308 and extraordinary growth! Where na- viduals who had never beheld one of the Smell sweet and blossom in the dust. Great natural shrewdness undoubtedly was a characteristic of the inhabitants of the Riding, and in many cases a rough kind of bonhomie was added, which, however, was frequently made more offensive than positive rudeness. Add to this that there was very little Perhaps no example could be cited in opportunity afforded to the poor for our literary annals which more clearly de- culture-twelve, fourteen, and sixteen monstrates the irrepressibility of genius hours per day being their constant labour than that of the remarkable trio of sisters at the factories-and the imagination who were known originally as Currer, will have little left to do in forming an Ellis, and Acton Bell. The truly surpris- estimate of the exoteric existence of the ing vigour of their mental constitutions Yorkshire character. The people were, can only be accurately gauged by a con- and indeed now are, hard-fisted, but sideration of the natural and other disad- scarcely so much so as the reader of vantages which they successfully over- Mrs. Gaskell would gather; for many came. To many persons, we suppose, have a passion for personal adornment, they will ever remain but a name, though whilst others will spend considerable one almost synonymous with sturdy inde- time and money in attaining proficiency pendence of character; but to those who in music, for which they have a natural more deeply study their separate indi- talent beyond that possessed by the invidualities an untold wealth of interest habitants of any other county in Engand profit will be discovered. Their land. They are good friends and good life's history proves that in the most haters. The misers, mostly, are to be barren regions the power of genius can found in the type of small manufacturers flourish. The bleak, wild moorlands, or cotton-spinners, who, bereft of many with their poverty of natural beauties, of those graces which should adorn the were the nursery of rich lives, whose in- human character, set themselves with With fluence with that of all other lives to dogged persistency to the making of "brass," as they term wealth. whom the Divinity has intimately spoken still lives, and must live, for long gen- some the passion is carried to a lamentaerations. The personal narrative, as re- ble, and at the same. time amusing exA characteristic story is told of a lated by Mrs. Gaskell, is one of mingled cess. pathos and rarity. Some of the points in person of this class, who was tolerably the Life of Charlotte Brontë it will be ad-rich, and had been seized with illness visable to recall to the reader's atten- soon after taking out his policy. When tion before the works of the three sis- the doctor made him aware of his hopeters themselves are passed in review. less state, he jumped up delighted, shoutHaworth village, whose parsonage was so ing, "By Jingo! I shall do the insurI always was a lucky long the residence of the Brontës, is in the ance company! West Riding of Yorkshire, and situate fellow!" Another trait in people much only a few miles from three towns of poorer in station than those just referred considerable importance - Halifax, Brad- to was the fixedness of their religious ford, and Keighley. The friend of principles. The doctrine of Election had Charlotte Brontë has endeavoured to give firmer root in their minds and indeed some idea of the appearance of the dis- has now in those of their successors — trict, but even she fails to depicture it as than is found to be the case elsewhere. it existed in the early part of the present The factory hands would stand at the century. In addition to the dull monoto-loom till nature yielded to consumption nous stretch of moorland, with here and or to the hardness of the burdens it was there a "beck" or a crag, as the sole called upon to bear, but in the hour of variation for the weary eye, there was a dissolution, as in every hour of sentient population to be met with which in some existence in the past, would be apparent respects exhibited no advance whatever the conviction that as surely as the sun over that of the Middle Ages. Nor is rose in the morning, so surely were they this scarcely to be wondered at, for with- themselves predestinated to a triumphant in the knowledge of the present writer, to salvation, of which it was an impossi whom the whole locality is perfectly famil- bility they could be rifled by the comiar, there were living a few years ago indi-'bined powers of the universe. Amidst the life was destructive of that gentler kind of humour of which we are sure Charlotte Brontë must have had originally a considerable endowment. She was necessarily propelled towards the paint always peculiar and extraordinary. Her perceptions were keen as will be admitted by the close student of her works - not only of human life, but of nature, and what she wrote must therefore exhibit the qualities of truth and strength. Severe discipline waited upon her through all her history, and its results are graphically depicted in her works, each of which deals with the experience of some stage of her brief existence. One almost wonders, as we follow her career, where her happiness came from. There was no society, no wealth, none of the common delights of life for her, whilst death was always approaching with measured, but inevitable steps, when not, indeed, already in the house. Doubtless her literary occupations yielded her at times intense enjoyment, but she possessed, in addition, a faith in Providence which must have been like that of a child for simplicity and strength — a faith to which many, who boasted of their Christian excellence, were perfect strangers, and to whom its existence in her was utterly unsuspected. this stern and unyielding race, then, was the lot of the sisters cast, and it would have been strange had not their genius been directed in its moulding by such distinctive surroundings. To understand at all the spirit of their works, it is neces- ing of what was frequently harsh, and sary to have some preliminary knowledge of the kind just indicated. Precocity distinguished the whole trio, though that is not an unfailing sign of future celebrity. When children, their answers to questions were clever and characteristic. Emily, whose intellect was always singularly clear, firm, and logical, when asked what should be done with her brother Branwell, if he should be naughty, instantly replied, "Reason with him, and when he won't listen to reason whip him." And as another indication of the quick ripening of faculties in this remarkable family, it may be mentioned that Mr. Brontë said he could converse with his daughter Maria on all the leading questions of the day when she was only eleven years of age. Early familiar with all the forms of suffering and death, the life of Charlotte Brontë from its commencement to its close may be said to have been one prolonged endurance of agony. Yet the grandeur of her courage must always strike us as one of the sublimest spectacles. When a child she lost those who were dear to her, and there were none who could understand The iron will of this truly great woman the vast yearnings of her nature. Then was never broken till the period came came the stirrings of her genius, and she when she must yield up her own life. longed to take flight, but her wings were Then the weakness-if such it can be weighted, and she was kept enchained to called - which she exhibited, arose not the dull earth. A few more years, and from any fear respecting herself, but for another trouble, almost worse than death, the tender and faithful husband whom cast its horrible shadow over her path. she was leaving behind. Desolation, The melancholy story of her brother blank and utter, overtook the father and Branwell, whom she loved deeply, in husband when her heart ceased to beat, spite of his numberless errors and terri- such as the old parsonage had never exble slavery to one master-passion is mat- perienced before. Charlotte's spirit had ter of general knowledge. To his end nerved others so long as it was with succeeded that of Emily Brontë, the them, and the tenement of hope was not sister whom Charlotte especially loved. completely shattered till she died. The To see her drift out into the great Un- picture Mrs. Gaskell gives of the closing known Sea was trouble inexpressible to moments and of the funeral is very touchthat loving soul, which had watched her ing. With regard to the latter it painwith fostering care, and hoped to have fully reminded her of the scene after the witnessed the universal acknowledgement death of Oliver Goldsmith. Mr. Foster of her splendid genius. Seldom was the thus describes it:—“The staircase of heavy cloud lifted from the head of our Brick Court is said to have been filled author on those dull Yorkshire hills: can with mourners, the reverse of domestic ; it be matter of surprise, then, that women without a home, without domesher works should bear the impress of ticity of any kind, with no friend but him the character of her life? The wonder they had come to weep for; outcasts of is, that the sun should break through that great, solitary, wicked city, to whom at all, as it does in Shirley, with beams he had never forgotten to be kind and of real geniality and cheerfulness. But charitable." Such would have followed Charlotte Brontë's remains to the grave, but in order to be strengthened in our but the survivors wanted not the sympa- opinion, let us look at what the eminent thy of strangers, their grief being too philosopher Adam Smith said of the true keen to be assuaged. The detractors of novelist, and surely no higher praise the writer of Jane Eyre could have had could be desired by our story-writers. little real understanding of her. Those "The poets and romance-writers who," who knew her best were the fallen and he says, "best paint the refinements and distressed, to whose wants she had min- delicacies of love and friendship, and of all istered, and, better still, into whose other private and domestic affections, bruised and dejected souls she had poured Racine and Voltaire, Richardson, Marithe sweet balm of sympathy. Such shall vaux, and Riccoboni, are in this case judge the woman; as for her genius, that much better instructors than Zeno, Chrywill take care of itself; its fruits are too sippus, or Epictetus." But surely we need genuine to be in danger of perishing. not stay to argue here that the novel, The novels of Charlotte Brontë were when in the hands of a true genius, can totally dissimilar in style to all which had be made one of the best instructors of been previously given to the world, and the human race. It is so because there their quality was not such as to be at the is nothing of the abstract about it— first moment attractive. Masculine in which the mind of mankind generally their strength, and very largely so in the abhors; it is a record of the concrete cast of thought, there could be no won- existence of individuals like ourselves, der that the public should assume Currer and must therefore be profitable both for Bell to be of the sterner sex, and even amusement, interest, and guidance. A persist in its delusion after the most ex- good novelist can scarcely be appreciated press assurance to the contrary. Cer- too highly. In this class we place Chartainly one can sympathize with the feel- lotte Brontë; she fulfils the requirements ing of astonishment that Jane Eyre glanced at already in the words of Mr. should have been written by a woman. What vigour there is in it compared with the novels of another great artist, Miss Austen! For sheer force she has even eclipsed her own chief of novel-writers, Sir Walter Scott, whilst Balzac, who, as Currer Bell said, "always left a nasty taste in her mouth," is also outstripped in the delineation of passion. Many readers were doubtless repulsed from a fair and candid perusal of the works of Charlotte Brontë by certain adverse criticisms which had pronounced them extremely coarse. The unfairness of this charge we think it will not be difficult to show presently. Faithful transcripts of the life she had witnessed they certainly were; distorted they were not. Speak was deeply grieved and long distressed ing of fiction, the author of The Curios- by the remark made to her on one occaities of Literature has said "Novels, sion, "You know, you and I, Miss Brontë, as they were long manufactured, form a have both written naughty books!" Mrs. library of illiterate authors for illiterate Gaskell goes so far as to admit that there readers; but as they are created by are passages in the writings of Currer genius, are precious to the philosopher. Bell which are coarse; for ourselves, we They paint the character of an individual can scarcely understand what is meant. or the manners of the age more perfectly Roughness there is, but indecency none, than any other species of composition: and coarseness seems to us to imply a it is in novels we observe, as it were little more than mere roughness. Several passing under our own eyes, the refined of the characters she has drawn are frivolity of the French, the gloomy and reproductions in type of the wildest disordered sensibility of the German; natures, and the over-refined sensibilities and the petty intrigues of the modern of some readers are possibly shocked by Italian in some Venetian novels." We their extreme naturalness. Charlotte accept this as a tolerably substantial Brontë simply thought of painting them appraisement of the rôle of the novelist; as they appeared, never thinking for a D'Israeli, and is in every respect a faithful delineator of the scenes and persons she professes to describe. How faithful, indeed, few can scarcely tell, but the mass can darkly feel it on close acquaintance with her. The charge of coarseness brought against her works she herself indignantly repelled, but the base notion of such a charge must have cruelly wounded her spirit, which, though strong and brave as a lion, was yet pure and tender as that of a child. She said, “I trust God will take from me whatever power of invention or expression I may have, before He lets me become blind to the sense of what is fitting or unfitting to be said." And it is on record that she moment there could be harm in laying out life a mixed and moderate cup of enin deep shadows where deep shadows joyment." These principles were of were required. Fielding was coarse, course unpopular; the novel-readers of Wycherly and some of the other dram- the day demanded something which should atists more so, but their examples show exhibit more of the romantic and the hethat coarseness is an unfortunate epithet roic. Battling well, however, with mateto apply to the writings of Currer Bell. rials which were in the outset obstructive, If applicable to them, it is totally inap- Currer Bell achieved a substantial sucplicable to her. Her coarseness-if cess. There can be no doubt that her such quality exist at all was undetach- husband, in consenting to the publication able from her subjects. She would have of the volume subsequently, did a wise ceased to be the true delineator and the act. There is much in the work which is real artist she aspired to be, had she characteristic of its author as she appears swerved from the outlines of character in her later novels, and the drawing of she undertook to fill in. In truth, we at least one of the characters, Mr. Hunsneed only to turn to Shirley and Jane den, is masterly. Some of the materials, Eyre to prove the position that Charlotte we are told, were afterwards used in Bronte was far beyond the common Villette; but if so they are carefully disnovelist. In the former story we have guised, and the world could very well characters which for sweetness have been afford to welcome the two. Passages rarely excelled, whilst in the latter we occur in The Professor which are almost have a Jupiter of rugged strength and startling in their strength of passion and passion. The novelist has power to go eloquence, and which alone would have out of herself that attribute of the given to Currer Bell the stamp of origingreat artist. It is genius which impels, ality. All the toilsome way by which the and she must obey. If the characters person who gives the title to the volume are occasionally coarse, she is uncon- is led, is marked by the intensest sympascious of it; she is only aware of their thy on the part of the author, and although truth. No need for her to lop off the the reader may not be able to feel much distorted branches in the human forest personal enthusiasm in the various charof her delineations in order to secure a acters, he must at once yield the point level growth of mediocrity. She could that he is perusing the thoughts of no not if she would, and is too intent on the common mind. The valuable knowledge manifestations of nature to do so if she which the author acquired abroad is could. Such creations as please the utilized with considerable skill, whilst she ordinary romance-monger would be an is equally at home when she comes to abhorrence to her; it is because she ex- delineate the Yorkshire family of the alted Art that she could not depart from Crimsworths. the True, with which the former, when real, is ever in unison. Her ideas of love and marriage, afterwards so fully developed in her other novels, are here touched upon. "I am no Oriental," says the Professor : "white necks, carmine lips and cheeks, clusters of bright curls, do not suffice for me, without that Promethean spark, which will live after the roses and lilies are faded, the burnished hair grown gray. In sunshine, in prosperity, the flowers are very well; but how many wet days are there in life- November seasons of disaster-when a man's hearth and home would be cold, indeed, without the clear, cheering gleam of intellect?" Love without the union of souls, the author again and again insists, is a delusion, the sheen of a summer's day, and quite as fleeting. Altogether the idea of The Professor was new, and as an indication of the grooves in which its author's genius was afterwards to run, we would not willingly have lost it. As a psychological study alone it was well worthy of The Professor, which was the first work written by Charlotte Brontë ostensibly for publication, though not by any means her first effort in fiction (what author does not carry the recollection of many juvenile crudities?), exhibits a great amount of conscious power, but also an inability on the part of the writer to give herself free scope. A comparison between this and succeeding works will show how she was cramped in its composition. The story is good, nevertheless, though numerous publishers to whom it was submitted decided otherwise. Its author has possibly hit upon the reason for its rejection, when in the preface she says she determined to give her hero no adventitious aid or success whatever. He was to succeed, if he did so, by the sheer force of his own brain and labour. "As Adam's son he should share Adam's doom, and drain through-preservation. baffled his judgment, but earned his vitu- But better and more remarkable works | Eyre, "She must be one who for some followed. The reading world has very sufficient reason has long forfeited the seldom been startled by such a genuine society of her sex," whilst the work which and powerful piece of originality as Jane Eyre. One can almost guage the feeling, after reading it, which caused Charlotte Brontë to be such an enthusiastic admirer of Thackeray. He, at any rate, she knew, would appreciate her efforts, for was he not also engaged (with even mere splendid talents) in the crusade against conventionality? He, at least, understood her burning words, when she affirmed that "conventionality is not morality, self-righteousness is not religion. To attack the first is not to assail the last. To pluck the mask from the face of the Pharisee, is not to lift an impious hand to the Crown of Thorns." These words will sufficiently show how she endeavoured to tread in the steps of "the first social regenerator of the day," and to whom she inscribed the second edition of her most widely known book. Jane Eyre is an autobiography, and its intention is to present a plain, unbiassed narrative of a woman's life from its commencement to a period when it is supposed to have ceased to possess interest to mankind generally. It is told fearlessly, and with a burning pen. But there is no suppressio veri; that, its author would have scorned: perhaps it would have I must keep in good health and not die." been better for its reception in some quar- As a corrective, she had given to her to ters limited in range we are happy to read The Child's Guide, containing "an think if the narrator of the story had account of the awfully sudden death of glossed over some portions of her hero- Martha G, a naughty child addicted ine's history. She had chosen, however, to falsehood and deceit." Certainly if to adhere to stern reality, and there it is this mental pabulum, combined with the finally for us, unpleasant and rough though material one of nauseous burnt porridge, it be in some of its recorded experiences. was not potent in keeping down the old The book shows the most opposite quali- Adam, it would be impossible to mention ties light, darkness; beauty, deformity; an effectual remedy, one would think. strength, tenderness. Its pathos is of As the story progresses it becomes most the finest quality, stirring most deeply thrilling, and we are introduced to a charbecause it is simple and unforced. The acter which is frequently regarded, and situations are very vivid; several scenes not without reason, as Currer Bell's masbeing depicted which it would be impos- terpiece of powerful drawing, viz. Mr. sible to eradicate from the memory after Rochester. Strong and yet weak, a very the most extensive reading of serial liter- thunderbolt for strength and explosiveature. Even those who regard it as coarseness, and yet a bundle of ordinary human must admit its strange fascination. It weaknesses, this individual stands forth was a book that could afford to be independent of criticism, and accordingly we find that, before the reviews appeared, anxious and continuous inquiries respecting it began to be made at the libraries. There was not much fiction being written which fixed the public eye, and the issue of this novel almost created an era. Forgotten now is the savage criticism of the reviewer who said of the author of Jane as real and living a portrait as is to be found existing in word-painting. He is attractive in spite of his numerous faults, and where is the character who more stood in need of pity? Picture him at Thornfield, united in wedlock to a raving maniac, who in her paroxysms attempted his life, whilst he, in return, saved hers that very life which was a curse, and brought unutterable gloom to him. Then, |