Worcester daily spy. [volume] (Worcester [Mass.]) 1850-1888, 1857-12-12


ten miles distant; and preferrng to make the
Journey on foot, soon found myself beyond
the suburbs Of the town, and out of the suf-
locating influence of its smoke.
On the hill, and about half way to the
summit, lay the village of Haworth, rising
up from the valley in one steep street, and
crowned with the tower Of the parish church.
Being built of the brown stone so prevalent
in this region, and the houses conn ected with
each other SO DIS to appear at distance as one
long unit Of buildings, the whole affair looked
like some huge saurian monster, who was
creeping up the hill side, with his head near
the top and his tail houndering at the base,
Once, that stoad-like monster rad q pre-
cious jewel in its head, and YOU can vet see
the casket. 1t is an old, clumsy house, the
highest in the village, and discernible for
miies-Haworth Parsonage, where Charlotte
Bronte lived and died.
Passlug up the long, steep street of the
village, wended my way to the Black Bull
Inn, the same in which poor Barnwell Bronte
entertained with his boyish wit so many
a wearied traveller. On the way l was
slightly alarmed by hearing fearful noise
directly behind me, as of the tramp of heavy
troop of cavalry. Stepping quickly to one
side, to avoid the impending danger. l looked
behind, and found that the much ado about
nothing proceeded only from parcel of chill
dren who were following me up hill, all
wearing heavy wooden clogs, which created
tremendous clatler, each little toddling
infant making as much noise as a mounted
dragoon. 1t is true that strangers now fire.
quently visit Haworth to do homage at the
shrine of departed genius, yet they are not so
familiar as to avoid notice; the juvenile Ha-
worthians seem to think that stranger is
holy name, and that its bearer should re.
ceive due attention. Consequently, was
escorted in state to my inn, by the entire
tribe, with noise as of the tramp of a mighty
army, while infantile herads announced nv
advent by running before my face, and cry
ing out, "Mother, here's man Look at
ia man u
The next morning was Sunday, and at the
parish church heard an able discourse from
Mr.. Nichols, the husband of Charlotte Bronte.
He is man in the prime Of manhood, re-
served and dignifed in manners, Ciudeed too
much SO to obtain local popularity and
preached, sound, foreible, and, by no
means, sleepy sermon. In the afternoon he
read the serVice,tand, during the singing of
the hymn, l observed an old man, with
Preposterously big white neekcloth, burying
up his face to the nose, walk feebly up the
aisle, his hand shading his eyes as he slowly
picked his steps He was dressed in black
gown, and as he assembled the pulpit knew
at once that he was the venerable father of
Ellis, Acton, and Currer Bel-the Rev. Mr..
Bronte. He chose for his text few verses
from the Lamentations Of jeremiah. and pro-
ceeded to give extempore paraphrases or ex-
plantations Of each passage, using no notes
whatever.
could not but be surprised with The fu-
ency and eloquence of the language Of this
reverend octogenarian, and could not but feel
affected by the quiet earnestness of his man.
ner. Mr.: Bronte breaches regularly once on
each Sabbath, and his congregation maintain
for him the strongest affection. An unfayor-
able impression seems to exist in America in
regard to this gentleman, in consequence of
the description of his personal characteristics
in Mrs. Gaskells life of his daughter, but no
such impression exists among those who
know him best. Though so old, he yet takes
the greatest interest i'll passing events; and,
at an interview l subsequently had with him,
he exhibited an cquaintance with the mi
nuti@ of American politics that was really
surprising, He is an enthusiastic sadmirer of
our country and her institutions, and as
such, expressed himself in no measured
terms.
CHoWDERs to night Mt Taft IjIv,s of Cprhy'e bsst