“I have read your poems – you can do anything” wrote Robert Browning to his close friend Alfred Domett on May 22, 1842, shortly after the latter had emigrated to New Zealand (Browning, Domett and Arnould 35). If this was in part friendly overpraise of Domett's verse, it was also a prognostication as to the effect of emigration. The idea (which also underlies Browning's poetic treatment of Domett's departure in the figure of Waring who “gave us all the slip”) was that “partial retirement and stopping the ears against the noise outside” would open up the possibility of something startlingly new: the little I, or anybody, can do as it is, comes of them going to New Zealand. . . . What I meant to say was – that only in your present condition of life, so far as I can see, is there any chance of your being able to find out . . . (sic) what is wanted, and how to supply the want when you precisely find it (35).