me pleasure, I might like to look at hers. I could not but
be a partial judge, yet I thought that these verses too had a
sweet sincere pathos of their own. We had very early
cherished the dream of one day being authors.... We
agreed to arrange a small selection of our poems, and, if
possible, get them printed. Averse to personal publicity,
we veiled our own names under those of Currer, Ellis, and
Acton Bell; the ambiguous choice being dictated by a sort
of conscientious scruple at assuming Christian names, posi-
tively masculine, while we did not like to declare ourselves
women, because -- without at the time suspecting that our
mode of writing and thinking was not what is called 'femi-
nine,' -- we had a vague impression that authoresses are liable
to be looked on with prejudice; we noticed how critics some-
times use for their chastisement the weapon of personality,
and for their reward, a flattery, which is not true praise.
The bringing out of our little book was hard work. As was
to be expected, neither we nor our poems were at all wanted;
but for this we had been prepared at the outset; though
inexperienced ourselves, we had read the experience of
others. The great puzzle lay in the difficulty of getting
answers of any kind from the publishers to whom we ap-
plied. Being greatly harassed by this obstacle, I ventured
to apply to the Messrs. Chambers, of Edinburgh, for a word
of advice; they may have forgotten the circumstance, but I
have not, for from them I received a brief and business-like,
but civil and sensible reply, on which we acted, and at last
made way."

I inquired from Mr. Robert Chambers, and found, as
Miss Brontë conjectured, that he had entirely forgotten the
application which had been made to him and his brother for
advice; nor had they any copy or memorandum of the
correspondence.

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