: ‘Autobiography, Memoir, and Letters.’ London: Bentley, 1873.
Her letters make Cowper’s poor. In a hurried note, whose hurry is evident in the handwriting, she drops ... incidental, but brilliant words—just as if the jewels in her rings, jarred by her rapid fingers, had been suddenly unset and fallen out on the paper.
Handwriting.
No other handwriting is like hers; it is strong, legible, singularly un-English (that is, not a slanted or running hand), and more like a man’s than a woman’s.
Theodore Tilton: Memorial Preface to ‘Last Poems of Mrs. Browning.’ New York: James Miller, 1862.