On this day in 1847 Charlotte Bronte's manuscript of Jane Eyre was sent to the publisher Smith, Elder and Co. Cornhill.

The second MS. was Jane Eyre. Here again `Currer Bell's' suspicion as to the excessive parsimony of London publishers in regard to postage-stamps found expression in the letter accompanying the MS. She wrote:

I find I cannot prepay the carriage of the parcel, as money for that purpose is not received at the small station where it is left. If, when you acknowledge the receipt of the MS. you would have the goodness to mention the amount charged on delivery, I will immediately transmit it in postage-stamps.

The MS. of Jane Eyre was read by Mr. Williams in due course. He brought it to me on a Saturday, and said that he would like me to read it. There were no Saturday half-holidays in those days, and, as was usual, I did not reach home until late. I had made an appointment with a friend for Sunday morning; I was to meet him about twelve o'clock, at a place some two or three miles from our house, and ride with him into the country. After breakfast on Sunday morning I took the MS. of Jane Eyre to my little study, and began to read it. The story quickly took me captive. Before twelve o'clock my horse came to the door, but I could not put the book down. I scribbled two or three lines to my friend, saying I was very sorry that circumstances had arisen to prevent my meeting him, sent the note off by my groom, and went on reading the MS. Presently the servant came to tell me that luncheon was ready; I asked him to bring me a sandwich and a glass of wine, and still went on with Jane Eyre . Dinner came; for me the meal was a very hasty one, and before I went to bed that night I had finished reading the manuscript.

The next day we wrote to `Currer Bell' accepting the book for publication.

our civilisation/bronte

smith-elder--co

The state of the graves in Haworth churchyard:

Keighley News reports complaints about the state of the graves in  Haworth churchyard:

Grass is waist-high at the site, close to the tourist honeypot of the Brontë Parsonage Museum.
Bradford Council, which is responsible for its maintenance, this week blamed the weather conditions. A spokesman said: “Unfortunately, due to the warm, wet weather, the grass has had a rapid growth rate this season,” adding it was due to be cut imminently.
The complaint was raised by Thelma Shackleton, 68, who has been been visiting the graveyard – where her parents are buried – for 60 years. She said the grass had been allowed to grow so high that people looking for a particular grave would struggle to find the right place.
A spokesman for the parish church said as the graveyard had been closed to new burials for many years, responsibility for it lay with Bradford Council. (...)
Most members of the Brontë family are buried in a vault beneath the church. John Huxley, secretary of the parochial church council, said: “I do understand that Bradford has budgetary constraints.
“To clear a churchyard of that size is going to take a fair amount of money.”
The council spokesman said: “The grass in the churchyard is only scheduled to be cut six times – once a month from May to October – so the grass will be getting quite long as it is due for a cut again this week.” (Miran Rahman) Bronte blog/aboug-gigs-graveyards-and-signatures

purple-black" moors

From their first going to Haworth, their walks were directed rather out towards the heathery moors, sloping upwards behind the parsonage, than towards the long descending village street. A good old woman, who came to nurse Mrs. Brontë in the illness - an internal cancer - which grew and gathered upon her, not many months after her arrival at Haworth, tells me that at that time the six little creatures used to walk out, hand in hand, towards the glorious wild moors, which in after days they loved so passionately; the elder ones taking thoughtful care for the toddling wee things.

House of Houben

Patrick was an active walker, stretching away over the moors for many miles, noting in his mind all natural signs of wind and weather, and keenly observing all the wild creatures that came and went in the loneliest sweeps of the hills. He has seen eagles stooping low in search of food for their young; no eagle is ever seen on those mountain slopes now. 

The three girls used to walk upwards towards the "purple-black" moors, the sweeping surface of which was broken by here and there a stone-quarry; and if they had strength and time to go far enough, they reached a waterfall, where the beck fell over some rocks into the "bottom." They seldom went downwards through the village. They were shy of meeting even familiar faces, and were scrupulous about entering the house of the very poorest uninvited.

"My sister Emily loved the moors. Flowers brighter than the rose

 bloomed in the blackest of the heath for her; 

- out of a sullen hollow in a livid hill-side, 

her mind could make an Eden. 

She found in the bleak solitude many and dear delights; 

and not the least and best-loved was - liberty.

 Liberty was the breath of Emily's nostrils; 

without it she perished. 
 

The change from her own home to a school, and from her own very noiseless, very secluded, but unrestricted and unartificial mode of life, to one of disciplined routine (though under the kindest auspices), was what she failed in enduring. Her nature proved here too strong for her fortitude. Every morning, when she woke, the vision of home and the moors rushed on her, and darkened and saddened the day that lay before her

Emily died with heroic fortitude on December 19th, 1848, at the age of 30, and did not have time to appreciate the last flowering sprig of heather which Charlotte had found on the moors for her wild sister. 

I’ve seen the purple heather-bell

 Look out by many a storm-worn stone... 
And oh! I've known such music swell 
Such wild notes wake these passes lone.

Emily Brontë

the Time Sculptor