It is difficult to understand what particular connection there is between seeing good in nobody and seeing good even in a sensual fool.
After _Fifine at the Fair_ appeared the _Inn Album_, in 1875, a purely narrative work, chiefly interesting as exhibiting in yet another place one of Browning's vital characteristics, a pleasure in retelling and interpreting actual events of a sinister and criminal type; and after the _Inn Album_ came what is perhaps the most preposterously individual thing he ever wrote, _Of Pacchiarotto, and How He Worked in Distemper_, in 1876.

It is impossible to call the work poetry, and it is very difficult indeed to know what to call it.

Its chief characteristic is a kind of galloping energy, an energy that has nothing intellectual or even intelligible about it, a purely animal energy of words.

Not only is it not beautiful, it is not even clever, and yet it carries the reader away as he might be carried away by romping children.

It ends up with a voluble and largely unmeaning malediction upon the poet's critics, a malediction so outrageously good-humoured that it does not take the trouble even to make itself clear to the objects of its wrath.