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wild imagination. The Brussels visit ment. She loved them with a deep, was her last absence from the parson- passionate love; they informed her age. The few years that remained with their own strong, wild nature ; were spent quietly at home, for a pri- their dreariest, gloomiest aspects found vate school scheme long cherished by harmonies in her stern spirit; their the sisters

came to anything. purple heather glowing in the autumn Her last days have been described by sun stirred her with full, rich joy. her elder sister in words that reveal to Charlotte has written of her sister's us her stern, unbeuding character. A love for the moors, and in Emily's notable fact not, however, recorded by novel, “Wuthering Heights," a strikCharlotte is that, like her brother, ing passage reveals the pleasure Emily Emily died standing.

derived from the scenery about HaEmily Brontë is described as having worth. “ He said the pleasantest manhad, like Charlotte, a bad complexion ; ner of spending a hot July day was but she was tall and well-formed, while lying from morning till evening on a her eyes were of remarkable beauty. bank of heath in the middle of the Her mental gifts were of a high order. moors, with the bees humming busily In spite of her imperfect culture, this about among the bloom, and the larks is abundantly proved by her writings, singing high up overhead, and the few as they are. Her temperament sky and bright sun shining steadily was such that to strangers she rarely if and cloudlessly. That was his most ever unbent, while even her own rela- perfect ideal of heaven's happiness ; tives stood in some awe of her. At the mine was rocking in a rustling green same time she was capable of strong tree, with a west wind blowing, and affection. She was deeply attached to bright, white clouds flitting rapidly her sisters, and passionately fond of above, and not only larks, but throsdumb animals, insects, and flowers. tles, and blackbirds, and linnets, and As might be supposed, Emily did not cuckoos, pouring out music on every favorably impress outsiders. Mrs. side, and the moors seen at a distance, Gaskell says that all she could learn broken into cool, dusky dells ; but close about Emily tended to give an unpleas- by great swells of long grass undulatant impression of her ; but, as she ing in waves to the breezes, and woods properly points out, Emily has been and sounding water, and the whole portrayed for us in “ Shirley,” by her world awake and wild with joy.” The sister Charlotte, who knew her as no same feeling finds expression in her stranger could ever have known her. poems, as in “The Bluebell," and in In Sbirley's character we find not only the piece beginning,

66 Loud without such traits as other observers have the wind was roaring.” Another pownoted in Emily's, but also character- erful infuence was her father. He istics hid from the outer world — joy- is described as a passionate, self-willed,

of heart, kindly, womanly vain, cold, and distant man, stern and sympathy, warm, deep emotions. determined, ever eager to maintain his

From the sketch given of Emily opinions, whether or not they harBrontë's life, one can readily see that monized with the popular judgment — she could have owed little to influences a man, indeed, whose instincts were outside Haworth, and little more to soldierly rather than priestly. This reading; for, situated as she was, she description is so far supported by Charcould have had access to only a com- lotte's presentment of him in the Mr. paratively small number of books. Helstone of “Shirley." Mr. Brontë The question then is, whence came had many wild stories and traditions of the influences that helped to form the his native Ireland, and he delighted, by powerful character that confronts us in means of them, to excite terror in his her writings ? One potent influence children. We may be sure that, dewas the moors. They were to her spite their terrifying effect, these tales more than objects of sensuous enjoy- of danger and dread appealed strongly

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to Emily's bold and fearless mind. Jincarnation of cruelty, when he is ravSimilar stories were told to the children ing in the very delirium of passionate by their aunt, Miss Branwell, who had love for Catherine Earnshaw, when he brought from Cornwall a goodly store is wandering by midnight among the of such weird narratives as Mr. Hunt graves out on the moors, haunted by a has brought together in his “Romances feeling of the presence of the dead Cathand Drolls of the West of England.” erine, when he is calling on her spirit Tabby was an authority on Yorkshire with wailings of intensest agony, or traditions, and had strange things to when in the last days he moves like one tell of old-world doings in the county. in a dream, seeing some vision that The effect of all this was early seen. gladdens him and yet robs him of all While still in the nursery the little power to live, till the morning comes Brontës were writing romances, and when he is found dead, with fierce and all Emily's stories reflected the wild, staring eyes. A repulsive creation, and creepy tales she had become familiar yet it may safely be said that the imagwith.

ination that conjured up a monster like On a larger scale the same influence Heathcliff, and developed his character is at work in Emily's extraordinary with such force, was equal to high crenovel, “Wuthering Heights." For ative work. But there is more than extraordinary it is, whether we regard potential merit of character-drawing. the form or the substance. There are The younger Catherine has some charmfaults of expression and of treatment; ing traits ; her light-heartedness and but in “Wuthering Heights” we have fearlessness, if at times they seem to the first novel of a young woman with verge on recklessness and careless delittle knowledge either of literature or spair, are at other times exceedingly of life, and yet the story is told with attractive. Isabella Linton, though an compactness and force, scenery is de- inconsistent and somewhat sketchy scribed with marvellous vividness and conception, shows glimpses of a noble sympathy, characters are represented dignity when face to face with the with amazing individuality, while, dreadful life she has to lead at Wutherthough incidents and characters are at ing Heights. Edgar Linton, if cast in times so appalling that many readers too weak a mould, is yet in many return from the book in horror, there is spects well drawn. Gentleness, coursuch power, both of personality and of tesy, deep and true affection, and treatment, as positively fascinates even scholarly tastes, make him a strong while it terrifies. But it should be contrast to the wild and uncultured noted Emily Brontë had no conscious Heathcliff, that “arid wilderness of intention of exciting terror. It is true furze and whiustone ;” and if at times that, as Heathcliff reveals himself in all his character is allowed to become ighis savagery, one stands aghast at his nobly unmanly, enough of excellence wolfish ferocity; yet one can plainly remains to show that Emily Brontë see that the author is not seeking for could conceive a refined and cultured means of affecting her readers, but, mind. Probably the strongest assurheedless of readers, is working out her ance that her genius was capable of altogether astounding conception. careful, steady work as well as of wild

The promise of the book is found not flights is to be found in the two serin the story (though what story there is vants, Nelly Dean and Joseph. Both is clearly told) but in the delineation of characters are well conceived, but Jocharacter. Heathcliff is a wonderful, seph is admirable. His faithfulness if repulsive, creation. His wife asks to the family he had served so long, questions that the reader often asks : his rugged nature, his unbending and - Is Mr. Heathcliff a man ? If so, is repellent Calvinism, his certainty as to he mad ? And, if not, is he a devil ?” his own sanctity and his doubt as to It is difficult to say when he is most every other body's — all these are well terrible — when he is behaving like the set forth. Joseph is interesting in

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another way: he gives Emily Brontë | as what is to be found in “ Wuthering opportunities of showing that she can Heights." On the contrary, its feelhandle the ludicrous with considerable ing for nature, its pensiveness, above effect. There is genuine humor in all the grandeur of thought and the some of Joseph's appearances, all the strength of soul in the finest passages, more that his efforts as a humorist are are in themselyes attractive. The fatal quite unconscious.

lefect is the want of form ; only now In strong contrast to the gloom cast and again is the expression worthy of over the story by Heathcliff is the the conception. Something, too, might beauty of those passages that tell how be said against a certain gloom in the Catherine Linton does all she can to poems, due to their renunciation of soften the ruggedness in Hareton Earn- hope and love and joy, were this not shaw's disposition, and to raise him fully redeemed by their passion for naabove the degraded level to which ture and their lofty resolution. If joy Heathcliff had depressed him, and of leaves us, never to return, we are not those that reveal the author's suscepti- to despair. bility to nature under all aspects. She There should be no despair for you is alive to the beauty of darkening While nightly stars are burning ; moors and bright blue skies, of bare While evening pours its silent dew, billside and wooded valley, of carolling And sunshine gilds the morning. birds and whispering trees and mur

There should be no despair — though tears muring streams. Her love of nature

May flow down like a river : carries her into veins of thought that are not the best beloved of years recall the imaginings of Shelley. Lock

Around your heart forever ? wood had gone to visit the lonely churchyard where lay Heathcliff, Edi-They weep, you weep, it must be so ;

Winds sigh as you are sighing, gar Linton, and Catherine Earnshaw, and

Winter sheds its grief in snow and he thus concludes the story of

Where Autumn's leaves are lying : " Wuthering Heights : ” “I lingered round them under that benign sky; Yet, these revive, and from their fate, watched the moths fluttering among

Your fate cannot be parted : the heath and barebells, listened to the Then, journey on, if not elate, soft wind breathing through the grass,

Still, never broken-hearted ! and wondered how any one could ever Of Emily Brontë it may be truly said imagine unquiet slumbers for sleepers she was never broken-hearted. Even in that quiet earth.”

sorrow and deadly sickness could not Charlotte Brontë compares her sis- subdue the unbending firmness of her ter's novel to a figure rudely carved soul. When death was coming very from a granite block : “ There it stands, near, she wrote in her wonderful last colossal, dark, and frowning · half lines : statue, half rock; in the former sense O God within my breast, terrible and goblin-like, in the latter Almighty, ever-present Deity ! almost beautiful, for its coloring is of Life — that in me has rest, mellow grey, and moorland moss clothics As I — undying Life — have power in thee ! it, and heath, with its blooming bells and balmy fragrance, grows faithfully

There is no room for Death, close to the giant's foot.Rude

Nor atom that his might could render void : "Wuthering Heights" is, but it has

Thou — Thou art Being and Breath, power and it has beauty, and when its And what Thou art may never be destroyed. author died our literature lost a novel- Here is what supremely fascinates ist of great promise.

the admirers of Emily Brontë's poems Emily Brontë's poetry is equally full — the brave, strong spirit that, even of power, but is perhaps equally un- when cabined and confined by convenlikely to find readers. This is not tional verse-forms, flames and dances because of anything in it so repellent in its bounds.

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I'll walk where my own nature would be author had achieved in the way of pure leading ;

melody is fairly represented in these It vexeth me to choose another guide,

lines :she cries in proud independence, and Blow, west wind, by the lonely mound, echoes the prayer of "The Old

And murmur, summer streams Stoic :"

There is no need of other sound Riches I hold in light esteem,

To soothe my lady's dreams. And Love I laugh to scorn ;

Careful reading of Emily Brontë's And lust of fame was but a dream,

poetry deepens the regret that, after That vanished with the morn :

perusing "Wuthering Heights," one And if I pray, the only prayer

feels for her early death. She passed That moves my lips for me

away before her rare powers had time Is, “ Leave the heart that now I bear, fully to reveal themselves, though not And give me liberty !”

before she had written enough to inYes, as my swift days near their goal,

dicate the richness of her promise. 'Tis all that I implore ;

How rich was not recognized in her In life and death a chainless soul, lifetime, though of this she never With courage to endure.

complained. She complained, indeed, In this there is the very abandon of of nothing. Yet appreciation would self-reliance, the uncontrolled utter- doubtless have given her pleasure, selfance of fearlessness.

controlled and self-reliant as she was. The softer qualities of the poems are Praise of the highest kind has been seen in compositions like “ Remem- freely bestowed on her work, but too brance” (though it contains a charac- late to gratify her, for, in her own fine

words : teristic note of strength), “ The Outcast Mother, 66 A Death Scene,”

The dweller in the land of death Wanderer from the Fold.” What the Is hanged and careless too.

A. M. WILLIAMS.

66 The

A MUSCULAR CHRISTIAN. Burton had | bully appeared, it was so arranged that the been transferred from Fernando Po to the gate was opened by Fray G—(the usual consulate at Santos and Sao Paulo, where crowd had collected in the road to see the there was a seminary of Capuchins, French- fun), who looked at him laughingly and men, and Italians, which contained some said, “Surely, brother, we will fight for God curious specimens of muscular Christianity. or the Devil, if you please.' So saying, the For example : “One of the monks was a friar tucked up his sleeves and gown, and tall, magnificent, and very powerful man, told his adversary 'to come on,' which he an ex-cavalry officer, Count Somebody, did, and he was immediately knocked into whose name I forget, then Fray G- a cocked hat. 'Come, get up,' said the Before he arrived there was a bully in the friar. 'No lying there and whimpering ; town, rather of a free-thinking class, so he the Devil won't win that way.'

The man used to go and swagger up and down be- stood three rounds, at the end of which he fore the seminary and call out, 'Come out, whimpered and holloaed for mercy, and you miserable petticoated monks ! come amidst the jeers and bravos of a large out and have a free fight! For God or the crowd the 'village cock' retired, a mass of Devil ! When Frey — arrived, he jelly and pulp, to his own dunghill, and heard of this and it so happened he had was never seen more within half a mile of had an English friend, when he was with the seminary. Richard rejoiced in it, and his regiment, who had taught him the use used to say "What is that bull-priest doing of his fists. He found that his brother in that galere?'" monks were dreadfully distressed at this The Life of Captain Sir Richard F. Burton, unseemly challenge, so he said, “The next

K.C.M.G., F.R.G.S. By his Wife, Isabel Burton. time he comes, don't open the gate, but let Chapman and Hall, the porter call me.' So the next time the

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Fifth Series,

No. 2571. – October 14, 1893.

From Beginning

Vol. OXOLX.

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CONTENTS. 1. LA FONTAINE. By J. C. Bailey,

Temple Bar,
IL MY SISTER KATE. By Mary S. Hancock, Gentleman's Magazine,
III. THE LIMITS OF ANIMAL INTELLIGENCE.
By C. Lloyd Morgan,

Fortnightly Review, :
IV. DOROTHY SIDNEY,

Church Quarterly Review,
V. IN ORCADIA,

Blackwood's Magazine,
VI. ON LEOPARDS. By C. T. Buckland, Longman's Magazine,
VII. FIN DE SIECLE MEDICINE. By A. Sy-
mons Eccles,

National Review,
VIII. BATTAMBONG AND ANGKOR

Globe,

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POETRY. LOVE AND EARTH'S ECHOES,

I'M OUT WITH ALL THE WORLD TOTo CORREGGIO'S HOLY SEBASTIAN

DAY, (DRESDEN),

66 / “I AM ATHIRST, BUT NOT FOR WINE,'

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66 66

PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY BY
LITTELL & CO., BOSTON.

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