'Thursday morning.—I intended to have finished this before breakfast, but unfortunately slept an hour too long. I am every moment in expectation of the old man's arrival. I hope my cousin is still better to-day; she requests me to say that she is much obliged to you for your kind inquiries and the concern you express for her recovery. I take all possible care of her, but yesterday she was naughty enough to venture into the yard without her bonnet! As you do not say anything of going to Leeds I conclude you have not been. We shall most probably hear from the Dr. this afternoon. I am much pleased to hear of his success at Bierly! O that you may both be zealous and successful in your efforts for the salvation of souls, and may your own lives be holy, and your hearts greatly blessed while you are engaged in administering to the good of others! I should have been very glad to have had it in my power to lessen your fatigue and cheer your spirits by my exertions on Monday last. I will hope that this pleasure is still reserved for me. In general, I feel a calm confidence in the providential care and continued mercy of God, and when I consider his past deliverances and past favours I am led to wonder and adore. A sense of my small returns of love and gratitude to him often abases me and makes me think I am little better than those who profess no religion. Pray for me, my dear friend, and rest assured that you possess a very very large portion of the prayers, thoughts, and heart of yours truly,

'M. BRANWELL.

'Mr. Fennell requests Mr. Bedford to call on the man who has had orders to make blankets for the Grove and desire him to send them as soon as possible. Mr. Fennell will be greatly obliged to Mr. Bedford if he will take this trouble.'

TO REV. PATRICK BRONTE, A.B., HARTSHEAD

'WOOD HOUSE GROVE, November 18th, 1812.

'MY DEAR SAUCY PAT,—Now don't you think you deserve this epithet far more than I do that which you have given me? I really know not what to make of the beginning of your last; the winds, waves, and rocks almost stunned me. I thought you were giving me the account of some terrible dream, or that you had had a presentiment of the fate of my poor box, having no idea that your lively imagination could make so much of the slight reproof conveyed in my last. What will you say when you get a real, downright scolding? Since you show such a readiness to atone for your offences after receiving a mild rebuke, I am inclined to hope you will seldom deserve a severe one. I accept with pleasure your atonement, and send you a free and full forgiveness. But I cannot allow that your affection is more deeply rooted than mine. However, we will dispute no more about this, but rather embrace every opportunity to prove its sincerity and strength by acting in every respect as friends and fellow-pilgrims travelling the same road, actuated by the same motives, and having in view the same end. I think if our lives are spared twenty years hence I shall then pray for you with the same, if not greater, fervour and delight that I do now. I am pleased that you are so fully convinced of my candour, for to know that you suspected me of a deficiency in this virtue would grieve and mortify me beyond expression. I do not derive any merit from the possession of it, for in me it is constitutional. Yet I think where it is possessed it will rarely exist alone, and where it is wanted there is reason to doubt the existence of almost every other virtue. As to the other qualities which your partiality attributes to me, although I rejoice to know that I stand so high in your good opinion, yet I blush to think in how small a degree I possess them. But it shall be the pleasing study of my future life to gain such an increase of grace and wisdom as shall enable me to act up to your highest expectations and prove to you a helpmeet. I firmly believe the Almighty has set us apart for each other; may we, by earnest, frequent prayer, and every possible exertion, endeavour to fulfil His will in all things! I do not, cannot, doubt your love, and here I freely declare I love you above all the world besides. I feel very, very grateful to the great Author of all our mercies for His unspeakable love and condescension towards us, and desire "to show forth my gratitude not only with my lips, but by my life and conversation." I indulge a hope that our mutual prayers will be answered, and that our intimacy will tend much to promote our temporal and eternal interest.

['I suppose you never expected to be much the richer for me, but I am sorry to inform you that I am still poorer than I thought myself. I mentioned having sent for my books, clothes, etc. On Saturday evening about the time you were writing the description of your imaginary shipwreck, I was reading and feeling the effects of a real one, having then received a letter from my sister giving me an account of the vessel in which she had sent my box being stranded on the coast of Devonshire, in consequence of which the box was dashed to pieces with the violence of the sea, and all my little property, with the exception of a very few articles, swallowed up in the mighty deep. If this should not prove the prelude to something worse, I shall think little of it, as it is the first disastrous circumstance which has occurred since I left my home], {49} and having been so highly favoured it would be highly ungrateful in me were I to suffer this to dwell much on my mind.

'Mr. Morgan was here yesterday, indeed he only left this morning. He mentioned having written to invite you to Bierly on Sunday next, and if you complied with his request it is likely that we shall see you both here on Sunday evening. As we intend going to Leeds next week, we should be happy if you would accompany us on Monday or Tuesday. I mention this by desire of Miss Fennell, who begs to be remembered affectionately to you. Notwithstanding Mr. Fennell's complaints and threats, I doubt not but he will give you a cordial reception whenever you think fit to make your appearance at the Grove. Which you may likewise be assured of receiving from your ever truly affectionate,

MARIA.

'Both the doctor and his lady very much wish to know what kind of address we make use of in our letters to each other. I think they would scarcely hit on this!!'

TO REV. PATRICK BRONTE, A.B., HARTSHEAD

'WOOD HOUSE GROVE, December 5th, 1812.

'MY DEAREST FRIEND,—So you thought that perhaps I might expect to hear from you. As the case was so doubtful, and you were in such great haste, you might as well have deferred writing a few days longer, for you seem to suppose it is a matter of perfect indifference to me whether I hear from you or not. I believe I once requested you to judge of my feelings by your own—am I to think that you are thus indifferent? I feel very unwilling to entertain such an opinion, and am grieved that you should suspect me of such a cold, heartless, attachment. But I am too serious on the subject; I only meant to rally you a little on the beginning of your last, and to tell you that I fancied there was a coolness in it which none of your former letters had contained. If this fancy was groundless, forgive me for having indulged it, and let it serve to convince you of the sincerity and warmth of my affection. Real love is ever apt to suspect that it meets not with an equal return; you must not wonder then that my fears are sometimes excited. My pride cannot bear the idea of a diminution of your attachment, or to think that it is stronger on my side than on yours. But I must not permit my pen so fully to disclose the feelings of my heart, nor will I tell you whether I am pleased or not at the thought of seeing you on the appointed day.

'Miss Fennell desires her kind regards, and, with her father, is extremely obliged to you for the trouble you have taken about the carpet, and has no doubt but it will give full satisfaction. They think there will be no occasion for the green cloth.

'We intend to set about making the cakes here next week, but as the fifteen or twenty persons whom you mention live probably somewhere in your neighbourhood, I think it will be most convenient for Mrs. B. to make a small one for the purpose of distributing there, which will save us the difficulty of sending so far.

'You may depend on my learning my lessons as rapidly as they are given me. I am already tolerably perfect in the A B C, etc. I am much obliged to you for the pretty little hymn which I have already got by heart, but cannot promise to sing it scientifically, though I will endeavour to gain a little more assurance.

'Since I began this Jane put into my hands Lord Lyttelton's Advice to a Lady. When I read those lines, "Be never cool reserve with passion joined, with caution choose, but then be fondly kind, etc." my heart smote me for having in some cases used too much reserve towards you. Do you think you have any cause to complain of me? If you do, let me know it. For were it in my power to prevent it, I would in no instance occasion you the least pain or uneasiness. I am certain no one ever loved you with an affection more pure, constant, tender, and ardent than that which I feel. Surely this is not saying too much; it is the truth, and I trust you are worthy to know it. I long to improve in every religious and moral quality, that I may be a help, and if possible an ornament to you. Oh let us pray much for wisdom and grace to fill our appointed stations with propriety, that we may enjoy satisfaction in our own souls, edify others, and bring glory to the name of Him who has so wonderfully preserved, blessed, and brought us together.

'If there is anything in the commencement of this which looks like pettishness, forgive it; my mind is now completely divested of every feeling of the kind, although I own I am sometimes too apt to be overcome by this disposition.

'Let me have the pleasure of hearing from you again as soon as convenient. This writing is uncommonly bad, but I too am in haste.

'Adieu, my dearest.—I am your affectionate and sincere

'MARIA.'

Mr. Bronte was at Hartshead, where he married, for five years, and there his two eldest children, Maria and Elizabeth, were born. He then moved to Thornton, near Bradford, where Charlotte was born on the 21st of April 1816, Branwell in 1817, Emily in 1818, and Anne in 1819. In 1820 the family removed to the parsonage of Haworth, and in 1821 the poor mother was dead. A year or two later Miss Elizabeth Branwell came from Penzance to act as a mother to her orphaned nephew and nieces. There is no reason to accept the theory that Miss Branwell was quite as formidable or offensive a personage as the Mrs. Read in Jane Eyre. That she was a somewhat rigid and not over demonstrative woman, we may take for granted. The one letter to her of any importance that I have seen—it is printed in Mrs. Gaskell's life—was the attempt of Charlotte to obtain her co-operation in the projected visit to a Brussels school. Miss Branwell provided the money readily enough it would seem, and one cannot doubt that in her later years she was on the best of terms with her nieces. There may have been too much discipline in childhood, but discipline which would now be considered too severe was common enough at the beginning of the century. The children, we may be sure, were left abundantly alone. The writing they accomplished in their early years would sufficiently demonstrate that. Miss Branwell died in 1842; and from her will, which I give elsewhere, it will be seen that she behaved very justly to her three nieces.

The reception by Mr. Bronte of his children's literary successes has been very pleasantly recorded by Charlotte. He was proud of his daughters, and delighted with their fame. He seems to have had no small share of their affection. Charlotte loved and esteemed him. There are hundreds of her letters, in many of which are severe and indeed unprintable things about this or that individual; but of her father these letters contain not one single harsh word. She wrote to him regularly when absent. Not only did he secure the affection of his daughter, but the people most intimately associated with him next to his own children gave him a lifelong affection and regard. Martha Brown, the servant who lived with him until his death, always insisted that her old master had been grievously wronged, and that a kinder, more generous, and in every way more worthy man had never lived. Nancy Garrs, another servant, always spoke of Mr. Bronte as 'the kindest man who ever drew breath,' and as a good and affectionate father. Forty years have gone by since Charlotte Bronte died; and thirty-six years have flown since Mr. Nicholls left the deathbed of his wife's father; but through all that period he has retained the most kindly memories of one with whom his life was intimately associated for sixteen years, with whom at one crisis of his life, as we shall see, he had a serious difference, but whom he ever believed to have been an entirely honourable and upright man.

A lady visitor to Haworth in December 1860 did not, it is true, carry away quite so friendly an impression. 'I have been to see old Mr. Bronte,' she writes, 'and have spent about an hour with him. He is completely confined to his bed, but talks hopefully of leaving it again when the summer comes round. I am afraid that it will not be leaving it as he plans, poor old man! He is touchingly softened by illness; but still talks in his pompous way, and mingles moral remarks and somewhat stale sentiments with his conversation on ordinary subjects.' This is severe, but after all it was a literary woman who wrote it. On the whole we may safely assume, with the evidence before us, that Mr. Bronte was a thoroughly upright and honourable man who came manfully through a somewhat severe life battle. That is how his daughters thought of him, and we cannot do better than think with them. {53}

Mr. Bronte died on June 7, 1861, and his funeral in Haworth Church is described in the Bradford Review of the following week:—

'Great numbers of people had collected in the churchyard, and a few minutes before noon the corpse was brought out through the eastern gate of the garden leading into the churchyard. The Rev. Dr. Burnet, Vicar of Bradford, read the funeral service, and led the way into the church, and the following clergymen were the bearers of the coffin: The Rev. Dr. Cartman of Skipton; Rev. Mr. Sowden of Hebden Bridge; the Incumbents of Cullingworth, Oakworth, Morton, Oxenhope, and St. John's Ingrow. The chief mourners were the Rev. Arthur Bell Nicholls, son-in-law of the deceased; Martha Brown, the housekeeper; and her sister; Mrs. Brown, and Mrs. Wainwright. There were several gentlemen followed the corpse whom we did not know. All the shops in Haworth were closed, and the people filled every pew, and the aisles in the church, and many shed tears during the impressive reading of the service for the burial of the dead, by the vicar. The body of Mr. Bronte was laid within the altar rails, by the side of his daughter Charlotte. He is the last that can be interred inside of Haworth Church. On the coffin was this inscription: "Patrick Bronte, died June 7th, 1861, aged 84 years."'

His will, which was proved at Wakefield, left the bulk of his property, as was natural, to the son-in-law who had faithfully served and tended him for the six years which succeeded Charlotte Bronte's death.

Extracted from the Principal Registry of the Probate Divorce and Admiralty Division of the High Court of Justice.

Being of sound mind and judgment, in the name of God the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, I, PATRICK BRONTE, B.A., Incumbent of Haworth, in the Parish of Bradford and county of York, make this my last Will and Testament: I leave forty pounds to be equally divided amongst all my brothers and sisters to whom I gave considerable sums in times past; And I direct the same sum of forty pounds to be sent for distribution to Mr. Hugh Bronte, Ballinasceaugh, near Loughbrickland, Ireland; I leave thirty pounds to my servant, Martha Brown, as a token of regard for long and faithful services to me and my children; To my beloved and esteemed son-in-law, the Rev. Arthur Bell Nicholls, B.A., I leave and bequeath the residue of my personal estate of every description which I shall be possessed of at my death for his own absolute benefit; And I make him my sole executor; And I revoke all former and other Wills, in witness whereof I, the said PATRICK BRONTE, have to this my last Will, contained in this sheet of paper, set my hand this twentieth day of June, one thousand eight hundred and fifty-five.

PATRICK BRONTE.—Signed and acknowledged by the said PATRICK BRONTE as his Will in the presence of us present at the same time, and who in his presence and in the presence of each other have hereunto subscribed our names as witnesses: JOSEPH REDMAN, ELIZA BROWN.

The Irish relatives are not forgotten, and indeed this will gives the most direct evidence of the fact that for the sixty years that he had been absent from his native land he had always kept his own country, or at least his relatives in County Down, sufficiently in mind.



CHAPTER II: CHILDHOOD

Eighty years have passed over Thornton since that village had the honour of becoming the birthplace of Charlotte Bronte. The visitor of to-day will find the Bell Chapel, in which Mr. Bronte officiated, a mere ruin, and the font in which his children were baptized ruthlessly exposed to the winds of heaven. {56a} The house in which Patrick Bronte resided is now a butcher's shop, and indeed little, one imagines, remains the same. But within the new church one may still overhaul the registers, and find, with but little trouble, a record of the baptism of the Bronte children. There, amid the names of the rough and rude peasantry of the neighbourhood, we find the accompanying entries, {56b} differing from their neighbours only by the fact that Mr. Morgan or Mr. Fennell came to the help of their relatives and officiated in place of Mr. Bronte. Mr. Bronte, it will be observed, had already received his appointment to Haworth when Anne was baptized.

There were, it is well known, two elder children, Maria and Elizabeth, born at Hartshead, and doomed to die speedily at Haworth. A vague memory of Maria lives in the Helen Burns of Jane Eyre, but the only tangible records of the pair, as far as I am able to ascertain, are a couple of samplers, of the kind which Mrs. Bronte and her sisters had worked at Penzance a generation earlier.

Maria Bronte finished this Sampler on the 16th of May at the age of eight years

one of them tells us, and the other:

Elizabeth Bronte finished this Sampler the 27th of July at the age of seven years.

Maria died at the age of twelve in May 1825, and Elizabeth in June of the same year, at the age of eleven. It is, however, with their three sisters that we have most concern, although all the six children accompanied their parents to Haworth in 1820.

Haworth, we are told, has been over-described; and yet it may not be amiss to discover from the easily available directories what manner of place it was during the Bronte residence there. Pigot's Yorkshire Directory of 1828 gives the census during the first year of Mr. Bronte's incumbency thus:—

HAWORTH, a populous manufacturing village, in the honour of Pontefract, Morley wapentake, and in the parish of Bradford, is four miles south of Keighley, containing, by the census of 1821, 4668 inhabitants.

Gentry and Clergy: Bronte, Rev. Patrick, Haworth; Heaton, Robert, gent., Ponden Hall; Miles, Rev. Oddy, Haworth; Saunders, Rev. Moses, Haworth.

From the same source twenty years later we obtain more explicit detail, which is not without interest to-day.

HAWORTH is a chapelry, comprising the hamlets of Haworth, Stanbury, and Near and Far Oxenhope, in the parish of Bradford, and wapentake of Morley, West Riding—Haworth being ten miles from Bradford, about the same distance from Halifax, Colne, and Skipton, three and a half miles S. from Keighley, and eight from Hebden Bridge, at which latter place is a station on the Leeds and Manchester railway. Haworth is situated on the side of a hill, and consists of one irregularly built street—the habitations in that part called Oxenhope being yet more scattered, and Stanbury still farther distant; the entire chapelry occupying a wide space. The spinning of worsted, and the manufacture of stuffs, are branches which here prevail extensively.

The Church or rather chapel (subject to Bradford), dedicated to St. Michael, was rebuilt in 1757: the living is a perpetual curacy, in the presentation of the vicar of Bradford and certain trustees; the present curate is the Rev. Patrick Bronte. The other places of worship are two chapels for baptists, one each for primitive and Wesleyan methodists, and another at Oxenhope for the latter denomination. There are two excellent free schools—one at Stanbury, the other, called the Free Grammar School, near Oxenhope; besides which there are several neat edifices erected for Sunday teaching. There are three annual fairs: they are held on Easter-Monday, the second Monday after St. Peter's day (old style), and the first Monday after Old Michaelmas day. The chapelry of Haworth, and its dependent hamlets, contained by the returns for 1831, 5835 inhabitants; and by the census taken in June, 1841, the population amounted to 6301.

Haworth needs even to-day no further description, but the house in which Mr. Bronte resided, from 1820 till his death in 1861, has not been over-described, perhaps because Mr. Bronte's successor has not been too well disposed to receive the casual visitor to Haworth under his roof.

Many changes have been made since Mr. Bronte died, but the house still retains its essentially interesting features. In the time of the Brontes, it is true, the front outlook was as desolate as to-day it is attractive. Then there was a little piece of barren ground running down to the walls of the churchyard, with here and there a currant-bush as the sole adornment. Now we see an abundance of trees and a well-kept lawn. Miss Ellen Nussey well remembers seeing Emily and Anne, on a fine summer afternoon, sitting on stools in this bit of garden plucking currants from the poor insignificant bushes. There was no premonition of the time, not so far distant, when the rough doorway separating the churchyard from the garden, which was opened for their mother when they were little children, should be opened again time after time in rapid succession for their own biers to be carried through. This gateway is now effectively bricked up. In the days of the Brontes it was reserved for the passage of the dead—a grim arrangement, which, strange to say, finds no place in any one of the sisters' stories. We enter the house, and the door on the right leads into Mr. Bronte's study, always called the parlour; that on the left into the dining-room, where the children spent a great portion of their lives. From childhood to womanhood, indeed, the three girls regularly breakfasted with their father in his study. In the dining-room—a square and simple room of a kind common enough in the houses of the poorer middle-classes—they ate their mid-day dinner, their tea and supper. Mr. Bronte joined them at tea, although he always dined alone in his study. The children's dinner-table has been described to me by a visitor to the house. At one end sat Miss Branwell, at the other, Charlotte, with Emily and Anne on either side. Branwell was then absent. The living was of the simplest. A single joint, followed invariably by one kind or another of milk-pudding. Pastry was unknown in the Bronte household. Milk-puddings, or food composed of milk and rice, would seem to have made the principal diet of Emily and Anne Bronte, and to this they added a breakfast of Scotch porridge, which they shared with their dogs. It is more interesting, perhaps, to think of all the daydreams in that room, of the mass of writing which was achieved there, of the conversations and speculation as to the future. Miss Nussey has given a pleasant picture of twilight when Charlotte and she walked with arms encircling one another round and round the table, and Emily and Anne followed in similar fashion. There was no lack of cheerfulness and of hope at that period. Behind Mr. Bronte's studio was the kitchen; and there we may easily picture the Bronte children telling stories to Tabby or Martha, or to whatever servant reigned at the time, and learning, as all of them did, to become thoroughly domesticated—Emily most of all. Behind the dining-room was a peat-room, which, when Charlotte was married in 1854, was cleared out and converted into a little study for Mr. Nicholls. The staircase with its solid banister remains as it did half a century ago; and at its foot one is still shown the corner which tradition assigns as the scene of Emily's conflict with her dog Keeper. On the right, at the back, as you mount the staircase, was a small room allotted to Branwell as a studio. On the other side of this staircase, also at the back, was the servants' room. In the front of the house, immediately over the dining-room, was Miss Branwell's room, afterwards the spare bedroom until Charlotte Bronte married. In that room she died. On the left, over Mr. Bronte's study, was Mr. Bronte's bedroom. It was the room which, for many years, he shared with Branwell, and it was in that room that Branwell and his father died at an interval of twenty years. On the staircase, half-way up, was a grandfather's clock, which Mr. Bronte used to wind up every night on his way to bed. He always went to bed at nine o'clock, and Miss Nussey well remembers his stentorian tones as he called out as he left his study and passed the dining-room door—'Don't be up late, children'—which they usually were. Between these two front rooms upstairs, and immediately over the passage, with a door facing the staircase, was a box room; but this was the children's nursery, where for many years the children slept, where the bulk of their little books were compiled, and where, it is more than probable, The Professor and Jane Eyre were composed.

Of the work of the Bronte children in these early years, a great deal might be written. Mrs. Gaskell gives a list of some eighteen booklets, but at least eighteen more from the pen of Charlotte are in existence. Branwell was equally prolific; and of him, also, there remains an immense mass of childish effort. That Emily and Anne were industrious in a like measure there is abundant reason to believe; but scarcely one of their juvenile efforts remains to us, nor even the unpublished fragments of later years, to which reference will be made a little later. Whether Emily and Anne on the eve of their death deliberately destroyed all their treasures, or whether they were destroyed by Charlotte in the days of her mourning, will never be known. Meanwhile one turns with interest to the efforts of Charlotte and Branwell. Charlotte's little stories commence in her thirteenth year, and go on until she is twenty-three. From thirteen to eighteen she would seem to have had one absorbing hero. It was the Duke of Wellington; and her hero-worship extended to the children of the Duke, who, indeed, would seem even more than their father to have absorbed her childish affections. Whether the stories are fairy tales or dramas of modern life, they all alike introduce the Marquis of Douro, who afterwards became the second Duke of Wellington, and Lord Charles Wellesley, whose son is now the third Duke of Wellington. The length of some of these fragments is indeed incredible. They fill but a few sheets of notepaper in that tiny handwriting; but when copied by zealous admirers, it is seen that more than one of them is twenty thousand words in length.

The Foundling, by Captain Tree, written in 1833, is a story of thirty-five thousand words, though the manuscript has only eighteen pages. The Green Dwarf, written in the same year, is even longer, and indeed after her return from Roe Head in 1833, Charlotte must have devoted herself to continuous writing. The Adventures of Ernest Alembert is a booklet of this date, and Arthuriana, or Odds and Ends: being a Miscellaneous Collection of Pieces in Prose and Verse, by Lord Charles Wellesley, is yet another.

The son of the Iron Duke is made to talk, in these little books, in a way which would have gladdened the heart of a modern interviewer:

'Lord Charles,' said Mr. Rundle to me one afternoon lately, 'I have an engagement to drink tea with an old college chum this evening, so I shall give you sixty lines of the AEneid to get ready during my absence. If it is not ready by the time I come back you know the consequences.' 'Very well, Sir,' said I, bringing out the books with a prodigious bustle, and making a show as if I intended to learn a whole book instead of sixty lines of the AEneid. This appearance of industry, however, lasted no longer than until the old gentleman's back was turned. No sooner had he fairly quitted the room than I flung aside the musty tomes, took my cap, and speeding through chamber, hall, and gallery, was soon outside the gates of Waterloo Palace.'

The Secret, another story, of which Mrs. Gaskell gave a facsimile of the first page, was also written in 1833, and indeed in this, her seventeenth year, Charlotte Bronte must have written as much as in any year of her life. When at Roe Head, 1832-3, she would seem to have worked at her studies, and particularly her drawing; but in the interval between Cowan Bridge and Roe Head she wrote a great deal. The earliest manuscripts in my possession bear date 1829—that is to say, in Charlotte's thirteenth year. They are her Tales of the Islanders, which extend to four little volumes in brown paper covers neatly inscribed 'First Volume,' 'Second Volume,' and so on. The Duke is of absorbing importance in these 'Tales.' 'One evening the Duke of Wellington was writing in his room in Downing Street. He was reposing at his ease in a simple easy chair, smoking a homely tobacco-pipe, for he disdained all the modern frippery of cigars . . . ' and so on in an abundance of childish imaginings. The Search after Happiness and Characters of Great Men of the Present Time were also written in 1829. Perhaps the only juvenile fragment which is worth anything is also the only one in which she escapes from the Wellington enthusiasm. It has an interest also in indicating that Charlotte in her girlhood heard something of her father's native land. It is called—

AN ADVENTURE IN IRELAND

During my travels in the south of Ireland the following adventure happened to me. One evening in the month of August, after a long walk, I was ascending the mountain which overlooks the village of Cahill, when I suddenly came in sight of a fine old castle. It was built upon a rock, and behind it was a large wood and before it was a river. Over the river there was a bridge, which formed the approach to the castle. When I arrived at the bridge I stood still awhile to enjoy the prospect around me: far below was the wide sheet of still water in which the reflection of the pale moon was not disturbed by the smallest wave; in the valley was the cluster of cabins which is known by the appellation of Cahin, and beyond these were the mountains of Killala. Over all, the grey robe of twilight was now stealing with silent and scarcely perceptible advances. No sound except the hum of the distant village and the sweet song of the nightingale in the wood behind me broke upon the stillness of the scene. While I was contemplating this beautiful prospect, a gentleman, whom I had not before observed, accosted me with 'Good evening, sir; are you a stranger in these parts?' I replied that I was. He then asked me where I was going to stop for the night; I answered that I intended to sleep somewhere in the village. 'I am afraid you will find very bad accommodation there,' said the gentleman; 'but if you will take up your quarters with me at the castle, you are welcome.' I thanked him for his kind offer, and accepted it.

When we arrived at the castle I was shown into a large parlour, in which was an old lady sitting in an arm-chair by the fireside, knitting. On the rug lay a very pretty tortoise-shell cat. As soon as mentioned, the old lady rose; and when Mr. O'Callaghan (for that, I learned, was his name) told her who I was, she said in the most cordial tone that I was welcome, and asked me to sit down. In the course of conversation I learned that she was Mr. O'Callaghan's mother, and that his father had been dead about a year. We had sat about an hour, when supper was announced, and after supper Mr. O'Callaghan asked me if I should like to retire for the night. I answered in the affirmative, and a little boy was commissioned to show me to my apartment. It was a snug, clean, and comfortable little old-fashioned room at the top of the castle. As soon as we had entered, the boy, who appeared to be a shrewd, good-tempered little fellow, said with a shrug of the shoulder, 'If it was going to bed I was, it shouldn't be here that you'd catch me.' 'Why?' said I. 'Because,' replied the boy, 'they say that the ould masther's ghost has been seen sitting on that there chair.' 'And have you seen him?' 'No; but I've heard him washing his hands in that basin often and often.' 'What is your name, my little fellow?' 'Dennis Mulready, please your honour.' 'Well, good-night to you.' 'Good-night, masther; and may the saints keep you from all fairies and brownies,' said Dennis as he left the room.

As soon as I had laid down I began to think of what the boy had been telling me, and I confess I felt a strange kind of fear, and once or twice I even thought I could discern something white through the darkness which surrounded me. At length, by the help of reason, I succeeded in mastering these, what some would call idle fancies, and fell asleep. I had slept about an hour when a strange sound awoke me, and I saw looking through my curtains a skeleton wrapped in a white sheet. I was overcome with terror and tried to scream, but my tongue was paralysed and my whole frame shook with fear. In a deep hollow voice it said to me, 'Arise, that I may show thee this world's wonders,' and in an instant I found myself encompassed with clouds and darkness. But soon the roar of mighty waters fell upon my ear, and I saw some clouds of spray arising from high falls that rolled in awful majesty down tremendous precipices, and then foamed and thundered in the gulf beneath as if they had taken up their unquiet abode in some giant's cauldron. But soon the scene changed, and I found myself in the mines of Cracone. There were high pillars and stately arches, whose glittering splendour was never excelled by the brightest fairy palaces. There were not many lamps, only those of a few poor miners, whose rough visages formed a striking contrast to the dazzling figures and grandeur which surrounded them. But in the midst of all this magnificence I felt an indescribable sense of fear and terror, for the sea raged above us, and by the awful and tumultuous noises of roaring winds and dashing waves, it seemed as if the storm was violent. And now the mossy pillars groaned beneath the pressure of the ocean, and the glittering arches seemed about to be overwhelmed. When I heard the rushing waters and saw a mighty flood rolling towards me I gave a loud shriek of terror. The scene vanished, and I found myself in a wide desert full of barren rocks and high mountains. As I was approaching one of the rocks, in which there was a large cave, my foot stumbled and I fell. Just then I heard a deep growl, and saw by the unearthly light of his own fiery eyes a royal lion rousing himself from his kingly slumbers. His terrible eye was fixed upon me, and the desert rang and the rocks echoed with the tremendous roar of fierce delight which he uttered as he sprang towards me. 'Well, masther, it's been a windy night, though it's fine now,' said Dennis, as he drew the window-curtain and let the bright rays of the morning sun into the little old-fashioned room at the top of O'Callaghan Castle.

C. BRONTE. April the 28th, 1829.

Six numbers of The Young Men's Magazine were written in 1829; a very juvenile poem, The Evening Walk, by the Marquis of Douro, in 1830; and another, of greater literary value, The Violet, in the same year. In 1831 we have an unfinished poem, The Trumpet Hath Sounded; and in 1832 a very long poem called The Bridal. Some of them, as for example a poem called Richard Coeur de Lion and Blondel, are written in penny and twopenny notebooks of the kind used by laundresses. Occasionally her father has purchased a sixpenny book and has written within the cover—

All that is written in this book must be in a good, plain, and legible hand.—P. B.

While upon this topic, I may as well carry the record up to the date of publication of Currer Bell's poems. A Leaf from an Unopened Volume was written in 1834, as were also The Death of Darius, and Corner Dishes. Saul: a Poem, was written in 1835, and a number of other still unpublished verses. There is a story called Lord Douro, bearing date 1837, and a manuscript book of verses of 1838, but that pretty well exhausts the manuscripts before me previous to the days of serious literary activity. During the years as private governess (1839-1841) and the Brussels experiences (1842-1844), Charlotte would seem to have put all literary effort on one side.

There is only one letter of Charlotte Bronte's childhood. It is indorsed by Mr. Bronte on the cover Charlotte's First Letter, possibly for the guidance of Mrs. Gaskell, who may perhaps have thought it of insufficient importance. That can scarcely be the opinion of any one to-day. Charlotte, aged thirteen, is staying with the Fennells, her mother's friends of those early love-letters.

TO THE REV. P. BRONTE

'PARSONAGE HOUSE, CROSSTONE, September 23rd, 1829.

'MY DEAR PAPA,—At Aunt's request I write these lines to inform you that "if all be well" we shall be at home on Friday by dinner-time, when we hope to find you in good health. On account of the bad weather we have not been out much, but notwithstanding we have spent our time very pleasantly, between reading, working, and learning our lessons, which Uncle Fennell has been so kind as to teach us every day. Branwell has taken two sketches from nature, and Emily, Anne, and myself have likewise each of us drawn a piece from some views of the lakes which Mr. Fennell brought with him from Westmoreland. The whole of these he intends keeping. Mr. Fennell is sorry he cannot accompany us to Haworth on Friday, for want of room, but hopes to have the pleasure of seeing you soon. All unite in sending their kind love with your affectionate daughter,

'CHARLOTTE BRONTE.'

The following list includes the whole of the early Bronte Manuscripts known to me, or of which I can find any record:—

UNPUBLISHED BRONTE LITERATURE.

BY CHARLOTTE BRONTE

The Young Men's Magazines. In Six Numbers 1829

[Only four out of these six numbers appear to have been preserved.] The Search after Happiness: A Tale. By Charlotte Bronte 1829 Two Romantic Tales; viz. The Twelve Adventures, and An 1829 Adventure in Ireland Characters of Great Men of the Present Age, Dec. 17th 1829 Tales of the Islanders. By Charlotte Bronte:— Vol. i. dated June 31, 1829 Vol. ii. dated December 2, 1829 Vol. iii. dated May 8, 1830 Vol. iv. dated July 30, 1830

[Accompanying these volumes is a one-page document detailing 'The Origin of the Islanders.' Dated March 12, 1829.] The Evening Walk: A Poem. By the Marquis Douro 1830 A Translation into English Verse of the First Book of Voltaire's 1830 Henriade. By Charlotte Bronte Albion and Marina: A Tale. By Lord Wellesley 1830 The Adventures of Ernest Alembert: A Fairy Tale. By 1830 Charlotte Bronte The Violet: A Poem. With several smaller Pieces. By the 1830 Marquess of Douro. Published by Seargeant Tree. Glasstown, 1830 The Bridal. By C. Bronte 1832 Arthuriana; or, Odds and Ends: Being a Miscellaneous 1833 Collection of Pieces in Prose and Verse. By Lord Charles A. F. Wellesley Something about Arthur. Written by Charles Albert Florian 1833 Wellesley The Vision. By Charlotte Bronte 1833 The Secret and Lily Hart: Two Tales. By Lord Charles 1833 Wellesley

[The first page of this book is given in facsimile in vol. i. of Mrs. Gaskell's Life of Charlotte Bronte.] Visits in Verdopolis. By the Honourable Charles Albert Florian 1833 Wellesley. Two vols. The Green Dwarf: A Tale of the Perfect Tense. By Lord Charles 1833 Albert Florian Wellesley. Charlotte Bronte. The Foundling: A Tale of our own Times. By Captain Tree 1833 Richard Coeur de Lion and Blondel. By Charlotte Bronte, 1833 8vo, pp. 20. Signed in full Charlotte Bronte, and dated Haworth, near Bradford, Dec. 27th, 1833 My Angria and the Angrians. By Lord Charles Albert Florian 1834 Wellesley A Leaf from an Unopened Volume; or, The Manuscript of an 1834 Unfortunate Author. Edited by Lord Charles Albert Florian Wellesley Corner Dishes: Being a small Collection of . . . Trifles in 1834 Prose and Verse. By Lord Charles Albert Florian Wellesley The Spell: An Extravaganza. By Lord Charles Albert Florian Wellesley. Signed Charlotte Bronte, June 21st, 1834. The contents include: 1. Preface, half page; 2. The Spell, 26 pages; 3. High Life in Verdopolis: or The Difficulties of Annexing a Suitable Title to a Work Practically Illustrated in Six Chapters. By Lord C. A. F. Wellesley, March 20, 1834, 22 pages; 4. The Scrap-Book: A Mingling of Many Things. Compiled by Lord C. A. F. Wellesley. C. Bronte, March 17th, 1835, 31 pages.

[This volume is in the British Museum.] Death of Darius Cadomanus: A Poem. By Charlotte Bronte. 1835 Pp. 24. Signed in full, and dated Saul and Memory: Two Poems. By C. Bronte. Pp. 12 1835 Passing Events 1836 'We Wove a Web in Childhood': A poem (pp. vi.), signed C. 1835 Bronte, Haworth, Dec'br. 19th, 1835 The Wounded Stag, and other Poems. Signed C. Bronte. 1836 Jan'y. 19, 1836. Pp. 20 Lord Douro: A Story. Signed C. Bronte. July 21st, 1837 1837 Poems. By C. Bronte. Pp. 16 1838 Lettre d'Invitation a un Ecclesiastique. Signed 1842 Charlotte Bronte. Le 21 Juillet, 1842. Large 8vo, pp. 4. A French exercise written at Brussels John Henry. By Charlotte Bronte, Crown 8vo, pp. 36, circa 1852 written in pencil Willie Ellin. By Charlotte Bronte. May and June 1853 Crown 8vo, pp. 18

The following, included in Charlotte's 'Catalogue of my Books' printed by Mrs. Gaskell, are not now forthcoming:

Leisure Hours: A Tale, and two Fragments July 6th, 1829 The Adventures of Edward de Crak: A Tale Feb. 2nd, 1830 An Interesting Incident in the Lives of some June 10th, 1830 of the most eminent Persons of the Age: A Tale The Poetaster: A Drama. In two volumes, July 12th, 1830 A Book of Rhymes, finished December 17th, 1829 Miscellaneous Poems, finished May 3rd, 1830

[These Miscellaneous Poems are probably poems written upon separate sheets, and not forming a complete book—indeed, some half dozen such separate poems are still extant. The last item given in Charlotte's list of these Miscellaneous Poems is The Evening Walk, 1820; this is a separate book, and is included in the list above.]

BY EMILY BRONTE

A volume of Poems, 8vo, pp. 29; signed (at the top of the first 1844 page) E. J. B. Transcribed February 1814. Each poem is headed with the date of its composition. Of the poems included in this book four are still unprinted, the remainder were published in the Poems of 1846. The whole are written in microscopic characters A volume of Poems, square 8vo, pp. 24. Each poem is dated, 1837-1839 and the first is signed E. J. Bronte, August 19th, 1837. Written in an ordinary, and not a minute, handwriting. All unpublished A series of poems written in a minute hand upon both sides of 1833-1839 fourteen or fifteen small slips of paper of various sizes. All unpublished Lettre and Reponse. An exercise in French. Large 8vo, 1842 pp. 4. Signed E. J. Bronte, and dated 16 Juillet L'Amour Filial. An exercise in French. Small quarto, pp. 4. 1842 Signed in full Emily J. Bronte, and dated 5 Aout

BY ANNE BRONTE.

Verses by Lady Geralda, and other poems. A crown 8vo volume 1836-1837 of 28 pages. Each poem is signed (or initialled) and dated, the dates extending from 1836 to 1837. The poems are all unpublished The North Wind, and other poems. A crown 8vo volume of 26 1838-1840 pages. Each poem is signed (or initialled) and dated, some having in addition to her own name the nom-de-guerre Alexandrina Zenobia or Olivia Vernon. The dates extend from 1838 to 1840. The poems are all unpublished To Cowper, and other poems. 8vo, pp. 22. Of the nine 1842-1845 poems contained in this volume three are signed Anne Bronte, four are signed A. Bronte, and two are initialled 'A. B.' All are dated. Part of these Poems are unpublished, the remainder appeared in the Poems of 1846 A thin 8vo volume of poems (mostly dated 1845), pp. 14, circa 1845 each being signed A. Bronte, or simply 'A. B.'—some having in addition to, or instead of, her own name the nom-de-guerre Zerona. A few of these poems are unprinted; the remainder are a portion of Anne's contribution to the Poems of 1846 Song: 'Should Life's first feelings be forgot' (one octavo 1845 leaf)

[A fair copy (2 pp. 8vo) of a poem by Branwell Bronte, in the hand-writing of Anne Bronte.] The Power of Love, and other poems. Post octavo, pp. 26. 1845-1846 Each poem is signed (or initialled) and dated Self Communion, a Poem. 8vo, pp. 19. Signed 'A. B.' and 1848 dated April 17th, 1848

BY BRANWELL BRONTE.

The Battle of Washington. By P. B. Bronte. With full-page 1827 coloured illustrations

[An exceedingly childish production, and the earliest of all the Bronte manuscripts.] History of the Rebellion in my Army 1828 The Travels of Rolando Segur: Comprising his Adventures 1829 throughout the Voyage, and in America, Europe, the South Pole, etc. By Patrick Branwell Bronte. In two volumes A Collection of Poems. By Young Soult the Rhymer. 1829 Illustrated with Notes and Commentaries by Monsieur Chateaubriand. In two volumes The Liar Detected. By Captain Bud 1830 Caractacus: A Dramatic Poem. By Young Soult 1830 The Revenge: A Tragedy, in three Acts. By Young Soult. 1830 P. B. Bronte. In two volumes. Glasstown

[Although the title page reads 'in two volumes,' the book is complete in one volume only.] The History of the Young Men. By John Bud 1831 Letters from an Englishman. By Captain John Flower. In 1830-1832 six volumes The Monthly Intelligencer. No. 1 March 27, 1833

[The only number produced of a projected manuscript newspaper, by Branwell Bronte. The MS. consists of 4 pp. 4to, arranged in columns, precisely after the manner of an ordinary journal.] Real Life in Verdopolis: A Tale. By Captain John Flower, 1833 M.P. In two volumes. P. B. Bronte The Politics of Verdopolis: A Tale. By Captain John Flower. 1833 P. B. Bronte The Pirate: A Tale. By Captain John Flower 1833

[The most pretentious of Branwell's prose stories.] Thermopylae: A Poem. By P. B. Bronte. 8vo, pp. 14 1834 And the Weary are at Rest: A Tale. By P. B. Bronte 1834 The Wool is Rising: An Angrian Adventure. By the Right 1834 Honourable John Baron Flower Ode to the Polar Star, and other Poems. By P. B. Bronte. 1834 Quarto, pp. 24 The Life of Field Marshal the Right Honourable Alexander 1835 Percy, Earl of Northangerland. In two volumes. By John Bud. P. B. Bronte The Rising of the Angrians: A Tale. By P. B. Bronte 1836 A Narrative of the First War. By P. B. Bronte 1836 The Angrian Welcome: A Tale. By P. B. Bronte 1836 Percy: A Story. By P. B. Bronte 1837 A packet containing four small groups of Poems, of about six or eight pages each, mostly without titles, but all either signed or initialled, and dated from 1836 to 1838 Love and Warfare: A Story. By P. B. Bronte 1839 Lord Nelson, and other Poems. By P. B. Bronte. Written in 1844 pencil. Small 8vo, pp. 26

[This book contains a full-page pencil portrait of Branwell Bronte, drawn by himself, as well as four carefully finished heads. These give an excellent idea of the extent of Branwell's artistic skill.]



CHAPTER III: SCHOOL AND GOVERNESS LIFE

In seeking for fresh light upon the development of Charlotte Bronte, it is not necessary to discuss further her childhood's years at Cowan Bridge. She left the school at nine years of age, and what memories of it were carried into womanhood were, with more or less of picturesque colouring, embodied in Jane Eyre. {74} From 1825 to 1831 Charlotte was at home with her sisters, reading and writing as we have seen, but learning nothing very systematically. In 1831-32 she was a boarder at Miss Wooler's school at Roe Head, some twenty miles from Haworth. Miss Wooler lived to a green old age, dying in the year 1885. She would seem to have been very proud of her famous pupil, and could not have been blind to her capacity in the earlier years. Charlotte was with her as governess at Roe Head, and later at Dewsbury Moor. It is quite clear that Miss Bronte was head of the school in all intellectual pursuits, and she made two firm friends—Ellen Nussey and Mary Taylor. A very fair measure of French and some skill in drawing appear to have been the most striking accomplishments which Charlotte carried back from Roe Head to Haworth. There are some twenty drawings of about this date, and a translation into English verse of the first book of Voltaire's Henriade. With Ellen Nussey commenced a friendship which terminated only with the pencilled notes written from Charlotte Bronte's deathbed. The first suggestion of a regular correspondence is contained in the following letter.

TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY

'HAWORTH, July 21st, 1832.

'MY DEAREST ELLEN,—Your kind and interesting letter gave me the sincerest pleasure. I have been expecting to hear from you almost every day since my arrival at home, and I at length began to despair of receiving the wished-for letter. You ask me to give you a description of the manner in which I have passed every day since I left school. This is soon done, as an account of one day is an account of all. In the mornings, from nine o'clock to half-past twelve, I instruct my sisters and draw, then we walk till dinner; after dinner I sew till tea-time, and after tea I either read, write, do a little fancy-work, or draw, as I please. Thus in one delightful, though somewhat monotonous course, my life is passed. I have only been out to tea twice since I came home. We are expecting company this afternoon, and on Tuesday next we shall have all the female teachers of the Sunday school to tea. I do hope, my dearest Ellen, that you will return to school again for your own sake, though for mine I would rather that you would remain at home, as we shall then have more frequent opportunities of correspondence with each other. Should your friends decide against your returning to school, I know you have too much good-sense and right feeling not to strive earnestly for your own improvement. Your natural abilities are excellent, and under the direction of a judicious and able friend (and I know you have many such), you might acquire a decided taste for elegant literature, and even poetry, which, indeed, is included under that general term. I was very much disappointed by your not sending the hair; you may be sure, my dearest Ellen, that I would not grudge double postage to obtain it, but I must offer the same excuse for not sending you any. My aunt and sisters desire their love to you. Remember me kindly to your mother and sisters, and accept all the fondest expressions of genuine attachment, from your real friend

'CHARLOTTE BRONTE.

'P.S.—Remember the mutual promise we made of a regular correspondence with each other. Excuse all faults in this wretched scrawl. Give my love to the Miss Taylors when you see them. Farewell, my dear, dear, dear Ellen.'

Reading, writing, and as thorough a domestic training as the little parsonage could afford, made up the next few years. Then came the determination to be a governess—a not unnatural resolution when the size of the family and the modest stipend of its head are considered. Far more prosperous parents are content in our day that their daughters should earn their living in this manner. In 1835 Charlotte went back to Roe Head as governess, and she continued in that position when Miss Wooler removed her school to Dewsbury Moor in 1836.

TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY

'DEWSBURY MOOR, August 24th, 1837.

'MY DEAR ELLEN,—I have determined to write lest you should begin to think I have forgotten you, and in revenge resolve to forget me. As you will perceive by the date of this letter, I am again engaged in the old business—teach, teach, teach. Miss and Mrs. Wooler are coming here next Christmas. Miss Wooler will then relinquish the school in favour of her sister Eliza, but I am happy to say worthy Miss Wooler will continue to reside in the house. I should be sorry indeed to part with her. When will you come home? Make haste, you have been at Bath long enough for all purposes. By this time you have acquired polish enough, I am sure. If the varnish is laid on much thicker, I am afraid the good wood underneath will be quite concealed, and your old Yorkshire friends won't stand that. Come, come, I am getting really tired of your absence. Saturday after Saturday comes round, and I can have no hope of hearing your knock at the door and then being told that "Miss E. N. is come." Oh dear! in this monotonous life of mine that was a pleasant event. I wish it would recur again, but it will take two or three interviews before the stiffness, the estrangement of this long separation will quite wear away. I have nothing at all to tell you now but that Mary Taylor is better, and that she and Martha are gone to take a tour in Wales. Patty came on her pony about a fortnight since to inform me that this important event was in contemplation. She actually began to fret about your long absence, and to express the most eager wishes for your return. My own dear Ellen, good-bye. If we are all spared I hope soon to see you again. God bless you.

'C. BRONTE.'

Things were not always going on quite so smoothly, as the following letter indicates.

TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY

'DEWSBURY MOOR, January 4th, 1838.

'Your letter, Ellen, was a welcome surprise, though it contained something like a reprimand. I had not, however, forgotten our agreement. You were right in your conjectures respecting the cause of my sudden departure. Anne continued wretchedly ill, neither the pain nor the difficulty of breathing left her, and how could I feel otherwise than very miserable. I looked on her case in a different light to what I could wish or expect any uninterested person to view it in. Miss Wooler thought me a fool, and by way of proving her opinion treated me with marked coldness. We came to a little eclaircissement one evening. I told her one or two rather plain truths, which set her a-crying; and the next day, unknown to me, she wrote papa, telling him that I had reproached her bitterly, taken her severely to task, etc. Papa sent for us the day after he had received her letter. Meantime I had formed a firm resolution to quit Miss Wooler and her concerns for ever; but just before I went away, she took me to her room, and giving way to her feelings, which in general she restrains far too rigidly, gave me to understand that in spite of her cold, repulsive manners, she had a considerable regard for me, and would be very sorry to part with me. If any body likes me, I cannot help liking them; and remembering that she had in general been very kind to me, I gave in and said I would come back if she wished me. So we are settled again for the present, but I am not satisfied. I should have respected her far more if she had turned me out of doors, instead of crying for two days and two nights together. I was in a regular passion; my "warm temper" quite got the better of me, of which I don't boast, for it was a weakness; nor am I ashamed of it, for I had reason to be angry.

'Anne is now much better, though she still requires a great deal of care. However, I am relieved from my worst fears respecting her. I approve highly of the plan you mention, except as it regards committing a verse of the Psalms to memory. I do not see the direct advantage to be derived from that. We have entered on a new year. Will it be stained as darkly as the last with all our sins, follies, secret vanities, and uncontrolled passions and propensities? I trust not; but I feel in nothing better, neither humbler nor purer. It will want three weeks next Monday to the termination of the holidays. Come to see me, my dear Ellen, as soon as you can; however bitterly I sometimes feel towards other people, the recollection of your mild, steady friendship consoles and softens me. I am glad you are not such a passionate fool as myself. Give my best love to your mother and sisters. Excuse the most hideous scrawl that ever was penned, and—Believe me always tenderly yours,

'C. BRONTE.'

Dewsbury Moor, however, did not agree with Charlotte. That was probably the core of the matter. She returned to Haworth, but only to look around for another 'situation.' This time she accepted the position of private governess in the family of a Mr. Sidgwick, at Stonegappe, in the same county. Her letters from his house require no comment. A sentence from the first was quoted by Mrs. Gaskell.

TO MISS EMILY J. BRONTE

'STONEGAPPE, June 8th, 1839.

'DEAREST LAVINIA,—I am most exceedingly obliged to you for the trouble you have taken in seeking up my things and sending them all right. The box and its contents were most acceptable. I only wish I had asked you to send me some letter-paper. This is my last sheet but two. When you can send the other articles of raiment now manufacturing, I shall be right down glad of them.

'I have striven hard to be pleased with my new situation. The country, the house, and the grounds are, as I have said, divine. But, alack-a-day! there is such a thing as seeing all beautiful around you—pleasant woods, winding white paths, green lawns, and blue sunshiny sky—and not having a free moment or a free thought left to enjoy them in. The children are constantly with me, and more riotous, perverse, unmanageable cubs never grew. As for correcting them, I soon quickly found that was entirely out of the question: they are to do as they like. A complaint to Mrs. Sidgwick brings only black looks upon oneself, and unjust, partial excuses to screen the children. I have tried that plan once. It succeeded so notably that I shall try it no more. I said in my last letter that Mrs. Sidgwick did not know me. I now begin to find that she does not intend to know me, that she cares nothing in the world about me except to contrive how the greatest possible quantity of labour may be squeezed out of me, and to that end she overwhelms me with oceans of needlework, yards of cambric to hem, muslin night-caps to make, and, above all things, dolls to dress. I do not think she likes me at all, because I can't help being shy in such an entirely novel scene, surrounded as I have hitherto been by strange and constantly changing faces. I see now more clearly than I have ever done before that a private governess has no existence, is not considered as a living and rational being except as connected with the wearisome duties she has to fulfil. While she is teaching the children, working for them, amusing them, it is all right. If she steals a moment for herself she is a nuisance. Nevertheless, Mrs. Sidgwick is universally considered an amiable woman. Her manners are fussily affable. She talks a great deal, but as it seems to me not much to the purpose. Perhaps I may like her better after a while. At present I have no call to her. Mr. Sidgwick is in my opinion a hundred times better—less profession, less bustling condescension, but a far kinder heart. It is very seldom that he speaks to me, but when he does I always feel happier and more settled for some minutes after. He never asks me to wipe the children's smutty noses or tie their shoes or fetch their pinafores or set them a chair. One of the pleasantest afternoons I have spent here—indeed, the only one at all pleasant—was when Mr. Sidgwick walked out with his children, and I had orders to follow a little behind. As he strolled on through his fields with his magnificent Newfoundland dog at his side, he looked very like what a frank, wealthy, Conservative gentleman ought to be. He spoke freely and unaffectedly to the people he met, and though he indulged his children and allowed them to tease himself far too much, he would not suffer them grossly to insult others.

'I am getting quite to have a regard for the Carter family. At home I should not care for them, but here they are friends. Mr. Carter was at Mirfield yesterday and saw Anne. He says she was looking uncommonly well. Poor girl, she must indeed wish to be at home. As to Mrs. Collins' report that Mrs. Sidgwick intended to keep me permanently, I do not think that such was ever her design. Moreover, I would not stay without some alterations. For instance, this burden of sewing would have to be removed. It is too bad for anything. I never in my whole life had my time so fully taken up. Next week we are going to Swarcliffe, Mr. Greenwood's place near Harrogate, to stay three weeks or a month. After that time I hope Miss Hoby will return. Don't show this letter to papa or aunt, only to Branwell. They will think I am never satisfied wherever I am. I complain to you because it is a relief, and really I have had some unexpected mortifications to put up with. However, things may mend, but Mrs. Sidgwick expects me to do things that I cannot do—to love her children and be entirely devoted to them. I am really very well. I am so sleepy that I can write no more. I must leave off. Love to all.—Good-bye.

'Direct your next dispatch—J. Greenwood, Esq., Swarcliffe, near Harrogate.

'C. BRONTE.'

TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY

'SWARCLIFFE, June 15th, 1839.

'MY DEAREST ELLEN,—I am writing a letter to you with pencil because I cannot just now procure ink without going into the drawing-room, where I do not wish to go. I only received your letter yesterday, for we are not now residing at Stonegappe but at Swarcliffe, a summer residence of Mr. Greenwood's, Mrs. Sidgwick's father; it is near Harrogate and Ripon. I should have written to you long since, and told you every detail of the utterly new scene into which I have lately been cast, had I not been daily expecting a letter from yourself, and wondering and lamenting that you did not write, for you will remember it was your turn. I must not bother you too much with my sorrows, of which, I fear, you have heard an exaggerated account. If you were near me, perhaps I might be tempted to tell you all, to grow egotistical, and pour out the long history of a private governess's trials and crosses in her first situation. As it is, I will only ask you to imagine the miseries of a reserved wretch like me thrown at once into the midst of a large family, proud as peacocks and wealthy as Jews, at a time when they were particularly gay, when the house was filled with company—all strangers: people whose faces I had never seen before. In this state I had a charge given of a set of horrid children, whom I was expected constantly to amuse, as well as instruct. I soon found that the constant demand on my stock of animal spirits reduced them to the lowest state of exhaustion; at times I felt—and, I suppose seemed—depressed. To my astonishment, I was taken to task on the subject by Mrs. Sidgwick, with a sternness of manner and a harshness of language scarcely credible. Like a fool, I cried most bitterly. I could not help it; my spirits quite failed me at first. I thought I had done my best, strained every nerve to please her; and to be treated in that way, merely because I was shy and sometimes melancholy, was too bad. At first I was for giving all up and going home. But after a little reflection, I determined to summon what energy I had, and to weather the storm. I said to myself, "I had never yet quitted a place without gaining a friend; adversity is a good school; the poor are born to labour, and the dependent to endure." I resolved to be patient, to command my feelings, and to take what came; the ordeal, I reflected, would not last many weeks, and I trusted it would do me good. I recollected the fable of the willow and the oak; I bent quietly, and now I trust the storm is blowing over. Mrs. Sidgwick is generally considered an agreeable woman; so she is, I doubt not, in general society. Her health is sound, her animal spirits good, consequently she is cheerful in company. But oh! does this compensate for the absence of every fine feeling, of every gentle and delicate sentiment? She behaves somewhat more civilly to me now than she did at first, and the children are a little more manageable; but she does not know my character, and she does not wish to know it. I have never had five minutes conversation with her since I came, except when she was scolding me. I have no wish to be pitied, except by yourself. If I were talking to you I could tell you much more. Good-bye, dear, dear Ellen. Write to me again very soon, and tell me how you are.

'C. BRONTE.'

TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY

'HAWORTH, July 26th, 1839.

'DEAR ELLEN,—I left Swarcliffe a week since. I never was so glad to get out of a house in my life; but I'll trouble you with no complaints at present. Write to me directly; explain your plans more fully. Say when you go, and I shall be able in my answer to say decidedly whether I can accompany you or not. I must, I will, I'm set upon it—I'll be obstinate and bear down all opposition.—Good-bye, yours faithfully,

'C. BRONTE.'

That experience with the Sidgwicks rankled for many a day, and we find Charlotte Bronte referring to it in her letters from Brussels. At the same time it is not necessary to assume any very serious inhumanity on the part of the Sidgwicks or their successors the Whites, to whom Charlotte was indebted for her second term as private governess. Hers was hardly a temperament adapted for that docile part, and one thinks of the author of Villette, and the possessor of one of the most vigorous prose styles in our language, condemned to a perpetual manufacture of night-caps, with something like a shudder. And at the same time it may be urged that Charlotte Bronte did not suffer in vain, and that through her the calling of a nursery governess may have received some added measure of dignity and consideration on the part of sister-women.

A month or two later we find Charlotte dealing with the subject in a letter to Ellen Nussey.

TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY

'HAWORTH, January 24th, 1840.

'MY DEAR ELLEN,—You could never live in an unruly, violent family of modern children, such for instance as those at Blake Hall. Anne is not to return. Mrs. Ingham is a placid, mild woman; but as for the children, it was one struggle of life-wearing exertion to keep them in anything like decent order. I am miserable when I allow myself to dwell on the necessity of spending my life as a governess. The chief requisite for that station seems to me to be the power of taking things easily as they come, and of making oneself comfortable and at home wherever we may chance to be—qualities in which all our family are singularly deficient. I know I cannot live with a person like Mrs. Sidgwick, but I hope all women are not like her, and my motto is "try again." Mary Taylor, I am sorry to hear, is ill—have you seen her or heard anything of her lately? Sickness seems very general, and death too, at least in this neighbourhood.—Ever yours,

'C. B.'

She 'tried again' but with just as little success. In March 1841 she entered the family of a Mr. White of Upperwood House, Rawdon.

TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY

'UPPERWOOD HOUSE, April 1st, 1841.

'MY DEAR NELL,—It is twelve o'clock at night, but I must just write to you a word before I go to bed. If you think I am going to refuse your invitation, or if you sent it me with that idea, you're mistaken. As soon as I read your shabby little note, I gathered up my spirits directly, walked on the impulse of the moment into Mrs. White's presence, popped the question, and for two minutes received no answer. Will she refuse me when I work so hard for her? thought I. "Ye-e-es" was said in a reluctant, cold tone. "Thank you, m'am," said I, with extreme cordiality, and was marching from the room when she recalled me with: "You'd better go on Saturday afternoon then, when the children have holiday, and if you return in time for them to have all their lessons on Monday morning, I don't see that much will be lost." You are a genuine Turk, thought I, but again I assented. Saturday after next, then, is the day appointed—not next Saturday, mind. I do not quite know whether the offer about the gig is not entirely out of your own head or if George has given his consent to it—whether that consent has not been wrung from him by the most persevering and irresistible teasing on the part of a certain young person of my acquaintance. I make no manner of doubt that if he does send the conveyance (as Miss Wooler used to denominate all wheeled vehicles) it will be to his own extreme detriment and inconvenience, but for once in my life I'll not mind this, or bother my head about it. I'll come—God knows with a thankful and joyful heart—glad of a day's reprieve from labour. If you don't send the gig I'll walk. Now mind, I am not coming to Brookroyd with the idea of dissuading Mary Taylor from going to New Zealand. I've said everything I mean to say on that subject, and she has a perfect right to decide for herself. I am coming to taste the pleasure of liberty, a bit of pleasant congenial talk, and a sight of two or three faces I like. God bless you. I want to see you again. Huzza for Saturday afternoon after next! Good-night, my lass.

'C. BRONTE.

'Have you lit your pipe with Mr. Weightman's valentine?'

TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY

'UPPERWOOD HOUSE, May 4th, 1841.

'DEAR NELL,—I have been a long time without writing to you; but I think, knowing as you do how I am situated in the matter of time, you will not be angry with me. Your brother George will have told you that he did not go into the house when we arrived at Rawdon, for which omission of his Mrs. White was very near blowing me up. She went quite red in the face with vexation when she heard that the gentleman had just driven within the gates and then back again, for she is very touchy in the matter of opinion. Mr. White also seemed to regret the circumstance from more hospitable and kindly motives. I assure you, if you were to come and see me you would have quite a fuss made over you. During the last three weeks that hideous operation called "a thorough clean" has been going on in the house. It is now nearly completed, for which I thank my stars, as during its progress I have fulfilled the twofold character of nurse and governess, while the nurse has been transmuted into cook and housemaid. That nurse, by-the-bye, is the prettiest lass you ever saw, and when dressed has much more the air of a lady than her mistress. Well can I believe that Mrs. White has been an exciseman's daughter, and I am convinced also that Mr. White's extraction is very low. Yet Mrs. White talks in an amusing strain of pomposity about his and her family and connections, and affects to look down with wondrous hauteur on the whole race of tradesfolk, as she terms men of business. I was beginning to think Mrs. White a good sort of body in spite of all her bouncing and boasting, her bad grammar and worse orthography, but I have had experience of one little trait in her character which condemns her a long way with me. After treating a person in the most familiar terms of equality for a long time, if any little thing goes wrong she does not scruple to give way to anger in a very coarse, unladylike manner. I think passion is the true test of vulgarity or refinement.

'This place looks exquisitely beautiful just now. The grounds are certainly lovely, and all is as green as an emerald. I wish you would just come and look at it. Mrs. White would be as proud as Punch to show it you. Mr. White has been writing an urgent invitation to papa, entreating him to come and spend a week here. I don't at all wish papa to come, it would be like incurring an obligation. Somehow, I have managed to get a good deal more control over the children lately—this makes my life a good deal easier; also, by dint of nursing the fat baby, it has got to know me and be fond of me. I suspect myself of growing rather fond of it. Exertion of any kind is always beneficial. Come and see me if you can in any way get, I want to see you. It seems Martha Taylor is fairly gone. Good-bye, my lassie.—Yours insufferably,

'C. BRONTE.'

TO REV. HENRY NUSSEY, EARNLEY RECTORY

'UPPERWOOD HOUSE, RAWDON, 'May 9th, 1841.

'DEAR SIR,—I am about to employ part of a Sunday evening in answering your last letter. You will perhaps think this hardly right, and yet I do not feel that I am doing wrong. Sunday evening is almost my only time of leisure. No one would blame me if I were to spend this spare hour in a pleasant chat with a friend—is it worse to spend it in a friendly letter?

'I have just seen my little noisy charges deposited snugly in their cribs, and I am sitting alone in the school-room with the quiet of a Sunday evening pervading the grounds and gardens outside my window. I owe you a letter—can I choose a better time than the present for paying my debt? Now, Mr. Nussey, you need not expect any gossip or news, I have none to tell you—even if I had I am not at present in the mood to communicate them. You will excuse an unconnected letter. If I had thought you critical or captious I would have declined the task of corresponding with you. When I reflect, indeed, it seems strange that I should sit down to write without a feeling of formality and restraint to an individual with whom I am personally so little acquainted as I am with yourself; but the fact is, I cannot be formal in a letter—if I write at all I must write as I think. It seems Ellen has told you that I am become a governess again. As you say, it is indeed a hard thing for flesh and blood to leave home, especially a good home—not a wealthy or splendid one. My home is humble and unattractive to strangers, but to me it contains what I shall find nowhere else in the world—the profound, the intense affection which brothers and sisters feel for each other when their minds are cast in the same mould, their ideas drawn from the same source—when they have clung to each other from childhood, and when disputes have never sprung up to divide them.

'We are all separated now, and winning our bread amongst strangers as we can—my sister Anne is near York, my brother in a situation near Halifax, I am here. Emily is the only one left at home, where her usefulness and willingness make her indispensable. Under these circumstances should we repine? I think not—our mutual affection ought to comfort us under all difficulties. If the God on whom we must all depend will but vouchsafe us health and the power to continue in the strict line of duty, so as never under any temptation to swerve from it an inch, we shall have ample reason to be grateful and contented.

'I do not pretend to say that I am always contented. A governess must often submit to have the heartache. My employers, Mr. and Mrs. White, are kind worthy people in their way, but the children are indulged. I have great difficulties to contend with sometimes. Perseverance will perhaps conquer them. And it has gratified me much to find that the parents are well satisfied with their children's improvement in learning since I came. But I am dwelling too much upon my own concerns and feelings. It is true they are interesting to me, but it is wholly impossible they should be so to you, and, therefore, I hope you will skip the last page, for I repent having written it.

'A fortnight since I had a letter from Ellen urging me to go to Brookroyd for a single day. I felt such a longing to have a respite from labour, and to get once more amongst "old familiar faces," that I conquered diffidence and asked Mrs. White to let me go. She complied, and I went accordingly, and had a most delightful holiday. I saw your mother, your sisters Mercy, Ellen, and poor Sarah, and your brothers Richard and George—all were well. Ellen talked of endeavouring to get a situation somewhere. I did not encourage the idea much. I advised her rather to go to Earnley for a while. I think she wants a change, and I dare say you would be glad to have her as a companion for a few months.—I remain, yours respectfully,

'C. BRONTE.'

The above letter was written to Miss Nussey's brother, whose attachment to Charlotte Bronte has already more than once been mentioned in the current biographies. The following letter to Miss Nussey is peculiarly interesting because of the reference to Ireland. It would have been strange if Charlotte Bronte had returned as a governess to her father's native land. Speculation thereon is sufficiently foolish, and yet one is tempted to ask if Ireland might not have gained some of that local literary colour—one of its greatest needs—which always makes Scotland dear to the readers of Waverley, and Yorkshire classic ground to the admirers of Shirley.

TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY

'UPPERWOOD HOUSE, June 10th, 1841.

'DEAR NELL,—If I don't scrawl you a line of some sort I know you will begin to fancy that I neglect you, in spite of all I said last time we met. You can hardly fancy it possible, I dare say, that I cannot find a quarter of an hour to scribble a note in; but when a note is written it is to be carried a mile to the post, and consumes nearly an hour, which is a large portion of the day. Mr. and Mrs. White have been gone a week. I heard from them this morning; they are now at Hexham. No time is fixed for their return, but I hope it will not be delayed long, or I shall miss the chance of seeing Anne this vacation. She came home, I understand, last Wednesday, and is only to be allowed three weeks' holidays, because the family she is with are going to Scarborough. I should like to see her to judge for myself of the state of her health. I cannot trust any other person's report, no one seems minute enough in their observations. I should also very much have liked you to see her.

'I have got on very well with the servants and children so far, yet it is dreary, solitary work. You can tell as well as me the lonely feeling of being without a companion. I offered the Irish concern to Mary Taylor, but she is so circumstanced that she cannot accept it. Her brothers have a feeling of pride that revolts at the thought of their sister "going out." I hardly knew that it was such a degradation till lately.

'Your visit did me much good. I wish Mary Taylor would come, and yet I hardly know how to find time to be with her. Good-bye. God bless you.

'C. BRONTE.

'I am very well, and I continue to get to bed before twelve o'clock P.M. I don't tell people that I am dissatisfied with my situation. I can drive on; there is no use in complaining. I have lost my chance of going to Ireland.'

TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY

'HAWORTH, July 1st, 1841.

'DEAR NELL,—I was not at home when I got your letter, but I am at home now, and it feels like paradise. I came last night. When I asked for a vacation, Mrs. White offered me a week or ten days, but I demanded three weeks, and stood to my tackle with a tenacity worthy of yourself, lassie. I gained the point, but I don't like such victories. I have gained another point. You are unanimously requested to come here next Tuesday and stay as long as you can. Aunt is in high good-humour. I need not write a long letter.—Good-bye, dear Nell.

'C. B.

'P.S.—I have lost the chance of seeing Anne. She is gone back to "The land of Egypt and the house of bondage." Also, little black Tom is dead. Every cup, however sweet, has its drop of bitterness in it. Probably you will be at a loss to ascertain the identity of black Tom, but don't fret about it, I'll tell you when you come. Keeper is as well, big, and grim as ever. I'm too happy to write. Come, come, lassie.'

It must have been during this holiday that the resolution concerning a school of their own assumed definite shape. Miss Wooler talked of giving up Dewsbury Moor—should Charlotte and Emily take it? Charlotte's recollections of her illness there settled the question in the negative, and Brussels was coming to the front.

TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY

'UPPERWOOD HOUSE, October 17th, 1841.

'DEAR NELL,—It is a cruel thing of you to be always upbraiding me when I am a trifle remiss or so in writing a letter. I see I can't make you comprehend that I have not quite as much time on my hands as Miss Harris or Mrs. Mills. I never neglect you on purpose. I could not do it, you little teazing, faithless wretch.

'The humour I am in is worse than words can describe. I have had a hideous dinner of some abominable spiced-up indescribable mess and it has exasperated me against the world at large. So you are coming home, are you? Then don't expect me to write a long letter. I am not going to Dewsbury Moor, as far as I can see at present. It was a decent friendly proposal on Miss Wooler's part, and cancels all or most of her little foibles, in my estimation; but Dewsbury Moor is a poisoned place to me; besides, I burn to go somewhere else. I think, Nell, I see a chance of getting to Brussels. Mary Taylor advises me to this step. My own mind and feelings urge me. I can't write a word more.

'C. B.'

TO MISS EMILY J. BRONTE

'UPPERWOOD HOUSE, RAWDON, 'Nov. 7th, 1841.

'DEAR E. J.,—You are not to suppose that this note is written with a view of communicating any information on the subject we both have considerably at heart: I have written letters but I have received no letters in reply yet. Belgium is a long way off, and people are everywhere hard to spur up to the proper speed. Mary Taylor says we can scarcely expect to get off before January. I have wished and intended to write to both Anne and Branwell, but really I have not had time.

'Mr. Jenkins I find was mistakenly termed the British Consul at Brussels; he is in fact the English Episcopal clergyman.

'I think perhaps we shall find that the best plan will be for papa to write a letter to him by and bye, but not yet. I will give an intimation when this should be done, and also some idea of what had best be said. Grieve not over Dewsbury Moor. You were cut out there to all intents and purposes, so in fact was Anne, Miss Wooler would hear of neither for the first half year.

'Anne seems omitted in the present plan, but if all goes right I trust she will derive her full share of benefit from it in the end. I exhort all to hope. I believe in my heart this is acting for the best, my only fear is lest others should doubt and be dismayed. Before our half year in Brussels is completed, you and I will have to seek employment abroad. It is not my intention to retrace my steps home till twelve months, if all continues well and we and those at home retain good health.

'I shall probably take my leave of Upperwood about the 15th or 17th of December. When does Anne talk of returning? How is she? What does W. W. {92} say to these matters? How are papa and aunt, do they flag? How will Anne get on with Martha? Has W. W. been seen or heard of lately? Love to all. Write quickly.—Good-bye.

'C. BRONTE.

'I am well.'

TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY

'RAWDON, December 10th, 1841.

'MY DEAR ELLEN,—I hear from Mary Taylor that you are come home, and also that you have been ill. If you are able to write comfortably, let me know the feelings that preceded your illness, and also its effects. I wish to see you. Mary Taylor reports that your looks are much as usual. I expect to get back to Haworth in the course of a fortnight or three weeks. I hope I shall then see you. I would rather you came to Haworth than I went to Brookroyd. My plans advance slowly and I am not yet certain where I shall go, or what I shall do when I leave Upperwood House. Brussels is still my promised land, but there is still the wilderness of time and space to cross before I reach it. I am not likely, I think, to go to the Chateau de Kockleberg. I have heard of a less expensive establishment. So far I had written when I received your letter. I was glad to get it. Why don't you mention your illness. I had intended to have got this note off two or three days past, but I am more straitened for time than ever just now. We have gone to bed at twelve or one o'clock during the last three nights. I must get this scrawl off to-day or you will think me negligent. The new governess, that is to be, has been to see my plans, etc. My dear Ellen, Good-bye.—Believe me, in heart and soul, your sincere friend,