Anti-slavery bugle. [volume] (New-Lisbon, Ohio) 1845-1861, 1855-05-05

ihese wonderful girls were the daughters oil a
clergyman who, now very aged and infrm, sur
wives his wife and all his many children. The
name Bronti ian abbroviation Of Bronterre) is
Irish, and yoiy ancient. The mother died many
years ago, and several of her children. When
the reading world began to have an interest in
their existence, there were three sisters and a
brother living with their father at llaworth, near
Kcighly, in Yorkshire, The girls had been out
as governesses-Charlotte Mt Brussels, as is no
secret to the readers Of "Nillctto." They re-
jOiced to meet again Mt home-Charlotto, Emily
and Ann ("Currer," ellis" and "Acton.') In
her obituary notice of her two sisters, Courier"
reveals something of their process Of authorship,
and their experience of failure and success. How
terrible some Of their experience Of liGe was, in
the midst of the domestic freedom and indulgence
afforded them by their studious father may be
seen by the fearful representations Of masculine
nature and character found in the novels and
tales of Emily and Ann. They considered it their
duty, they told us, to present life as they knew
it and they gave us "Wuthering lights" and
1.-THE Tenant of Wildfell Hail." Such an expert
encc as this indicates is really perplexing to Eng
lish people in general and all that We have to do
with is to bear ii in mind when disposed to pa IS
criticism on the coarseness which, to a certain
degree, prevades the works Of all the sisters. and
the responsiveness which makes the tales by Emily
and Ann really horrible to people who have not
iron nerves.
Jane Eyre" was naturally and universally sup
posed to be Charlotte herself; but she always de-.
MED it, calmly, cheerfully, and with the obvious
sincerity which characterized all she said. She
declared that there was no more ground for the
assertion than this She once told her sisters that
they were wrong-even morally wrong-in max.
ing their heroines beautiful, as a matter of course.
They replied that it was impossible to make a
heroine interesting on other terms. Her answer
was, 81 will prove to you that you are wrong. |
will show you n heroine as mall and as plain as
myself who shall be as interesting us any of
yours" "Hence, Jane Eyre" said she, in tell
ing the anecdote ''but she is not myself, any
further than that" As the work went on the in
terest ~deepened TO the writer. When she came to
"Thornfeld" she could not stop. Being short
sighted to excess, she wrote in little square paper
books, held close to her eyes, and 1.-THE first copy)
in pencil. On she went, writing necessarily for
three weeks; by which time she had carried her
heroine away from Thorn6eld, and was hors, -" in
a fever, which compelled her to pause. The rest
was written with less vehemence, and with more
anxious care. The world adds, with less vigor
and interest. She could crafty her singular re-
serve in regardto the publication. of this remark
able book. We all ememb how long it was
before we could learn who wrote it, and any parti-
culars of the writer, when the lame was revealed.
She was living among the wild Yorkshire hills,
with a father who was too much absorbed in his
studies to notice her occupations in q place where
newspapers were never seen, Tor where she never
saw any and. in q house where the servants knew
nothing about books, manuscripts, proofs or the
post. When she told her secret tdHer father, she
carried her book in one hand, and an adverse
review in the other, to save his simple and un-
worldly mind from rash expectations of n fame
and fortune which she was determined should
never be the aims of her life. That we
have had only two novels since, shows how deep
ly grounded was this resolve.
Shirley" was conceived and wrought out in the
midst of fearful domestic griefs. Her only brother,
a young man of once splendid promise which was
early blighted, and both her remaining sisters, died
in one year. There was something inezpressihly
affecting in the aspect of the frail little creature
who had done such wonderful things, and who was
able to bear up, with so bright an eye and SO com.
posed a countenance, under such q weight of sor-
row, and such q prospect of solitude. In her deer
mourning dress meat as a Quaker's) with her
beautiful hair, smooth and brown, her fine eye
blazing with meaning, and her sensible face indi-
eating a habit of self.control, if not of silence, she
seemed n perfect household image--irresistibly
recalling Wordsworth's description of that domes
tic treasure. And she was this. She was as able
at the needle as at the pen. The household knew
the excellence of her cookery before they heard O
that of her books. In so utter a seclusion AZ
she lived in-in those dreary wilds where she was
not strong enough to roam over the hills in tina
retreat where her studious father rarely broke til,
silence-and there was no one else to do it il
that forlorn house, planted on the very clay of TIT
churchyard, where the graves of her sisters were
before her window in such a living sepulchre
her mind could not but prey upon itself and how
it did suffer, we see in the more painful portion
of her last novel, "Villette." She said, with
change in her steady countenauce, that she SHOULD
feel very lonely when her aged father died. Blu
she formed new ties after that. She married ant
it is the Old father who survives to mourn her. IL
knows, to his comfort, that it is not for long
Others now mourn for her, in a domestic sense
and, as for the public, there can DO no doubt t hat
pang will be felt in the midst of the strongest in
terests of the day, through the length and breadth
of the land, and in the very heart of Germany
(where her works are singularly appreciated,
+ France, and America, that the "Currer Bell, !" VIII
so lately stole as a shadow into the field of cotem
porary literature has already become a shadov
} again-vanishcd from our view, and hencefortl
haunting only the memory of the multitudes who's
expectation was fixed upon her.