Worcester daily spy. [volume] (Worcester [Mass.]) 1850-1888, 1859-01-31
THE HOME OF JANE EYRE.

Mr.. Raymond, of the New York Times who
has recently returned from England, visited the
home of 'Jane Eyre, and gives the following
account of his interview with the father of the
Brontes, and Mr.. Nichols husband of the gift
ed and lamented Charlotte:
Mr.. Bronte's personal appearance is striking
and peculiar He is tall, thin, and rather mus
cular-has quick, energetic manner refiec-
tive and by no means unpleasant countenance,
and resolute promptness Of movement which
indicates marked decision and firmness of char
acter. The extraordinary stories told by Mrs.
Gaskell of his infammable temper-of his
burning silk dresses belonging to his wife
which he did not approve Of her wearing-of
his saving chairs and tables, and firing off pis-
tolls in the back yard, by way of relieving his
superhuous anger-fnd no warrant certainly
In his present appearance, and are. generally
considered eXaggerations. | remarked to him
that had been agreeably disappointed in the
face of the country and the general aspect of
the town-that they were less sombre and re-
pusive than Mrs. G's descriptions had led me
to expect. Mr.. Nichols and Mr.. Bronte smil-
ed at each other, and the latter remarked
"Well, | think Mrs Gaskell tried to make us
all appear as bad as she could" Mr.. Bronte
wears very wide white neckcloth, into which
he usually sinks his chin so that his mouth is
barely visible over it. This gives him rather
singular expression, which is rendered still
more so by spectacles with large round glasses
enclosed in broad metallic rims Though over
eighty years old, and somewhat infrm, he
breaches once every Sunday in his church.
Mr.. Nichols, his curate, reading the service
and preaching the other half day. Mr.. Mich
oils is stout, dark-compleXioned Englishman
shy, but kind and cordial, in manner-say-
ing but little, but evidently capable Of more
feeling and thought than at first appearance
He spoke of his wife with pride and emotion,
and as | rose to take my leave, asked me to
step into the parlor and look at her portrait
1t is the one from which the engraving in the
Life is made, but the latter does no Justice to
the picture which, Mr. n. said, was perfect
likeness of the original. l remarked that the
engraving gives to the face, and especially to
the eyes, weird, sinister, and unpleasant ex-
preston, which did not appear in the portrait.
He said he had observed it, and that nothing
could be more unjust for Charlotte's eyes were
as soft and affectionate in their expression as
could possibly be conceived This was the
parlor in which, it will be remembered, those
three little motheress sisters used to spend
their winter evenings alone, walking backward
and forward, hand in hand, reciting to each
other the romances they had "made OUT DUB
ing the day, and nursing those high thoughts
and profound feelings which gave them their
strength and their sorrow in after years. /
felt as if l were in some hall of enchantment.
Those strong and affectionate spirits-so un-
equal, yet so like each other-Seemed to hover
in the air, and it would scarcely have startled
me by any sense of strangeness, if they had
reappeared and commenced again their sad and
solitary walk. The genius of desolation, when
L thought of the past, seemed to brood over
the house. The mother-gentle, suffering, yet
accomplishing, had passed away long years
before while the children were infants and
they had grown up ignorant of any love but
that which they had cherished for each other
Branwel had died. in the chamber above, a
death of fearful agony and horror, after infiict-
ing years of suffering and of shame in their
worst shape upon himself and his household
Emily, the sternest spirit of them all, had
yielded up her untamed soul only after fearful
conflict with the foe, overcome but unconquer-
ed at the last. And Charlotte, most gifted of
them all, one short year of welded happiness
cowning her long term of lonely sorrow, had
persisted also-just as life began to smile, and
the world to seem worth living in. What
memories must haunt those walls-what
thoughts fill the hearts of the two survivors of
such history
j received the cordial farewell and kind good
wishes Of my hosts, pledged in wine-walked
again over the churchyard and into the church
where the Bronte children all lie unforgotten
in their sience-and called for my bill at the
Black Bull Inn. The wooden shoes of count
less children cattered upon the stone pave
ments of the streets, and little crowd Of GU
rious but not unfriendly faces silently babe me
farewell as | turned my back upon the rustic
scenes and impressive memories of the town
of Haworth.