The morning call., 1891-04-05
ClTI8l, ellis and Acton Bells R0-
mantle Home in the Hills
SKETCH OF REV. PATRICK BRONTE.
HaEOTth as Il Was and as Il Is How to
Reach The Quiet T0WR--Life at The Old
Parsonage BT0Hl'S CNllGGti0lS-A
Clerical Brute MGmHltOS Of The Gele-
DTatHd SiStGB-Their Artistic Tastes.

te English literature there cannot be found
anything like the same winsome, if some
what melancholy, interest that will always
cling to the irreproachable name. the OBJ
scure surroundings and the extraordinary
personality of the author OF Jane Eyre"
Because of this, Haworth, though inter
esting for little else than once having been
the home of the BrOnte family, is worth go
ing a long way to see. And it is a long and
a dre8ry way one has to come. Perched up
here among the bleak hills of the West Rid
ing of Yorkshire, alongside the moorS and
fells OF Lancashire, the place is almost as
unknown and inaccessible as the grave of
Byron at Hucknall Torkard, in \ Nottingham
shire.
If your impulse is to visit Haworth, come
in the summer only. Then there is at least
sunshine. Then fleecy clouds straggIe over
and between the hills as if shadowy hosts
were marshaling behind the horizon. Here
and there splatches of color lie against old
walls and house fronts. The heather bushes
from the undulant green of the moors. And
one can then easily imagine bits Of Apulian
pastoral scenery here in the shepherds and
their ilOcks, like cameo reliefs on beds OF
dazzling emerald, with a perspective of bill
loTy lines and misty clouds, and here and
here and there savage kite or moor buzzard
cirCliug above the scene. fierce and endless
in its hunger for unwary heath p0uits or
grouse.
But at any other time your impressions,
all the way from Keighley up the little val
ley of the Worth River. the stream being
nowhere more than a tiny beck" OF moor
land rill, will be dismal ones indeed This
entire Yorkshire district, of which Bradford
Is the trade metropolis, is given over TO the
manufacture of worsteds. To the right and
left of the little branch of the Midland
Railway, which follows the stream up the
valley past Haworth TO 0xenhope, are
clusters Of deserted oIden hand-loom mills;
rotten weirs; grimy steam-pOwer mills with
their huge, half smoke-hidden chimDeys;
decayiBg arches; rows of faetory-hand cot
tages with satternly women at the door;
Gnarled, stunted trees springing meagerly
from impoveri shed soil in shaueWy gorge
and glen; and, in farthest reaches of pros
pect beneath a leaden-c olOred sky, the
grim outlines of barren hills, the hOllows
between showing farther DINNER outlines
OF bleak, bare mOOrs, suggest ing the wastes
OF noun tainous-wayed, measureleSs sea.
The tiny Haworth railway station stands
in the center of the horseshoe shaped val
ley head to which you have come from the
north. There could be a no more cherries
sight than shat presenting itself III every di-
rectiOu as you alight from your railway car
Tiage. The statiOn-maSter, the single human
IN sight, IN
A sPARSELY CUT, THREADBARE UNIFORM,
Trots around shiyeringly for moment as if
feeble, starved and cold; and then snaps
himself up in his little den with a sharp
click, as if in flight from the surrounding
dTeariness. Across the track where there
has sometime been little patch of flowers
lonely, almost featherleSs, altogether bedrag-
glsd hen pecks at the dead stalks feeOly,
ENORMOUSLY. This is all Of life there is
near the station. Over TO the lett, long
distance away on the level bed of the valley,
are several huge mills They are prisons
in every sense. The black smoke rolls
sulleniy from their stacks. But no
human being is visible. Then there are
half-ScOre rows of wOrkmen's houses. little,
mean, hard and cramped, huddled in grimy,
denuded spaces, or set on the brae-sde in
all manner of angles; as though they had
set ont TO run away from the place, and, too
feeble to escape. had stuck fast where they
now stand. High above taiS modern
HawOTth, BTOWmOre stretches away IN in
terminab!e sWells Of savage, treeleSS hills.
These circle around to the south and west,
and your eye follows them until it catches a
steeiy-gray line of what at first seem
ragged. eyed cubes of rock, cutting IN
diagonal transverse from the bottom to
nearly the top of the bare escarpment of
another holder hillside, terminating in the
loft.er drearier Haworth moor. This half
defined, ragged line of gray is the ancient
village Of HaV Orth.
Slipping and sliding along the simmons,
elayey path, you reach the lower end of the
long, climbing, winding village street.
Everything is of stOne-the houses, the
cutters, the raIn-tToughs, the gargoyie-
spOuts and the cobbled way, like IN open
stone-sewer cut along the hillside TO carry
off the seepy oozings of the moor-mosse
above. There is but the single street, Main
street it is called. Dank, dark closes some
times extend Tor a house length TO the right
and left. The yard-wide pavements are
meath the latter are shad0wY shops aud
living rooms. All stand oUen; but few in
habitants are to be seen. Those Of whom
glimpses can be caught are little children,
sill too young to be ground in the mills. and
bowed old erones OF women already ground
by the mills into yoicelessneSs and shape
leSsness. Up, up up, for mile,
you plod, and at last reach a
tiny open space. The houses are set
around it closely. Quaint shops and ancient
inns crowd it at all sorts CT curious angles
This is the head of the village, t0pograph-
icalIY. in babltations and IN arist0cracy
Net for its attractiveness, but because it
seems an outlet to somewhere, you pass into
a little court behind the Black Bull Inn. 1t
is maze of angles and winds. Suddenly
Here are an old
oBLOSG, TWO-sToRIED STONE HOUSE,
With a few yards of grass-plat at It's side;
little stone church, attached to, rather than
blended with, grim Norman tower;
graveyard cluttered with crumb bling stones;
the whole covering barely an acre of ground.
These were HawOrth parsonage, church
and chuFch-yard-the earthly and final home
OF the Brontes, and their living eyes ever
rested on HawOTth moor, which rises lmme-
diateiy above the church-yard like wall Of
rounded stone.
Here within The village nest of the moor
side eyry one may fittingly pause and recall
the history of the Brontes as a family. The
father, the Rev. Patrick Bronte, was son
of County Down Qreland) farmer, whose
real name was Prunty. He was born Pat
rickmas day, 1777, his name being changed
TO Bronte at the suggestion of his benefac-
tor, the Rev. Mr.. TighP, rector of Drumgoo-
land Parish, in Down Fine in physique,
handsome and ambitious, he foreswOre peas
ant life, and much after the manner of the
poor scholar" in Carleton's pathetic tale
gained enough learning at 10 to teach a small
private school; soon became tutor; entered
ST. Johns College, Cambridge, in 1902; OBJ
tanned his B. A. degree four years later;
was ordained to a curacy, and we ind him,
on his marriage in 1872 to Maria BranWel,
sweet and gentle Cornish maiden OF Fen
Zance. the incumbent OF the church, living at
HaTtshead, a little village near uudder
field, about twenty miles across the mOors,
to the southeast of Haworth. Theysvere
FIVE years at Hartshead. Then Mr.. Bronte
was transferred to Thornton, another York
shire West Riding moorland hamlet, "owre
the staires," that is, over the stairs, or hills
four miles south OF Haworth; the gray old |
octagonal chapel tower at Thornton being |
visible from the heights of BrowmOor, just |
over there across the valley. Mr.. Brouts |
was given the living of Haworth in 1920. |
and with his family took possession of the |
old parsonage just as you see it to-day. He |
remained until his death in 1861. period OF |
torty-one years, the incumbent of st. !
Michael and All Angels, this now world |
famed church, which with the parsonage, |
the graveyard and these closely huddled |
houses Of stone make up grim old village
picture.
tmay not be y four fortune to be driven from
this parsonage-door, justas was Miss Thaek- |
cry and scores of English literatOrS in the |
past; as was the Rev. Dr. Theo F. Clarke |
of Brooklyn. only last summer; and as l |
was yesterday. But you may see the old |
graves the Br0ntes saw; wander upon the |
moOrs they knew; study the ancient tower |
that escaped the y8ndals' hands; and stand |
Nj. -