Chapter I

A dead silence had reigned in the Home Office of Verdopolis for
three hours in the morning of a fine summer's day, interrupted only
by such sounds as the scraping of a pen-knife, the dropping of a
ruler, or an occasional cough; or whispered now and then some brief
mandate, uttered by the noble first secretary, in his commanding
tones. At length that sublime personage, after completing some
score or so of despatches, addressing a small slightly-built young
gentleman who occupied the chief situation among the clerks, said:

'Mr. Rymer, will you be good enough to tell me what o'clock it is?'

'Certainly, my lord!' was the prompt reply as, springing from his
seat, the ready underling, instead of consulting his watch like
other people, hastened to the window in order to mark the sun's
situation; having made his observation, he answered: ''Tis twelve
precisely, my lord.'

'Very well,' said the marquis. 'You may all give up then, and see
that all your desks are locked, so that not a scrap of paper is
left to litter the office. Mr. Rymer, I shall expect you to take
care that my directions are fulfilled.' So saying, he assumed his
hat and gloves, and with a stately tread was approaching the
vestibule, when a slight bustle and whispering among the clerks
arrested his steps.

'What is the matter?' asked he, turning round. 'I hope these are
not sounds of contention I hear!'

'I--and--' said a broad, carrotty-locked young man of a most
pugnacious aspect, 'but--but--your lordship has forgotten
that--that----'

'That what?' asked the marquis, rather impatiently.

'Oh!--merely that this afternoon is a half-holiday--and--and----'

'I understand,' replied his superior, smiling, 'you need not tax
your modesty with further explanation, Flanagan; the truth is, I
suppose, you want your usual largess, and I'm obliged to you for
reminding me--will that do?' he continued, as, opening his
pocket-book, he took out a twenty-pound bank bill and laid it on
the nearest desk.

'My lord, you are too generous,' Flanagan answered; but the chief
secretary laughingly laid his gloved hand on his lips, and, with a
condescending nod to the other clerks, sprang down the steps of the
portico and strode hastily away, in order to escape the noisy
expressions of gratitude which now hailed his liberality.

On the opposite side of the busy and wide street to that on which
the splendid Home Office stands, rises the no less splendid
Colonial Office; and, just as Arthur, Marquis of Douro, left the
former structure, Edward Stanley Sydney departed from the latter:
they met in the centre of the street.

'Well, Ned,' said my brother, as they shook hands, 'how are you
to-day? I should think this bright sun and sky ought to enliven
you if anything can.'

'Why, my dear Douro,' replied Mr. Sydney, with a faint smile, 'such
lovely, genial weather may, and I have no doubt does, elevate the
spirits of the free and healthy; but for me, whose mind and body
are a continual prey to all the heaviest cares of public and
private life, it signifies little whether sun cheer or rain damp
the atmosphere.'

'Edward,' replied Arthur, his features at the same time assuming
that disagreeable expression which my landlord denominates by the
term 'scorney;' 'now don't begin to bore me, Ned, with trash of
that description, I'm tired of it quite: pray have you recollected
that to-day is a half-holiday in all departments of the Treasury?'

'Yes; and the circumstance has cost me some money; these silly old
customs ought to be abolished in my opinion--they are ruinous.'

'Why, what have you given the poor fellows?'

'Two sovereigns;' an emphatic hem formed Arthur's reply to the
communication.

They had now entered Nokel Street, and were proceeding in silence
past the line of magnificent shops which it contains, when the
sound of wheels was heard behind them, and a smooth-rolling chariot
dashed up and stopped just where they stood. One of the
window-glasses now fell, a white hand was put out and beckoned them
to draw near, while a silvery voice said,

'Mr. Sydney, Marquis of Douro, come hither a moment.'

Both the gentlemen obeyed the summons, Arthur with alacrity, Sydney
with reluctance.

'What are your commands, fair ladies?' said the former, bowing
respectfully to the inmates of the carriage, who were Lady Julia
Sydney and Lady Maria Sneaky.

'Our commands are principally for your companion, my lord, not for
you,' replied the daughter of Alexander the First; 'now, Mr.
Sydney,' she continued, smiling on the senator, 'you must promise
not to be disobedient.'

'Let me first know what I am required to perform,' was the cautious
answer, accompanied by a fearful glance at the shops around.

'Nothing of much consequence, Edward,' said his wife, 'but I hope
you'll not refuse to oblige me this once, love. I only want a few
guineas to make out the price of a pair of earrings I have just
seen in Mr. Lapis's shop.'

'Not a bit of it,' answered he. 'Not a farthing will I give you: it
is scarce three weeks since you received your quarter's allowance,
and if that is done already you may suffer for it.'

With this decisive reply, he instinctively thrust his hands into
his breeches' pockets, and marched off with a hurried step.

'Stingy little monkey!' exclaimed Lady Julia, sinking back on the
carriage-seat, while the bright flush of anger and disappointment
crimsoned her fair cheek. 'This is the way he always treats me, but
I'll make him suffer for it!'

'Do not discompose yourself so much, my dear,' said her companion,
'my purse is at your service, if you will accept it.'

'I am sensible of your goodness, Maria, but of course I shall not
take advantage of it; no, no, I can do without the earrings--it is
only a fancy, though to be sure I would rather have them.'

'My pretty cousin,' observed the marquis, who, till now, had
remained a quiet though much-amused spectator of the whole scene,
'you are certainly one of the most extravagant young ladies I know:
why, what on earth can you possibly want with these trinkets? To my
knowledge you have at least a dozen different sorts of
ear-ornaments.'

'That is true; but then these are quite of another kind; they are
so pretty and unique that I could not help wishing for them.'

'Well, since your heart is so much set upon the baubles, I will see
whether my purse can compass their price, if you will allow me to
accompany you to Mr. Lapis's.'

'Oh! thank you, Arthur, you are very kind,' said Lady Julia, and
both the ladies quickly made room for him as he sprang in and
seated himself between them.

* * * * *

In a few minutes they reached the jeweller's shop. Mr. Lapis
received them with an obsequious bow, and proceeded to display his
glittering stores. The pendants which had so fascinated Lady Julia
were in the form of two brilliant little humming-birds, whose
jewelled plumage equalled if not surpassed the bright hues of
nature....

This gay and pleasant fragment of a story, in which the characters and scenes are so freshly drawn, may well be imagined as one of the best, if not the best, of these productions of the Bronte children. We may, indeed, regard the spirit and style of these early stories as the outcome of their eager and observant reading of the magazine and newspaper articles within their reach--when their plastic minds would receive indelible impressions, from which they, perhaps without knowing it, acquired the knowledge and practice of accurate literary composition, and of how to clothe their thoughts in fitting words. Their retentive memories, and their intuitive faculty of putting things, brought them thus early to the threshold of the republic of letters. Mrs. Gaskell states that these works were principally written by Charlotte in a hand so small as to be 'almost impossible to decipher without the aid of a magnifying glass.' The specimen she gives is written in an upright hand, and was an attempt to represent the stories in a kind of print, as near as might be to type. If, however, Charlotte and Emily ever accustomed themselves in these early works to this diminutive type-like writing, they threw it off completely in after-years. This, Branwell never did, and Mrs. Gaskell's fac-simile page is not without some resemblance to one of his ordinary pages of manuscript reduced in size.

Mr. T. Wemyss Reid observes that Mrs. Gaskell, in speaking of the juvenile performances of the Bronte children, 'paid exclusive attention to Charlotte's productions.' 'All readers of the Bronte story,' he says, 'will remember the account of the play of "The Islanders," and other remarkable specimens, showing with what real vigour and originality Charlotte could handle her pen while she was still in the first years of her teens.' And he adds that 'those few persons who have seen the whole of the juvenile library of the family bear testimony to the fact that Branwell and Emily were at least as industrious and successful as Charlotte herself.'[15]

[15] 'Charlotte Bronte, a monograph,' p. 27.

Even at this early period the youthful Brontes had read industriously. 'Blackwood's Magazine' had, as early as the year 1829, asserted itself to Charlotte's childish taste as 'the most able periodical there is,' and ever afterwards the whole family looked with the greatest pleasure for the brilliant essays of Christopher North and his coterie. Of other papers they saw 'John Bull' and the 'Leeds Intelligencer,' both uncompromising Conservatives, and the 'Leeds Mercury,' of the opposite party. The youthful Brontes were also readers of the 'British Essayists,' 'The Rambler,' 'The Mirror,' and 'The Lounger,' and they were great admirers of Scott.

But the advice which Charlotte afterwards gave to her friend 'E,' with regard to books for perusal, shows that their reading had been much wider: Shakespeare, Milton, Thomson, Goldsmith, Pope, Byron, Campbell, and Wordsworth; Hume, Rollin, and the 'Universal History;' Johnson's 'Poets,' Boswell's 'Johnson,' Southey's 'Nelson,' Lockhart's 'Burns,' Moore's 'Sheridan,' Moore's 'Byron,' and Wolfe's 'Remains;' and for natural history, she recommends Bewick, Audubon, White, and, strangely enough, Goldsmith. Branwell's favourite poets were Wordsworth and the melancholy Cowper, whose 'Castaway' he was always fond of quoting. The Brontes, in their young years, obtained much of their intellectual food from the circulating library at Keighley.

The extraordinary literary activity which prompted these children never afterwards left them; and Branwell, along with his sisters, was, as we have seen, the author of many effusions of remarkable character. But, as time passed on, and experience was gained, his literary productions began to acquire more vigour and polish. Yet the tone of his mind, however joyous it might be at times, recurred, when the immediate occasion had passed, to that pensive melancholy which, throughout his life, was his most marked characteristic.

Mr. Bronte looked with supreme pleasure on the growing talents of his children; but his principal hope was centred in his son, who, as he fondly trusted, should add lustre to and perpetuate his name. The boy, in these years, was precocious and lively, overflowing with humour and jollity, ready to crack a joke with the rustics he met, and all the time gathering in, with the quickest perception, impressions, both for good and ill, of human nature. Mr. Bronte sedulously, to the utmost of his power, attending to the education of Branwell, did not see the instability of his son's character, or did not apprehend any mischief from the acquaintances he had formed.

The incumbent of Haworth had distinct literary leanings, and it delighted him to find that his son had manifested literary capacity. It has been urged as somewhat of a reproach against Mr. Bronte that he did not send Branwell to a public school, but relied solely upon his own tutorship for his son's education. Situated as Mr. Bronte was, such a step as that said to have been recommended to him was unnecessary. The Grammar School adjoining was under the superintendance of a master who was well qualified to give a higher education to his pupils, if required; and Mr. Bronte himself was equally well able to do the same, but his daily duties within his chapelry left him little or no time to take upon himself the entire education of his son: all he could do was to watch and ascertain occasionally how he was progressing. Mr. Bronte, indeed, might have given the finishing touches to his son's instruction. Those, however, who knew the brilliant youth in the ripeness of his early manhood, recognized the extent of the knowledge he had acquired, and felt, too, that he had been sufficiently well-trained to know how to put it to good use.