Charlotte Brontë at home . hing up an down, swinging his arms, an, of afrosty day, beating them across his chest ; an when he dkep this up for half-an-hour or so, an got himself intoa glow, he d come tearing down the street and into theschoolroom, where there was only a wee bit of a stoveto warm us in the dead of winter, and throw open iverywinder to let in real, live air, he d say, pantin forbreath all the time. An—laughing and shrugginghis burly shoulders in the recollection— we, poor weedevils, all blue and fair stairrved wi th cold ! He worniver so friendly in the parish as Mr. Bronte. It
Charlotte Brontë at home . hing up an down, swinging his arms, an, of afrosty day, beating them across his chest ; an when he dkep this up for half-an-hour or so, an got himself intoa glow, he d come tearing down the street and into theschoolroom, where there was only a wee bit of a stoveto warm us in the dead of winter, and throw open iverywinder to let in real, live air, he d say, pantin forbreath all the time. An—laughing and shrugginghis burly shoulders in the recollection— we, poor weedevils, all blue and fair stairrved wi th cold ! He worniver so friendly in the parish as Mr. Bronte. It wor allwork, an no play, when Mr. Nicholls wor about. Na!not cross, but harrd like, an speaking short an quick. From other sources, among them Char-lottes admissions, before his indomitabledevotion and her fathers injustice movedher to pity, and pity to esteem andaffection —we gain the same idea of alack of personal magnetism in the man shemarried. How far physical robustness andmuscular energy appealed to one always. REV. ARTHUR BELL NICHOLLS FROM A DRAWING BY MISS E. TAYLOR Mr. Nicholls 257 fragile, and seldom really well, we maysuspect, but cannot determine. She waspitiably lonely. Fame had brought herhosts of acquaintances and a few truefriends, without enriching home loves orsupplying domestic companionship. Sheloved her father almost with passion, inthe absence of anybody else to love. Shewas never intimate with him at any time,and with advancing years his liking forsolitude, when once within the Parsonagewalls, increased. Oftener than otherwise,his only child took her meals alone in theparlour, haunted for her by a host of tortur-ing memories. In the evening she sat,solitary, there, unless when Ellen Nusseywas her guest. An argument which certainly had greatweight with the dutiful daughter was voluntary pledge (kept religiouslyuntil Mr. Brontes death in 1861) that hewould be support and consolation to herfathers declining years. Her letters showhow p
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