The half-humorous, half-pathetic, but always intensely interesting, descriptions of the ancestors of the Brontë sisters, their peculiarities, the superstition with which some of them were regarded as masters of the black art, the respect that they commanded as fighters and singers and workmen, the side-lights thrown upon the early and bitter contest over tenant rights, the exposition of strange religious beliefs--all of this, and more that cannot here even be hinted at, serve to present a curious and vivid picture of everyday life in a corner of Ireland one hundred years ago.
These articles bring out the hereditary and surrounding influences which helped to shape the genius of Charlotte Brontë. Aside from the value which they have because they furnish a remarkable commentary on the work of the great novelist, they are pages of real life of fascination and remarkable interest.
The first article will give a glimpse of the early Brontës and the singular weird story of that dark foundling who brought ruin to his benefactors, and whose machinations resulted in the absolute separation of Hugh Brontë, the grandfather of the novelists, from his parents--a separation so complete that he was never able to learn in what part of Ireland his father's family lived. Hugh Brontë was kidnapped when he was six years old. The strange narrative of his abduction will be given in the August number of McCLURE'S MAGAZINE.
Whether or not to relate the history that I now commence has been to me a seriously debated question.
But after due reflection I decide that, being the only witness to the events that have lately been so startling to at least one community, it is my duty to state as clearly and exactly as possible, while yet fresh in my memory, the occurrences that came under my observation. I am satisfied in so doing that the contingencies which might arise from my silence would be much more serious in their effect upon my friends than their aversion to the publicity to which they may be subjected; but, of course, when completed, my statement will be subject to their wish in its disposal.
Regarding myself, it is only necessary to state that last winter--I think it was the last week of January--my health became so alarming as to induce me to accept my son's urgent invitation to visit him in a far Western territory, hoping that the brighter sky and milder air would more than compensate for the long and lonely journey to one who is neither young nor adventurous.