From The Dublin University Magazine. ELIZABETHAN DAYS. BY T. IRWIN. 1. 'Tis pleasant, stretched on grassy lawn, To watch the change of sun and sky, Lone clouds that move at set of sun Long moonlit hosts that seem to bear But sweeter still to ponder o'er ELIZABETHAN DAYS. The knights with bended crests advance: tilt; 20. But hush! the Queen draws near the while; The jewels spark each yellow tress; She moves with cold gray eye of care, As 'mid the bowing courtiers there And slender lips with settled smile Of vanity and stateliness. 21. Or girt by trains of page and maid Chats with the knights, laughs loud and Or through th' ambassadorial throng Airs with a peacock-like parade Her language store of foreign lands. 22. Now, seated on a royal bed, With Cecil or proud Essex, she 23. But now the knights have sprung to horse, The tourney and the feast are o'er, And brightly sword and stirrup gleams As townward by the moonlit Thames, In misty gallop, glade and gorse Sweep past them, holding by the shore. 24. And fast away through gloom and gleam, And now beneath a 25. gateway bends His plume, and from the drowsy throng Avarlet leaps, and takes the rein. Along the silent city wends, 26. But whither wanders he? The night O, when did such a cluster meet To charm the hour with richest moods? In language gravely pruned to please, Sir Francis, with a mien as, bland 29. Now round the bounteous claret bowl, They cluster; brightly burns the hearth, 30. Bright thoughts unsphere, rich fancies shoot From brain to lip, from lip to brain : Experience scatters wisdom's wealth, Wit winks, and humors slide by stealth, As through some orchard dropping fruit Falls sweet the autumn sunset's rain. 31. Fade, pictured memories, fade! The light Is sinking, and the room is dim: He hears the gray and testy rain Fretting against the window-pane, And rising, looks across the night Upon a world that fades for him. 32. For through the stillness long and loud And slanting o'er an ebon cloud Falls night's last moonbeam like a sword! LITTELL'S LIVING AGE.-No. 677.-16 MAY, 1857. ` From The Press. The Life of Charlotte Bronte. By Mrs. Gaskell. Two Vols. London Smith and Elder. The whole strange and pathetic story is faithfully told in Mrs. Gaskell's memoir. Mrs. Gaskell was one of Charlotte Bronte's few female friends; they were attached by many links of sympathy; and it is evident from their writings that their minds were to some extent cast in the same mould. Mrs. Gaskell does her friend full justice. She does not attempt to criticize either her works or her character; but she warmly sympathizes with both, and she allows the facts of Miss Bronte's brief career to speak for themselves. "CAN any good thing come out of Nazareth?" In the year 1840, an out-of-the-way village, in the wilds of Yorkshire, by name Haworth, obtained some transient notoriety by the uncompromising resistance made by the vicar and his curate to the agitation against church rates. They preached and lectured against Dissent with so much energy that a local newspaper greatly marvelled that such displays of intellect should emaIn the peculiar surroundings of the Bronte nate from the village of Haworth, "situated family may be found an explanation of the among the bogs and mountains, and until peculiarities (in some respects masculine and very lately supposed to be in a state of semibarbarism." A few years later, and this semi-barbarous village was to become forever memorable for the literary genius which shone forth from it, and for a social rough aspects both of Nature and society history unsurpassed for its sad, romantic interest. The quiet churchyard of Haworth is now sanctified by associations which will make it hereafter a place of pilgrimage. savage) which appear not only in " Wuthering Heights" and "The Tenant of Wildfellhall," but also in "Jane Eyre." The sisters reflected in their writings the stern, which they witnessed, as Salvator Rosa painted the wild, grotesque scenes which were most familiar to his eye. The sisters were in a manner "outlaws" from the softer and more refined influences of modern life; and hence the force with which they were able to express the rude manners and dark passions of the "semi-barbarous " country in which they were reared. This circumstance must never be lost sight of in estimating the writings of Charlotte Bronte. Her mind was formed under the pressure of masculine influences. The story of the Bronte family transpired slowly. In the first flush of the success of "Jane Eyre," every one asked, "Who is Currer Bell?" The wonder was not diminished when it was found that there were also an Ellis and Acton Bell,—both exhibiting literary talent of a most striking and peculiar kind. It was long before the public could be persuaded that the three writers were sisters, all young women, and brought The village of Haworth lies imbedded in up in the seclusion of an isolated Yorkshire the range of moors between Yorkshire and parsonage. While the marvel was yet fresh, Lancashire, on the old road between Keighley and by many still doubted, it became known and Colne. The vegetation is of the scantiest that two of these sisters were hurried to the character. The fences are all of stone. A grave within a few months of each other. few stunted shrubs scarcely relieve the dull, The most gifted yet remained, and in "Shirley" and "Villette" gave new evi-All round the horizon there is the same line gray aspect of the widely-spread country. dences of her brilliant power. A fortunate of sinuous wave-like hills; the scoops into destiny seemed to await her. She married which they fall only revealing other hills happily. She was still young; much was beyond, of similar color and shape, crowned expected from the maturity of her genius; with wild black moors." and never did funeral knell sweep more dismally over the mind of the literary world than when it was announced that she too had sunk to the grave. DCLXXVII. LIVING AGE. VOL. XVII. 25 In the midst of this solitude is the church of Haworth. The churchyard is large and crowded, the earth having risen, from centuries of interments, far above its original 17. Now groups of maids and gallants gay Minglings of armor, scarf and blade 19. And now the lists are opened-lo! The knights with bended crests advance: The gallop quickens-mark the blow- 20. But hush!the Queen draws near the while; The jewels spark each yellow tress; As 'mid the bowing courtiers there She moves with cold gray eye of care, And slender lips with settled smile Of vanity and stateliness. 21. Or girt by trains of page and maid All homage-hushed, erect she stands; Chats with the knights, laughs loud and long, Or through th' ambassadorial throng Airs with a peacock-like parade Her language store of foreign lands. 22. Now, seated on a royal bed, With Cecil or proud Essex, she But now the knights have sprung to horse, And brightly sword and stirrup gleams As townward by the moonlit Thames, In misty gallop, glade and gorse Sweep past them, holding by the shore. 24. And fast away through gloom and gleam, 25. And now beneath a gateway bends But whither wanders he? The night O, when did such a cluster meet To charm the hour with richest moods? There Ben and Beaumont flash their wits, There fancy-fronted Shakspeare sits, With auburn curls and eyes as sweet As moonlight on the hazel woods. 28. In language gravely pruned to please, And brow in meditation bent, Sir Francis, with a mien as, bland As fruitful summer, airs a hand Enjewelled, while he turns with ease The wards of some great argument. 29. Now round the bounteous claret bowl, They cluster; brightly burns the hearth, 30. Bright thoughts unsphere, rich fancies shoot From brain to lip, from lip to brain : Experience scatters wisdom's wealth, Wit winks, and humors slide by stealth, As through some orchard dropping fruit Falls sweet the autumn sunset's rain. 31. Fade, pictured memories, fade! The light Is sinking, and the room is dim: He hears the gray and testy rain Fretting against the window-pane, And rising, looks across the night Upon a world that fades for him. 32. For through the stillness long and loud And slanting o'er an ebon cloud Falls night's last moonbeam like a sword! LITTELL'S LIVING AGE.-No. 677.-16 MAY, 1857. From The Press. The Life of Charlotte Bronte. By Mrs. Gaskell. Two Vols. London Smith and Elder. "CAN any good thing come out of Nazareth?" In the year 1840, an out-of-the-way village, in the wilds of Yorkshire, by name Haworth, obtained some transient notoriety by the uncompromising resistance made by the vicar and his curate to the agitation against church rates. They preached and lectured against Dissent with so much energy that a local newspaper greatly marvelled that such displays of intellect should emanate from the village of Haworth, "situated among the bogs and mountains, and until very lately supposed to be in a state of semibarbarism." A few years later, and this semi-barbarous village was to become forever memorable for the literary genius which shone forth from it, and for a social history unsurpassed for its sad, romantic interest. The quiet churchyard of Haworth is now sanctified by associations which will make it hereafter a place of pilgrimage. The whole strange and pathetic story is faithfully told in Mrs. Gaskell's memoir. Mrs. Gaskell was one of Charlotte Bronte's few female friends; they were attached by many links of sympathy; and it is evident from their writings that their minds were to some extent cast in the same mould. Mrs. Gaskell does her friend full justice. She does not attempt to criticize either her works or her character; but she warmly sympathizes with both, and she allows the facts of Miss Bronte's brief career to speak for themselves. In the peculiar surroundings of the Bronte family may be found an explanation of the peculiarities (in some respects masculine and savage) which appear not only in Wuthering Heights" and "The Tenant of Wildfellhall," but also in "Jane Eyre." The sisters reflected in their writings the stern, rough aspects both of Nature and society which they witnessed, as Salvator Rosa painted the wild, grotesque scenes which were most familiar to his eye. The sisters were in a manner "outlaws" from the softer and more refined influences of modern life; and hence the force with which they were able to express the rude manners and dark passions of the "semi-barbarous "· country in which they were reared. This circumstance must never be lost sight of in estimating the writings of Charlotte Bronte. Her mind was formed under the pressure of masculine influences. The story of the Bronte family transpired slowly. In the first flush of the success of "Jane Eyre," every one asked, "Who is Currer Bell?" The wonder was not diminished when it was found that there were also an Ellis and Acton Bell,-both exhibiting literary talent of a most striking and peculiar kind. It was long before the public could be persuaded that the three writers were sisters, all young women, and brought The village of Haworth lies imbedded in up in the seclusion of an isolated Yorkshire the range of moors between Yorkshire and parsonage. While the marvel was yet fresh, Lancashire, on the old road between Keighley and by many still doubted, it became known and Colne. The vegetation is of the scantiest that two of these sisters were hurried to the character. The fences are all of stone. A grave within a few months of each other. few stunted shrubs scarcely relieve the dull, The most gifted yet remained, and in gray aspect of the widely-spread country. "Shirley" and "Villette gave new evi-All round the horizon there is the same line dences of her brilliant power. A fortunate of sinuous wave-like hills; the scoops into destiny seemed to await her. She married which they fall only revealing other hills happily. She was still young; much was beyond, of similar color and shape, crowned expected from the maturity of her genius; with wild black moors." and never did funeral knell sweep more dismally over the mind of the literary world than when it was announced that she too had sunk to the grave. DCLXXVII. LIVING AGE. VOL. XVII. 25 In the midst of this solitude is the church of Haworth. The churchyard is large and crowded, the earth having risen, from centuries of interments, far above its original |