The national era. [volume] (Washington [D.C.]) 1847-1860, 1857-11-05

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rious dan moors, with its hlyvariegated carpet
OF flowers, scene suddenly bursts upon you,
ia xhlsh Haworth forms the chief attraction,
but which even without this is worthy of the
highest praise.
II ees toward evening that arrived at this
point, and, throwing myself down on a bank of
fowery heather, on the very brink of moor
over which Charlotte Bronte and her sisters had
often tripped, gazed with surprised delight
upon the exquisite scene. Beneath me was
long, green valley, stretching to the east dotted
with farm houses and churches, while at the
distance of about five miles were plainly visible
the smoky chimneys of the manufacturing town
OF Keighley. On the opposite side, the hill-slope
presented a succession of cultivated fields; while
little to the west, another hill projected out
into the valley, which here turned sharp angle
In southerly direction. On this hill, and about
half way to the summit, lay the village of Ha
worth, rising up from the valley in one steep
street. and crowned with the tower of tie parish
church. Being built of the dull brown stone,
so prevalent in this region, and the houses con-
| nected with each other, 80 as to appear at The
distance as one long unit of building, the whole
affair looked like some huge sauran monster,
who was creeping up the hillside, with his head
near the top and his tail Aoundering at the base.
! Once that toad-li monster had precious jewel
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is an old, clumsy house, the highest in the vii
lage, and discernibe for miles-Hsworth Par.
sonage where Charlotte Bronte lived aud died
| 1t had been cloudy and lowering during the
day, and as / admired the scene, which, even
under these disadvantages, was truly beautiful
the sun, as he declined toward the west, threw
out spheres of light through a rift in the Clouds
and they fell with foil force upon the village of
Ha~orth, while the surrounding country lay in
deep shade. For several minutes, the light lin
gered around the old church, and lowered over
the now famous parsonage, and then died away,
not to return until, in renewed glory, it would
shine the next morning from the east; and this
little incident seemed like an emblem of the
life of the marvellous woman of that village
Charlotte Bronte.
Passing up the long, steep street of the village,
! wended my way to the Black Bull Inn, the
game in which poor Branwell Bronte entertained
with his boyish wit 80 many a wearied traveller.
On the way, was slightly alarmed, by hearing
O fearful noise directly behind me, as of the
tramp of a heavy charge of cavalry. Stepping
quickly to one side, 70 avoid the impending
danger, l looked behind, and found that the
much ado -aboutnothing proceeded only from a
parcel of children, who were following me up
the hill, all wearing heavy wooden clogs, which
created tremendous catter, each little tod.
ed dragon. 1t is true that strangers now fire.
: quently visit Haworth, to do homage at the
shrine of departed genius, yet they are not 80
familiar as to avoid notice; the juvenile Ha-
worthians seem to think that stranger is
holy name, and that its bearer should receive
due attention. Consequently, l was escorted in
state to my inn by the entire tribe with a noise
|, as of the tramp of q mighty army, while infan-
tile heralds announced my advent by running
before my face, and crying out
Mother, here's o man Look at ia man
The next morning was Sunday, and at the
parish church l heard an able discourse from
Mr., Nichols, the husband of Charlotte Bronte.
He is man in the prime of manhood, reserved
and digni6ed in manners, Indeed, too much 80
to obtain local popularity and breaches a
sound, forcible, and by no means sleepy ser.
mon. In the afternoon he read the service,
and during the singing Of the hy-su ybs-rre5
M cid man, with q preposterously big white
neckcloth, burying up his face to the nose walk
feeblg up the aisle, his hand shading his eyes
as he slowly picked his steps. He was dressed
in a black gown, and as he assembled the pull
pit, knew at once that he was the venerable
father of Ellis, Acton, and Currer Bell-the
Rev. Mr.. Rronte. He chose for his text a few
verses from the Lamentations of jeremiah, and
proceeded to give extempore paraphrases or
whatever. l could not but be surprised with
the Auency and eloquence of the language
of this reverend octogenarian, and could not
but feel affected at the quiet earnestness of his
manner. Mr.. Bronte breaches regularly once
In each Sabbath, and his congregation maintain
for him the strongest affection. An unfavora-
bic impression seems to exist in America in
regard to this gentleman, in consequence of the
description of his personal characteristics in
Mrs. Gsskell's life of his daughter, but no such
! impression exists among those who know him
best. Though 80 old, he yet takes the greatest
interest in passing events and, at an inter
view l subsequently had with him, he exhibited
an acquaintance with the minutie of American
politics that was really surprising. He is an
enthusiastic sdmirer of our country aud her in.
situations, and, as such, expressed himself in
no measured terms.
Stopping into a little stationery store to make
few purchases, entered into conversation
with the proprietor, who has known the Brontes,
And especially Charlotte, long and intimately,
and is several times referred to in her me-
moits; indeed, Miss Bronte, in letter to Mrs.
Gastel, mentions him as her one friend in
Hasorth." With this gentleman / strolled
over the moors behind the parsonage, along
the same path over which the three sisters had
so often strolled together. When the other
two sisters had passed away, Charlotte still
came out to take her lonely walk. day after
day, upon the long, cold moors. And beauti.
fnl, as well as grand, they are, indeed. Instead
OF the vast desolate spaces we generally i'm
agine, they present to view an immense slope,
csrpeted with the delicate purple heath flowers,
With here and there q gay buttercup varying
the general tint. Dark-blue bilberries grow
around in abundance and if you look closely
On the 9round von will aao hri0ht oroen natchoa
Of moss, through which spring up the spray like
leaves of the wild fern. Oftentimes the wind,
passing over the moor, plays with the gay
heather bells, end they gently wave to and fro
Ike nodding planes. Far away stretch long,
green valleys Of cultivated fields, while beyond
these are high hills, some covered with other
fhoors, while some are variegated with fields of
Green grass and yellow grain. The wind in the
earnest summer days is always cool, and the
,'ir fresh. No wonder, then, that the Bronte
listers loved the moors.
~ have often met Charlotte here" said my
riend, "when, after the death of her sisters,
The walked here alone, wrapped in meditation.
She was very short.sighted, and / would step
.sside few feet, 30 as not to disturb her; but
he used to say afterward that she always
wanted nae to speak to her when met her thus,
or one friendly word was worth more to her
han the idea she might be at the moment re.
sosving in her mind"
It was this gentleman on whom devolved the
melancholy duty of informing some of her
friends of her death and the following letter,
dated from Ambleside, April, 1855, was written
to aim BY Miss Martineau, on receiving the sad
information:
ssh, l am deeply indebted to you for your
kisdness In informing me of my poor friends