ds on his Sorrows?-?'Penmaenmawr'?-?Comments ?-?He still Searches and Hopes for Employment?-?Charlo

e find him, almost at the same time, writing two of the finest poems which remain from his hand. It has been seen, in the letter addressed to Mr. Grundy, how he declares that, owing to the state of his mind, he is unable to undertake any literary work worth reading. But we have certain knowledge of an immed

L R

pse upon the

swelled and sigh

etched to move,

its boundless

ocean, thins i

row, lays its

ve, but not in

lder than this

s its lips and

anity grieves

ose members ha

ering takes the

ed eye, and he

storm it floats

d joy have per

ffers not on

worms its cheri

wounded van

ng towards some

re nor gold to

ed in voyage

think upon w

helpless, and

poverty, nor

thou couldst tel

sorrow thou h

which, breathin

trife thy sojou

e thy place-w

nderer o'er the

ery, where t

rsting, whilst thi

ld, whilst thine

waters, dim my

ot with one we

s not break a c

ies dart throu

t all men cov

ward frame, u

life-not cold in

es the sunny l

sure thrilled,

nge for thy u

old oblivion'

th, my health,

slumbers in th

lly, the decay of the drowned in the ocean, and of the living, through the effects of long-continued woe. Branwell had loved, indeed, however unfortunately; and the misery of his passion caused him to turn his reflections within upon himself. As with the 'Wandering Jew,' who sees in every rock, in every bush, in every cloud, without hope of alleviation from his abiding woe, the via crucis of his suffering Lord-every thought of Branwell's gifted mind, every conception of his fertile brain, every aspect, to him, of ocean, earth, and sky,-was, in one way or other, instinct with his own initial and irrepressible affection. Apart, however, from the

seen his

he clouds th

raised thi

think, and

called obl

ng eager han

change for s

soul, this l

die-that po

el strife

d good and c

in one

orpse floating upon the waters, which is seen by the unhappy man in his vision, not, indeed, to give him the

e could not free himself from the unfortunate ideas which had perv

wor

ford,

dear

to tell you why I wished anything of s

signature, "Northangerland," could excite no suspicion-as my late unhappy employer shrank from the bare idea of my being able to w

n her great and agonizing present afflictions, but I reca

er the Welsh mountain, when the band on board the steamer struck up, "Ye banks and braes!"

uld be my greatest cure and blessing,-for really, after hours of thoughts which business would have hushed, I have felt as if I could not live

ld promise to try not to look gloomy. You said you would be at Haworth ere long, but that "e

ust you are getting on well with Beckwith's, as well as

nd feet, and I fear its head also, for it can

on John Brown's return from

main,

. Bro

nclosed wa

AENM

se clouds, this c

ain thy tempe

look upon y

looked on t

roubled than t

aves, companion

frownedst over

atched thee ov

nt, by thousand

with a heart w

hou, o'er smiling

from smiling f

sunlight, tinged

music, looked

ong, o'er murmur

parted,-neve

k in mournful

echo, quite a

d shadows moved i

e, and on th

that sovereig

k than those whic

ds and human ha

attered stones th

t, whose belt o

xon legions

ht, the young,

shed, no doubt cou

igour ever pl

rrows sometime

irit, like thy

enceless agai

ong hast looke

ives not, like a

urse, through eth

from ceaseless s

awr! a better

ades, than that wh

thrilled through

at might be,

memory of th

rested on thy

feeling for th

ee as man's hear

hequered o'er w

guardian, got n

th their charms

t still keep thy

flashes of an

hose thy cragg

nding gleams, wh

y echo to old

whose leaves we

uld snatch it

eath the blight o

ooming, and y

ch my mind woul

could break from

which could o

ell say "perish

saw, far off,

tered, by affl

-that trembl

tle breast and

lung to Ouse'

-objectless-o

draw'st yon mi

nion of va

I obtain th

e storm, as mu

e upheld the f

its own morni

tone. Can I hav

lict-defend-y

rm when haught

ale to England'

ls and steam-smok

breathed peace,

it, arise o'

ain, yet neve

ace the grief

orm and shine, like m

tory, and in the ceaseless changes, and the lights and shadows that fall upon it, with his own wild and stormy existence; the lady, whose charms have bewildered his imagination, supplying him with a subject for sorrowful recollections. The giant hill is the mighty image w

the 4th of November, 1845: 'I hoped to be able to ask you to come to Haworth. It almost seemed as if Branwell had a chance of getting employment, and I waited to know the result of his efforts in order to say, dear --, come and see us. But the place (a secretaryship to a railway committee) is given to another person. Branwell still remains at home; and while he is here, you shall not come. I am more confirmed in that resolution the more I see of him. I wish I could say one word to you in his favour, but I cannot. I will hold my tongue. We are all obliged to you for your kind suggestion about Leeds; but I think our school scheme

acquaintance which those who lived, saw, and spoke with its subject possessed. And, yet, how necessary is such knowledge to the right understanding of anyone's

n the letters. It would be folly to take word for word Charlotte's account of her father's anger when she announced to him a proposal of marriage which had been made to her, and which did not accord with his wish; or to believe that 'compassion or relenting is no more to be looked for from papa than sap from firewood,' when we know that he afterwards voluntarily gave way, and sacrificed his own opinion. Nor would it be right to accept any exaggerated confession of Charlotte about herself, in a literal sense. And thus it does not sound well in Mrs. Gaskell, after completing her account of the outward events of Branwell's life, to say, 'All that is to be said more about Branwell Bront? shall be said by Charlotte herself, not

t?'s oncoming blindness, in the first place, and the difficulty of procuring pupils at Haworth, were the causes

d. But if this incident of the proposed elopement had actually taken place, the delay suggested by Branwell should surely be held as proof that anything positively dishonourable was repulsive to him. The lady, too, had an ample fortune of her own, of which, had she proposed an elopement, she would have informed him. But, if we consider the possible sources from which such a story as this could arise, we may surmise that Mrs. Gaskell,-who first gave it to the public, and on whose authority it alone remains,-obtained it, with the many other incidents she has published, from the current scandal of Haworth,-where else could she have heard it?-and wh

aughter,' which is the story of a romantic elopement. Branwell, early in 1846, proposed to write a poem on Morley Hall, in t

ars afterwards, when Mrs. Gaskell was searching at the former place for materials for her work, the story of this ancient elopement had become mixed with the stories of t