y publishers, and the public.

'Have you not two classes of writers--the author and the bookmaker?
And is not the latter more prolific than the former? Is he not,
indeed, wonderfully fertile; but does the public, or the publisher
even, make much account of his productions? Do not both tire of him
in time?

'Is it not because authors aim at a style of living better suited to
merchants, professed gain-seekers, that they are often compelled to
degenerate to mere bookmakers, and to find the great stimulus of
their pen in the necessity of earning money? If they were not
ashamed to be frugal, might they not be more independent?

'I should much--very much--like to take that quiet view of the "great
world" you allude to, but I have as yet won no right to give myself
such a treat: it must be for some future day--when, I don't know.
Ellis, I imagine, would soon turn aside from the spectacle in
disgust. I do not think he admits it as his creed that "the proper
study of mankind is man"--at least not the artificial man of cities.
In some points I consider Ellis somewhat of a theorist: now and then
he broaches ideas which strike my sense as much more daring and
original than practical; his reason may be in advance of mine, but
certainly it often travels a different road. I should say Ellis will
not be seen in his full strength till he is seen as an essayist.

'I return to you the note inclosed under your cover, it is from the
editor of the _Berwick Warder_; he wants a copy of _Jane Eyre_ to
review.

'With renewed thanks for your continued goodness to me,--I remain, my
dear sir, yours faithfully,

'CURRER BELL.'

A short time afterwards the illness came to Emily from which she died the
same year. Branwell died in September 1848, and a month later Charlotte
writes with a heart full of misgivings:--

TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY

'_October_ 29_th_, 1848.

'DEAR ELLEN,--I am sorry you should have been uneasy at my not
writing to you ere this, but you must remember it is scarcely a week
since I received your last, and my life is not so varied that in the
interim much should have occurred worthy of mention. You insist that
I should write about myself; this puts me in strai