The Graves of the Brontë Sisters [pp. 145-147]

4PPLETONS' JO URNAL.
per of this model clergyman was roused, he worked
off the anger - demon by "firing pistols in rapid
succession out of the back-door;" or he would
cram the hearth- rug into the grate, and remain
locked in the room amid the smoke and the stench
until the insentient thing smouldered to ashes. When
neither of those expedients calmed his temporary
lunacy, he would proceed to saw off the backs of the
chairs with frantic energy, while his wife, lying on
her death-bed above, hearing the pistol or the saw,
would congratulate herself that he had never expressed himself angrily to her.
Distance neither improves nor impairs the appearance of the parsonage. It is a cold, drearylooking house at the best, though a new wing has
been added by the present incumbent. It fronts
eastward, its nine windows overlooking the closelypacked graveyard, where the dust of many generations of villagers moulders. Some time since this ancient "God's acre" was enlarged, and all the interments seemingly take place in the new ground. This
imparts a singular appearance to the solemn scene.
On the one side it is closely packed with weatherworn, moss-covered stones-several dated as far back
as A. D. I625-while the fresher stones on the new
section give a neglected appearance to the older place
of sepulture. The surroundings of the parsonage
are, therefore, far from being cheerful or inspiriting;
and to this circumstance, no doubt, may be traced
that subdued melancholy which pervades the writings of the Brontd sisters. It was here, amid such a
scene, that Charlotte wrote the piece entitled "Evening Solace:"
" But there are hours of lonely musing,
Such as in evening silence come;
When, soft as birds their pinions closing,
The heart's best feelings gather home.
" Then in our souls there seems to languish
A tender grief that is not woe;
And thoughts that once wrung groans of anguish,
Now cause but some wild tears to flow."
Farther a-field the prospect in the time of the
sisters would scarcely be more alluring, especially in
rainy weather and during winter. On every side
were bare moors, with scattered homesteads; and, in
the heart of the valley, manufactories with their
smoke - belching chimneys. The prospect is now,
however, soiething more cheerful. The genius of
agriculture, ministering to the wants of an increasing
population, has for years been waging war with the
barren moorlands, and green fields are now to be
seen where there were formerly only brown heath,
lichen-covered crags, and bowlders of the Drift period. The favorite walk of the sisters, northwestward from the rear of the parsonage, is still the
same, and is, moreover, likely to remain so as long as
it provides grouse-shooting for the lords of the soil.
The church-tower has recently been raised six or
eight feet to accommodate a clock, and the fresh
masonry imparts a piebald appearance to an edifice
which has never been imposing. With the excep
tion of the lower part of the tower, which is undoubtedly ancient, the whole structure was rebuilt
about a century since in the debased church-wardian
style peculiar to the period. The interior is in excellent keeping with the exterior. The pillars supporting the roof are nearly as rude as workmanship
could make them; the pews are high-backed, oldfashioned, and musty; and the whole impression
conveyed is one of cheerless austerity, suggesting a
prison rather than a temple of praise. The pew near
the altar formerly occupied by the sisters has been
removed to make room for their graves, which are
partly within the communion-rails. The father, mother, and the whole of the family, are interred beneath
those gloomy flagstones-with the exception of Anne,
who died at Scarborough and was buried there. It
is here, in this cold nook of the sacred fane, and in
the plain-looking parsonage a stone's-throw away,
that the interest of the visitor centres. Here moulders
Emily; there sleeps the tender Charlotte. A neat
marble tablet on the south side of the altar-rail records
the demise of the whole family. Mrs. Bronte died in
I82I, aged thirty-nine; Maria, in I825, aged twelve;
Elizabeth, the same year, aged eleven; Patrick Barnwell (the gifted ne'er-do-weel of the family), in I848,
aged thirty; Emily, the same year, aged twentynine; Anne (buried at Scarborough), in I849, aged
twenty-seven. The last two inscriptions on a separate tablet are as follows: "Also of Charlotte, their
daughter, wife of the Rev. A. B. Nicholls, B. A.
She died March 3Ist, I855, in the 39th year of her
age. Also of the afore-named Rev. P. Bronte, A. B.,
who died 7th June, I86i, in the 85th year of his age,
having been incumbent of Haworth for upwards of
4I years.'The sting of death is sin; and the
strength of sin is the law. But thanks be to God,
which giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus
Christ.'-I Cor. xv. 56, 57."
The lonely old man, it will be seen, survived his
whole family, and wellnigh up to the day of his
death he was accustomed to wear a loaded pistol
about his clothes as regularly as his watch.
The sexton who shows the church informed me
that there are many visitors in summer-time. Photographs are to be had from him of the church, the
parsonage, the marble tablets, as also portraits of
Charlotte, her husband, and her father. Charlotte
had never been photographed, and the portrait is
taken from the well-known engraving. The portrait
of her husband, with whom she lived but one brief
year, is said to be from the original. Apparently, he
is a stolid, muscular, grave-looking, rather fat-brained
man. The old lady in the village with whom I
supped spoke somewhat disdainfully of him. It appears that the reverend gentleman, who is now in
Ireland, has consoled himself with another wife, and
that proceeding does not meet with the general approval of Haworth.
My route back lay through Crimsworth Dean, and,
as I left the old church and parsonage behind, the
sun was climbing aboie the western hills.
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