  Although so stated by Professor A. W. Ward in the Dictionary of National Biography, vol. xxi. ‘Mama’s last days,’ it runs, ‘had been full of loving thought and tender help for others. She was so sweet and dear and noble beyond words.’ ‘Some of the West Ridingers are very angry, and declare they are half-a-century in civilisation before some of the Lancashire folk, and that this neighbourhood is a paradise compared with some districts not far from Manchester.’—Ellen Nussey to Mrs. Gaskell, April 16th, 1859. ‘To this bold statement (i.e. that love-letters were found in Branwell’s pockets) Martha Brown gave to me a flat contradiction, declaring that she was employed in the sick room at the time, and had personal knowledge that not one letter, nor a vestige of one, from the lady in question, was so found.’—Leyland. The BrontË Family, vol. ii. p. 284. Mrs. Gaskell had described Charlotte BrontË’s features as ‘plain, large, and ill-set,’ and had written of her ‘crooked mouth and large nose’—while acknowledging the beauty of hair and eyes. Mrs. Lawry of Muswell Hill, to whose courtesy in placing these and other papers at my disposal I am greatly indebted. ‘Patrick Branty’ is written in another handwriting in the list of admissions at St. John’s College, Cambridge. Dr. J. A. Erskine Stuart, who has a valuable note on the subject in an article on ‘The BrontË Nomenclature’ (BrontË Society’s Publications, Pt. III.), has found the name as Brunty, Bruntee, Bronty, and Branty—but never in Patrick BrontË’s handwriting. There is, however, no signature of Mr. BrontË’s extant prior to 1799. ‘I translated this’ (i.e. an Irish romance) ‘from a manuscript in my possession made by one Patrick O’Prunty, an ancestor probably of Charlotte BrontË, in 1763.’ The Story of Early Gaelic Literature, p. 49. By Douglas Hyde, LL.D. T. Fisher Uwin, 1895. Mrs. Gaskell says ‘Dec. 29th’; but Miss Charlotte Branwell of Penzance writes to me as follows:—’My Aunt Maria Branwell, after the death of her parents, went to Yorkshire on a visit to her relatives, where she met the Rev. Patrick BrontË. They soon became engaged to be married. Jane Fennell was previously engaged to the Rev. William Morgan. And when the time arrived for their marriage, Mr. Fennell said he should have to give his daughter and niece away, and if so, he could not marry them; so it was arranged that Mr. Morgan should marry Mr. BrontË and Maria Branwell, and afterwards Mr. BrontË should perform the same kindly office towards Mr. Morgan and Jane Fennell. So the bridegrooms married each other and the brides acted as bridesmaids to each other. My father and mother, Joseph and Charlotte Branwell, were married at Madron, which was then the parish church of Penzance, on the same day and hour. Perhaps a similar case never happened before or since: two sisters and four first cousins being united in holy matrimony at one and the same time. And they were all happy marriages. Mr. BrontË was perhaps peculiar, but I have always heard my own dear mother say that he was devotedly fond of his wife, and she of him. These marriages were solemnised on the 18th of December 1812.’ The passage in brackets is quoted by Mrs. Gaskell. The passage in brackets is quoted, not quite accurately, by Mrs. Gaskell. The following letter indicates Mr. BrontË’s independence of spirit. It was written after Charlotte’s death: ‘Haworth, nr. Keighley, January 16th, 1858. ‘Sir,—Your letter which I have received this morning gives both to Mr. Nicholls and me great uneasiness. It would seem that application has been made to the Duke of Devonshire for money to aid the subscription in reference to the expense of apparatus for heating our church and schools. This has been done without our knowledge, and most assuredly, had we known it, would have met with our strongest opposition. We have no claim on the Duke. His Grace honour’d us with a visit, in token of his respect for the memory of the dead, and his liberality and munificence are well and widely known; and the mercenary, taking an unfair advantage of these circumstances, have taken a step which both Mr. Nicholls and I utterly regret and condemn. In answer to your query, I may state that the whole expense for both the schools and church is about one hundred pounds; and that after what has been and may be subscribed, there may fifty pounds remain as a debt. But this may, and ought, to be raised by the inhabitants, in the next year after the depression of trade shall, it is hoped, have passed away. I have written to His Grace on the subject—I remain, sir, your obedient servant, ‘P. BrontË. ‘Sir Joseph Paxton, Bart.,
‘Hardwick Hall,
‘Chesterfield.’
The vicar, the Rev. J. Jolly, assures me, as these pages are passing through the press, that he is now moving it into the new church. Baptisms solomnised in the Parish of Bradford and Chapelry of Thornton in the County of York. | When Baptized. | Child’s Christian Name. | Parent’s Name (Christian). | Parent’s Name (Surname). | Abode. | Quality, Trade or Profession. | By whom the Ceremony was Performed. | | 1816
29th June | Charlotte daughter of | The Rev. Patrick and Maria. | BrontË | Thornton | Minister of Thornton | Wm. Morgan Minster of Christ Church Bradford. | | 1817
July 23 | Patrick Branwell son of | Patrick and Maria. | BrontË | Thornton | Minister | Jno. Fennell officiating Minister. | | 1818
20th August | Emily Jane daughter of | The Rev. Patrick and Maria. | BrontË A.B. | Thornton Parsonage | Minister of Thornton | Wm. Morgan Minster of Christ Church Bradford. | | 1820
March 25th | Anne daughter of | The Rev. Patrick and Maria. | BrontË | Minister of Haworth | | Wm. Morgan Minster of Christ Church Bradford. | At the same time it is worth while quoting from a letter by ‘A. H.’ in August 1855. A. H. was a teacher who was at Cowan Bridge during the time of the residence of the little BrontËs there. ‘In July 1824 the Rev. Mr. BrontË arrived at Cowan Bridge with two of his daughters, Maria and Elizabeth, 12 and 10 years of age. The children were delicate; both had but recently recovered from the measles and whooping-cough—so recently, indeed, that doubts were entertained whether they could be admitted with safety to the other pupils. They were received, however, and went on so well that in September their father returned, bringing with him two more of his children—Charlotte, 9 [she was really but 8] and Emily, 6 years of age. During both these visits Mr. BrontË lodged at the school, sat at the same table with the children, saw the whole routine of the establishment, and, so far as I have ever known, was satisfied with everything that came under his observation. ‘“The two younger children enjoyed uniformly good health.” Charlotte was a general favourite. To the best of my recollection she was never under disgrace, however slight; punishment she certainly did not experience while she was at Cowan Bridge. ‘In size, Charlotte was remarkably diminutive; and if, as has been recently asserted, she never grew an inch after leaving the Clergy Daughters’ School, she must have been a literal dwarf, and could not have obtained a situation as teacher in a school at Brussels, or anywhere else; the idea is absurd. In respect of the treatment of the pupils at Cowan Bridge, I will say that neither Mr. BrontË’s daughters nor any other of the children were denied a sufficient quantity of food. Any statement to the contrary is entirely false. The daily dinner consisted of meat, vegetables, and pudding, in abundance; the children were permitted, and expected, to ask for whatever they desired, and were never limited. ‘It has been remarked that the food of the school was such that none but starving children could eat it; and in support of this statement reference is made to a certain occasion when the medical attendant was consulted about it. In reply to this, let me say that during the spring of 1825 a low fever, although not an alarming one, prevailed in the school, and the managers, naturally anxious to ascertain whether any local cause occasioned the epidemic, took an opportunity to ask the physician’s opinion of the food that happened to be then on the table. I recollect that he spoke rather scornfully of a baked rice pudding; but as the ingredients of this dish were chiefly, rice, sugar, and milk, its effects could hardly have been so serious as have been affirmed. I thus furnish you with the simple fact from which those statements have been manufactured. ‘I have not the least hesitation in saying that, upon the whole, the comforts were as many and the privations as few at Cowan Bridge as can well be found in so large an establishment. How far young or delicate children are able to contend with the necessary evils of a public school is, in my opinion, a very grave question, and does not enter into the present discussion. ‘The younger children in all larger institutions are liable to be oppressed; but the exposure to this evil at Cowan Bridge was not more than in other schools, but, as I believe, far less. Then, again, thoughtless servants will occasionally spoil food, even in private families; and in public schools they are likely to be still less particular, unless they are well looked after. ‘But in this respect the institution in question compares very favourably with other and more expensive schools, as from personal experience I have reason to know.—A.H., August 1855.’—From A Vindication of the Clergy Daughters’ School and the Rev. W. Carus Wilson from the Remarks in ‘The Life of Charlotte BrontË,’ by the Rev. H. Shepheard, M.A. London: Seeley, Jackson, and Halliday, 1857.
The Rev. William Weightman. It is interesting to note that Charlotte sent one of her little pupils a gift-book during the holidays. The book is lost, but the fly-leaf of it, inscribed ‘Sarah Louisa White, from her friend C. BrontË, July 20, 1841,’ is in the possession of Mr. W. Lowe Fleeming, of Wolverhampton. ‘Upperwood House, Rawdon, September 29th, 1841. ‘Dear Aunt,—I have heard nothing of Miss Wooler yet since I wrote to her intimating that I would accept her offer. I cannot conjecture the reason of this long silence, unless some unforeseen impediment has occurred in concluding the bargain. Meantime, a plan has been suggested and approved by Mr. and Mrs. White, and others, which I wish now to impart to you. My friends recommend me, if I desire to secure permanent success, to delay commencing the school for six months longer, and by all means to contrive, by hook or by crook, to spend the intervening time in some school on the continent. They say schools in England are so numerous, competition so great, that without some such step towards attaining superiority we shall probably have a very hard struggle, and may fail in the end. They say, moreover, that the loan of £100, which you have been so kind as to offer us, will, perhaps, not be all required now, as Miss Wooler will lend us the furniture; and that, if the speculation is intended to be a good and successful one, half the sum, at least, ought to be laid out in the manner I have mentioned, thereby insuring a more speedy repayment both of interest and principal. ‘I would not go to France or to Paris. I would go to Brussels, in Belgium. The cost of the journey there, at the dearest rate of travelling, would be £5; living is there little more than half as dear as it is in England, and the facilities for education are equal or superior to any other place in Europe. In half a year, I could acquire a thorough familiarity with French. I could improve greatly in Italian, and even get a dash of German, i.e., providing my health continued as good as it is now. Martha Taylor is now staying in Brussels, at a first-rate establishment there. I should not think of going to the ChÂteau de Kockleberg, where she is resident, as the terms are much too high; but if I wrote to her, she, with the assistance of Mrs. Jenkins, the wife of the British Consul, would be able to secure me a cheap and decent residence and respectable protection. I should have the opportunity of seeing her frequently, she would make me acquainted with the city; and, with the assistance of her cousins, I should probably in time be introduced to connections far more improving, polished, and cultivated, than any I have yet known. ‘These are advantages which would turn to vast account, when we actually commenced a school—and, if Emily could share them with me, only for a single half-year, we could take a footing in the world afterwards which we can never do now. I say Emily instead of Anne; for Anne might take her turn at some future period, if our school answered. I feel certain, while I am writing, that you will see the propriety of what I say; you always like to use your money to the best advantage; you are not fond of making shabby purchases; when you do confer a favour, it is often done in style; and depend upon it £50, or £100, thus laid out, would be well employed. Of course, I know no other friend in the world to whom I could apply on this subject except yourself. I feel an absolute conviction that, if this advantage were allowed us, it would be the making of us for life. Papa will perhaps think it a wild and ambitious scheme; but who ever rose in the world without ambition? When he left Ireland to go to Cambridge University, he was as ambitious as I am now. I want us all to go on. I know we have talents, and I want them to be turned to account. I look to you, aunt, to help us. I think you will not refuse. I know, if you consent, it shall not be my fault if you ever repent your kindness. With love to all, and the hope that you are all well,—Believe me, dear aunt, your affectionate niece, ‘Miss Branwell. C. BrontË.’
Mrs. Gaskell’s ‘Life.’ Corrected and completed from original letter in the possession of Mr. A. B. Nicholls. Miss Mary Dixon, the sister of Mr. George Dixon, M.P., is still alive, but she has unfortunately not preserved her letters from Charlotte BrontË. ‘The BrontËs at Brussels,’ by Frederika Macdonald.—The Woman at Home, July 1894. This statement has received the separate endorsement of the Rev. A. B. Nicholls and of Miss Ellen Nussey. M. and Mme. HÉger celebrated their golden wedding in 1888, but Mme. HÉger died the next year. M. Constantin HÉger lived to be eighty-seven years of age, dying at 72 Rue Nettoyer, Brussels, on the 6th of May 1896. He was born in Brussels in 1809, took part in the Belgian revolution of 1830, and fought in the war of independence against the Dutch. He was twice married, and it was his second wife who was associated with Charlotte BrontË. She started the school in the Rue d’Isabelle, and M. HÉger took charge of the upper French classes. In an obituary article written by M. Colin of L’Etoile Belge in The Sketch (June 5, 1896), which was revised by Dr. HÉger, the only son of M. HÉger, it is stated that Charlotte BrontË was piqued at being refused permission to return to the Pensionnat a third time, and that Villette was her revenge. We know that this was not the case. The Pensionnat HÉger was removed in 1894 to the Avenue Louise. The building in the Rue d’Isabelle will shortly be pulled down. Pictures of the Past, by Francis H. Grundy, C.E: Griffith & Farran, 1879; Emily BrontË, by A. Mary F. Robinson: W. H. Allen, 1883; The BrontË Family, with Special Reference to Patrick Branwell BrontË, by Francis A. Leyland: Hurst & Blackett, 2 vols. 1886. After Mr. BrontË’s death Mr. Nicholls removed it to Ireland. Being of opinion that the only accurate portrait was that of Emily, he cut this out and destroyed the remainder. The portrait of Emily was given to Martha Brown, the servant, on one of her visits to Mr. Nicholls, and I have not been able to trace it. There are three or four so-called portraits of Emily in existence, but they are all repudiated by Mr. Nicholls as absolutely unlike her. The supposed portrait which appeared in The Woman at Home for July 1894 is now known to have been merely an illustration from a ‘Book of Beauty,’ and entirely spurious. There are two portraits of Branwell in existence, both of them in the possession of Mr. Nicholls. One of them is a medallion by his friend Leyland, the other the silhouette which accompanies this chapter. They both suggest, mainly on account of the clothing, a man of more mature years than Branwell actually attained to. In the Mirror, 1872, Mr. Phillips, under the pseudonym of ‘January Searle,’ wrote a readable biography of Wordsworth. Charlotte writes from Dewsbury Moor (October 2, 1836):—‘My sister Emily is gone into a situation as teacher in a large school of near forty pupils, near Halifax. I have had one letter from her since her departure—it gives an appalling account of her duties. Hard labour from six in the morning until near eleven at night, with only one half-hour of exercise between. This is slavery. I fear she will never stand it.’—Mrs. Gaskell’s Life. Haworth Churchyard, April 1855, by Matthew Arnold. Macmillan & Co. See chap. xiii., page 346. A dog, referred to elsewhere as Flossie, junior. It was sent to Mr. Williams on six half-sheets of note-paper and was preserved by him. Although Jane Eyre has been dramatised by several hands, the play has never been as popular as one might suppose from a story of such thrilling incident. I can find no trace of the particular version which is referred to in this letter, but in the next year the novel was dramatised by John Brougham, the actor and dramatist, and produced in New York on March 26, 1849. Brougham is rather an interesting figure. An Irishman by birth, he had a chequered experience of every phase of theatrical life both in London and New York. It was he who adapted ‘The Queen’s Motto’ and ‘Lady Audley’s Secret,’ and he collaborated with Dion Boucicault in ‘London Assurance.’ In 1849 he seems to have been managing Niblo’s Garden in New York, and in the following year the Lyceum Theatre in Broadway. Miss Wemyss took the title role in Jane Eyre, J. Gilbert was Rochester, and Mrs. J. Gilbert was Lady Ingram; and though the play proved only moderately successful, it was revived in 1856 at Laura Keene’s Varieties at New York, with Laura Keene as Jane Eyre. This version has been published by Samuel French, and is also in Dick’s Penny Plays. Divided into five Acts and twelve scenes, Brougham starts the story at Lowood Academy. The second Act introduces us to Rochester’s house, and the curtain descends in the fourth as Jane announces that the house is in flames. At the end of the fifth, Brougham reproduced verbatim much of the conversation of the dialogue between Rochester and Jane. Perhaps the best-known dramatisation of the novel was that by the late W. G. Wills, who divided the story into four Acts. His play was produced on Saturday, December 23, 1882, at the Globe Theatre, by Mrs. Bernard-Beere, with the following cast:— | Jane Eyre | Mrs. Bernard-Beere | | Lady Ingram | Miss Carlotta Leclercq | | Blanche Ingram | Miss Kate Bishop | | Mary Ingram | Miss Maggie Hunt | | Miss Beechey | Miss Nellie Jordan | | Mrs. Fairfax | Miss Alexes Leighton | | Grace Poole | Miss Masson | | Bertha | Miss D’Almaine | | Adele | Mdlle. Clemente Colle | | Mr. Rochester | Mr. Charles Kelly | | Lord Desmond | Mr. A. M. Denison | | Rev. Mr. Price | Mr. H. E. Russel | | Nat Lee | Mr. H. H. Cameron | | James | Mr. C. Stevens | Mr. Wills confined the story to Thornfield Hall. One critic described the drama at the time as ‘not so much a play as a long conversation.’ A few years ago James Willing made a melodrama of Jane Eyre under the title of Poor Relations. This piece was performed at the Standard, Surrey, and Park Theatres. A version of the story, dramatised by Charlotte Birch-Pfeiffer, called Die Waise von Lowood, has been rather popular in Germany. Alexander Harris wrote A Converted Atheist’s Testimony to the Truth of Christianity, and other now forgotten works. Julia Kavanagh (1824-1877). Her father, M. P. Kavanagh, wrote The Wanderings of Lucan and Dinah, a poetical romance, and other works. Miss Kavanagh was born at Thurles and died at Nice. Her first book, The Three Paths, a tale for children, was published in 1847. Madeline, a story founded on the life of a peasant girl of Auvergne, in 1848. Women in France during the Eighteenth Century appeared in 1850, Nathalie the same year. In the succeeding years she wrote innumerable stories and biographical sketches. It runs thus:— ‘December 9th, 1848. ‘The patient, respecting whose case Dr. Epps is consulted, and for whom his opinion and advice are requested, is a female in her 29th year. A peculiar reserve of character renders it difficult to draw from her all the symptoms of her malady, but as far as they can be ascertained they are as follows:—
Her appetite failed; she evinced a continual thirst, with a craving for acids, and required a constant change of beverage. In appearance she grew rapidly emaciated; her pulse—the only time she allowed it to be felt—was found to be 115 per minute. The patient usually appeared worse in the forenoon, she was then frequently exhausted and drowsy; toward evening she often seemed better. ‘Expectoration accompanies the cough. The shortness of breath is aggravated by the slightest exertion. The patient’s sleep is supposed to be tolerably good at intervals, but disturbed by paroxysms of coughing. Her resolution to contend against illness being very fixed, she has never consented to lie in bed for a single day—she sits up from 7 in the morning till 10 at night. All medical aid she has rejected, insisting that Nature should be left to take her own course. She has taken no medicine, but occasionally, a mild aperient and Locock’s cough wafers, of which she has used about 3 per diem, and considers their effect rather beneficial. Her diet, which she regulates herself, is very simple and light. ‘The patient has hitherto enjoyed pretty good health, though she has never looked strong, and the family constitution is not supposed to be robust. Her temperament is highly nervous. She has been accustomed to a sedentary and studious life. ‘If Dr. Epps can, from what has here been stated, give an opinion on the case and prescribe a course of treatment, he will greatly oblige the patient’s friends. ‘Address—Miss BrontË, Parsonage, Haworth, Bradford, Yorks.’
The original of this letter is lost, so that it is not possible to fill in the hiatus. Emily—who was called the Major, because on one occasion she guarded Miss Nussey from the attentions of Mr. Weightman during an evening walk. In his next letter Mr. Williams informed her that Miss Rigby was the writer of the Quarterly article. In Hathersage Church is the altar tomb of Robert Eyre who fought at Agincourt and died on the 21st of May 1459, also of his wife Joan Eyre who died on the 9th of May 1464. This Joan Eyre was heiress of the house of Padley, and brought the Padley estates into the Eyre family. There is a Sanctus bell of the fifteenth century with a Latin inscription, ‘Pray for the souls of Robert Eyre and Joan his wife.’—Rev. Thomas Keyworth on ‘Morton Village and Jane Eyre’—a paper read before the BrontË Society at Keighley, 1895. Miss Miles, or A Tale of Yorkshire Life Sixty Years Ago, by Mary Taylor. Rivingtons, 1890. The First Duty of Women. A Series of Articles reprinted from the Victorian Magazine, 1865 to 1870, by Mary Taylor. 1870. See letter to Ellen Nussey, page 78. Miss BrontË was paid £1500 in all for her three novels, and Mr. Nicholls received an additional £250 for the copyright of The Professor. A Mr. Hodgson is spoken of earlier, but he would seem to have been only a temporary help. Referring to a present of birds which the curate had sent to Miss Nussey. A Funeral Sermon for the late Rev. William Weightman, M.A., preached in the Church at Haworth on Sunday the 2nd of October 1842 by the Rev. Patrick BrontË, A.B., Incumbent. The profits, if any, to go in aid of the Sunday School. Halifax—Printed by J. U. Walker, George Street, 1842. Price sixpence. A little dog, called in the next letter ‘Flossie, junr.,’ which indicates its parentage. Flossy was the little dog given by the Robinsons to Anne. The originals are in the possession of Mr. Alfred Morrison of Carlton House Terrace, London. De Quincey Memorials, by Alexander H. Japp. 2 vols. 1891. William Heinemann. Agnes Grey, a novel, by Acton Bell. Vol. III. London, Thomas Cautley Newby, publisher, 72 Mortimer Street, Cavendish Square. And yet the error not infrequently occurs, and was recently made by Professor Saintsbury (Nineteenth Century Literature), of assuming that it was Jane Eyre which met with many refusals. Mr. Nicholls assures me that the manuscript was not rewritten after his marriage, although I had thought it possible, not only on account of its intrinsic merits, which have not been sufficiently acknowledged, but on account of the singular fact that Mlle. Henri, the charming heroine, is married in a white muslin dress, and that her going-away dress was of lilac silk. These were the actual wedding dresses of Mrs. Nicholls. Anne Marsh (1791-1874), a daughter of James Caldwell, J.P., of Linley Wood, Staffordshire, married a son of the senior partner in the London banking firm of Marsh, Stacey, & Graham. Her first volume appeared in 1834, and contained, under the title of Two Old Men’s Tales, two stories, The Admiral’s Daughter and The Deformed, which won considerable popularity. Emilia Wyndham, Time, the Avenger, Mount Sorel, and Castle Avon, are perhaps the best of her many subsequent novels. The Professor was published, with a brief note by Mr. Nicholls, two years after the death of its author. The Professor, a Tale, by Currer Bell, in two volumes. Smith, Elder & Co., 65 Cornhill, 1857. Lady Eastlake died in 1893. Letters and Journals of Lady Eastlake, edited by her nephew, Charles Eastlake Smith, vol. i. pp. 221, 222 (John Murray). Life of J. G. Lockhart, by Andrew Lang. Published by John Nimmo. Mr. Lang has courteously permitted me to copy this letter from his proof-sheets. Name of place is erased in original. Thus in original letter. That Thackeray had written a certain unfavourable critique of Shirley. This article was by John Skelton (Shirley). Now in the possession of Mr. A. B. Nicholls. Thackeray writes to Mr. Brookfield, in October 1848, as follows:—‘Old Dilke of the AthenÆum vows that Procter and his wife, between them, wrote Jane Eyre; and when I protest ignorance, says, “Pooh! you know who wrote it—you are the deepest rogue in England, etc.” I wonder whether it can be true? It is just possible. And then what a singular circumstance is the + fire of the two dedications’ [Jane Eyre to Thackeray, Vanity Fair to Barry Cornwall].—A Collection of Letters to W. M. Thackeray, 1847-1855. Smith and Elder. Chapters from Some Memories, by Anne Thackeray Ritchie. Macmillan and Co. Mrs. Ritchie and her publishers kindly permit me to incorporate her interesting reminiscence in this chapter. George Henry Lewes (1817-1878). Published Biographical History of Philosophy, 1845-46; Ranthorpe, 1847; Rose, Blanche, and Violet, 1848; Life of Goethe, 1855. Editor of the Fortnightly Review, 1865-66. Problems of Life and Mind, 1873-79; and many other works. Richard Hengist Horne (1803-1884). Published Cosmo de Medici, 1837; Orion, an epic poem in ten books, passed through six editions in 1843, the first three editions being issued at a farthing; A New Spirit of the Age, 1844; Letters of E. B. Browning to R. H. Horne, 1877. Printed by the kind permission of the Rev. C. W. Heald, of Chale, I.W. Sir James Kay-Shuttleworth (1804-1877). A doctor of medicine, who was made a baronet in 1849, on resigning the secretaryship of the Committee of Council on Education; assumed the name of Shuttleworth on his marriage, in 1842, to Janet, the only child and heiress of Robert Shuttleworth of Gawthorpe Hall, Burnley (died 1872). His son, the present baronet, is the Right Hon. Sir Ughtred James Kay-Shuttleworth. Some experiments on a farm of two acres. Letters of Matthew Arnold, collected and arranged by George W. E. Russell. Mr. Nicholls is the Mr. Macarthey of Shirley. Here is the reference which not unnaturally gratified him:—‘Perhaps I ought to remark that, on the premature and sudden vanishing of Mr. Malone from the stage of Briarfield parish . . . there came as his successor, another Irish curate, Mr. Macarthey. I am happy to be able to inform you, with truth, that this gentleman did as much credit to his country as Malone had done it discredit; he proved himself as decent, decorous, and conscientious, as Peter was rampant, boisterous, and—(this last epithet I choose to suppress, because it would let the cat out of the bag). He laboured faithfully in the parish; the schools, both Sunday and day-schools, flourished under his sway like green bay-trees. Being human, of course he had his faults; these, however, were proper, steady-going, clerical faults: the circumstance of finding himself invited to tea with a dissenter would unhinge him for a week; the spectacle of a Quaker wearing his hat in the church, the thought of an unbaptized fellow-creature being interred with Christian rites—these things could make strange havoc in Mr. Macarthey’s physical and mental economy; otherwise he was sane and rational, diligent and charitable.’—Shirley, chap. xxxvii. John Stuart Mill, who, however, attributed the authorship of this article to his wife. The Nusseys. The Rev. George Sowden, vicar of Hebden Bridge, Halifax, and honorary canon of Wakefield, is still alive.
ness of the rattler's attack, the surprise when he had not been thinking of such a thing, the fact that he was far from help and that his life was in danger—all had a damaging effect upon his self-control. And yet the smile showed that he was still master of himself. Very deliberately he returned to the rock upon which he had been sitting, ripping off his coat and tearing away the sleeve of his woollen shirt. Twisting the sleeve into the form of a rude rope, he tied it loosely around his leg, just above the ankle. Then he thrust his knife between the improvised rope and the leg, forming a crude tourniquet. He twisted the knife until tears of pain formed in his eyes. Then he fastened the knife by tucking the haft under the rope. His movements had been very deliberate, but sure, and in a few minutes he hobbled to his pony and swung into the saddle. He had seen men who had been bitten by rattlers—had seen them die. And he knew that if he did not get help within half an hour there would be little use of doing anything further. In half an hour the virus would have so great a grip upon him that it would be practically useless to apply any of the antidotes commonly known to the inhabitants of the country. Inquiries that he had made at Dry Bottom had resulted in the discovery that the Two Diamond ranch was nearly thirty miles from the town. If he had averaged eight miles an hour he had covered about twenty-four miles of the distance. That would still leave about six. And he could not hope to ride those six miles in time to get any benefit from an antidote. His lips straightened, he stared grimly at a ridge of somber hills that fringed the skyline. They had told him back in Dry Bottom that the Two Diamond ranch was somewhere in a big basin below those hills. "I reckon I won't get there, after all," he said, commenting aloud. Thereafter he rode grimly on, keeping a good grip upon himself—for he had seen men bitten by rattlers who had lost their self-control—and they had not been good to look upon. Much depended upon coolness; somewhere he had heard that it was a mistake for a bitten man to exert himself in the first few minutes following a bite; exertion caused the virus to circulate more rapidly through the system. And so he rode at an even pace, carefully avoiding the rough spots, though keeping as closely to the trail as possible. "If it hadn't been a diamond-back—an' a five-foot one—this rope that I've got around my leg might be enough to fool him," he said once, aloud. "But I reckon he's got me." His eyes lighted savagely for an instant. "But I got him, too. Had the nerve to think that he could get away after throwin' his hooks into me." Presently his eyes caught the saffron light that glowed in the western sky. He laughed with a grim humor. "I've heard tell that a snake don't die till sundown—much as you hurt him. If that's so, an' I don't get to where I c'n get some help, I reckon it'll be a stand off between him an' me as to who's goin' first." A little later he drew Mustard to a halt, sitting very erect in the saddle and fixing his gaze upon a tall cottonwood tree that rose near the trail. His heart was racing madly, and in spite of his efforts, he felt himself swaying from side to side. He had often seen a rattler doing that—flat, ugly head raised above his coiled body, forked tongue shooting out, his venomous eyes glittering, the head and the part of the body rising above the coils swaying gracefully back and forth. Yes, gracefully, for in spite of his hideous aspect, there was a certain horrible ease of movement about a rattler—a slippery, sinuous motion that partly revealed reserve strength, and hinted at repressed energy. Many times, while watching them, he had been fascinated by their grace, and now, sitting in the saddle, he caught himself wondering if the influence of a bite were great enough to cause the person bitten to imitate the snake. He laughed when this thought struck him and drove his spurs sharply against Mustard's flanks, riding forward past the cottonwood at which he had been staring. "Hell!" he ejaculated, as he passed the tree, "what a fool notion." But he could not banish the "notion" from his mind, and five minutes later, when he tried again to sit steadily, he found the swaying more pronounced. The saddle seemed to rock with him, and even by jamming his uninjured foot tightly into the ox-bow stirrup he could not stop swaying. "Mebbe I won't get very far," he said, realizing that the poison had entered his system, and that presently it would riot in his veins, "but I'm goin' on until I stop. I wouldn't want that damned rattler to know that he'd made me quit so soon." He urged Mustard to a faster pace, even while realizing that speed was hopeless. He could never reach the Two Diamond. Convinced of this, he halted the pony again, swaying in the saddle and holding, for the first time, to the pommel in an effort to steady himself. But he still swayed. He laughed mockingly. "Now, what do you think of that?" he said, addressing the silence. "You might think I was plum tenderfoot an' didn't know how to ride a horse proper." He urged the pony onward again, and for some little time rode with bowed head, trying to keep himself steady by watching the trail. He rode through a little clearing, where the grass was matted and some naked rocks reared aloft. Near a clump of sage-brush he saw a sudden movement—a rattler trying to slip away unnoticed. But the snake slid into Ferguson's vision and with a sneer of hate he drew one of his weapons and whipped it over his head, its roar awakening echoes in the wood. Twice, three times, the crashing report sounded. But the rattler whisked away and disappeared into the grass—apparently uninjured. For an instant Ferguson scowled. Then a grin of mockery reached his flushed face. "I reckon I'm done," he said. "Can't even hit a rattler no more, an' him a brother or sister of that other one." A delirious light flashed suddenly in his eyes, and he seemed on the point of dismounting. "I'll cert'nly smash you some!" he said, speaking to the snake—which he could no longer see. "I ain't goin' to let no snake bite me an' get away with it!" But he now smiled guiltily, embarrassment shining in his eyes. "I reckon that wasn't the snake that bit you, Ferguson," he said. "The one that bit you is back on the trail. He ain't goin' to die till sundown. Not till sundown," he repeated mechanically, grimly; "Ferguson ain't goin' to die till sundown." He rode on, giving no attention to the pony whatever, but letting the reins fall and holding to the pommel of the saddle. His face was burning now, his hands were twitching, and an unnatural gleam had come into his eyes. "Ferguson got hooked by a rattler!" he suddenly exclaimed, hilarity in his voice. "He run plum into that reptile; tried to walk on him with a bare foot." The laugh was checked as suddenly as it had come, and a grim quality entered his voice. "But Ferguson wasn't no tenderfoot—he didn't scare none. He went right on, not sayin' anything. You see, he was reckonin' to be man's size." He rode on a little way, and as he entered another clearing a rational gleam came into his eyes. "I'm still a-goin' it," he muttered. A shadow darkened the trail; he heard Mustard whinny. He became aware of a cabin in front of him; heard an exclamation; saw dimly the slight figure of a woman, sitting on a small porch; as through a mist, he saw her rise and approach him, standing on the edge of the porch, looking at him. He smiled, bowing low to her over his pony's mane. "I shot him, ma'am," he said gravely, "but he ain't goin' to die till sundown." As from some great distance a voice seemed to come to him. "Mercy!" it said. "What is wrong? Who is shot?" "Why, the snake, ma'am," he returned thickly. He slid down from his pony and staggered to the edge of the porch, leaning against one of the slender posts and hanging dizzily on. "You see, ma'am, that damned rattler got Ferguson. But Ferguson ain't reckonin' on dyin' till sundown. He couldn't let no snake get the best of him." He saw the woman start toward him, felt her hands on his arms, helping him upon the porch. Then he felt her hands on his shoulders, felt them pressing him down. He felt dimly that there was a chair under him, and he sank into it, leaning back and stretching himself out full length. A figure flitted before him and presently there was a sharp pain in his foot. He started out of the chair, and was abruptly shoved back into it, Then the figure leaned over him, prying his jaws apart with some metal like object and pouring something down his throat. He clicked as he swallowed, vainly trying to brush away the object. "You're a hell of a snake," he said savagely. Then the world blurred dizzily, and he drifted into oblivion.
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