The daily phoenix. [volume] (Columbia, S.C.) 1865-1878, 1866-04-25

than ever came from the npS OF
Father, Matthew. It rs story, alasi
which 1nany d smitten household can
echo, and the worst of it is, we can
not hope that there is any good time
coming, when thedemon that crushed
him, and is now crushing thousands,
viii be Slain and trampled out of
being forever.
Diligently devoting themselves to
their domestic duties, and at every
spare interval working with their
pens-shut in by the dreary moor
lands--thus passed the life of the,
Brontes- They were still dreaming
their dream OF authorship, which no
rude awakening could quite destroy.
But two huge shadows were gradually
approaching-Mr Bronte's blindness
and the death of Emily. When the
father found this terrible disaster
coming ON him, he prepared to meet
it-if not with actual courage, with a
calm patience that looked very much
like il.
In the meantime, Charlotte's novel
of the Professor" was going the
rounds of London. looking for a
publisher; and the very day ON which
an operation was to be performed
upon her fathers eyes, the manu-
script was returned to her-it could
find no publisher Many Of us, at
what VIC esteem rebuff, are apt to
shrink into ourselves, and to retire
from the conflict after the first defeat
But Charlotte Bronte had no such
cowardly clement in her; she would
NOT no 1,aotnr l,o cl- frr,,, l,a,.
she felt the STRINGS of genius that
must be heard, and even with the
returned manuscript Of the ''Pro-
fessor'' in sight, she worked out her
novel of Jane Eyre" Brave, strong
heart, it met its reward. The weird,
wonderful production blazed out, and
the name Of Currer Bell rang through
the literary world Her strong wings
had borne her aloft in most success
full flight. Curiosity was on the tip
toe, but curiosity could sec nothing
save perfectly original work, full OF
pathos and power-a story almost
impossible in the main, yet very pos
sible III many of its details, told with
force and fervor, Il hulf-smotherel
passion, bearing the unmistakable
marks of genius, and telling nothing
else save that it was written by Currer
Bell. Curiosity had nothingt to satisfy
its cravings with, and could only spe-
culate and wonder, while the writer,
shut up in the close retirement of the
parsonage, could hear, afar Off, the
din made by her magic pen. The
noisy shouts seemed to come up to
her very door, but they moved her
not to any expression Of gratitied
triumph.
One OF the great shadows was now
beginning to pass away; the fathers
sight was in /; measure restored, but
the other deepened the nearer it ap-
proached. Emily became i'll; but
with the resolution and energy which
were Il part of her not altogether
lovely character, She bravely fought
against the universal conqueror. She
would not think herself Ill, even when
fierce pains were racking her body;
sne refused medical advice, rejected
all sympathy, and in silence the brave
spirit, which had battled with the
fierce bulldog, and subduing it, made
it ever after her loving friend, fought
with equal bravery that foe which has
but one conqueror, He who holds
the keys of hell and death. She died
fighting g-dicd with 4 fierce determi-
nation not to be overcome, and we
stand awe struck in the presence of
this unequal contest; weak woman,
who had no shield to hold mp against
the unerring darts of the destroyer.
and foe who has never known but
one conqueror, and that one God.
Generally, humanity, knowing that it
IS powerless, succumbs without q
struggle, when it sees the approach
Of death. But not so with Emily
Brontc; she'd die, if die she must;
but she would battle against, oppose,
resist the foe to the very last. But it
was over; the shocking warfare had
ceased; the proud spirit was at rest;
and as the sisters pressed kiss upon
the cold. dead brow, they clung the
closer to each other in loving and
tender sympathy.
But another link has to be severed
from the chain of love, and Charlotte
Bronte was to be left sisterlcss. Annie
faded away; she did not. like Emily,
die fiercely fighting against her fate.
but, gently yielding herself into the
arms Of death, sweetly she FIJI asleep,
as calmly rs the afternoon passes
into the hush Of evening, murmur-
ing, 'take courage, Charlotte, take
courage" Courage! we'll might she