t nothing was so merry or so
musical as my own rejoicing heart.
--_Jane Eyre_

[Illustration: CHARLOTTE BRONTE]

Rumor has it that there be Americans who are never happy unless passing
for Englishmen. And I think I have discovered a like anomaly on the part
of the sons of Ireland--a wish to pass for Frenchmen. On Continental
hotel-registers the good, honest name of O'Brian often turns queer
somersaults, and more than once in "The States" does the kingly prefix of
O evolve itself into Van or De, which perhaps is quite proper, seeing they
all mean the same thing. One cause of this tendency may lie in the fact
that Saint Patrick was a native of France; although Saint Patrick may or
may not have been chosen patron saint on account of his nationality. But
the patron saint of Ireland being a Frenchman, what more natural, and
therefore what more proper, than that the whole Emerald Isle should slant
toward the people who love art and rabbit-stew! Anyway, from the proud
patronymic of Patricius to plain Pat is quite a drop, and my heart is with
Paddy in his efforts to get back.

When Patrick Prunty of County Down, Ireland, shook off the shackles of
environment, and the mud of the peat-bog, and went across to England,
presenting himself at the gates of Saint John's College, Cambridge,
asking for admittance, I am glad he handed in his name as Mr. P. Bronte,
accent on the last syllable.

There is a gentle myth abroad that preachers are "called," while other men
adopt a profession or get a job, but no Protestant Episcopal clergyman I
have ever known, and I have known many, ever made any such claim. They
take up the profession because it supplies honors and a "living." Then
they can do good, too, and all men want to do good. So they hie them to a
divinity school and are taught the mysteries of theological tierce and
thrust; and interviewing a clerical tailor they are ready to accept the
honors and partake of the living. After a careful study of the life of
Patrick Bronte I can not find that his ambition extended beyond the
desirable things I have named--that is to say, inclusively, honors and a
living.

He was tall, athletic, dark, and surely a fellow of force and ambition to
set his back on the old and boldly rap for admittance at the gates of
Cambridge. He was a pretty good student, too, although a bit quarrelsome
and sometimes mischievous--throwing his force into quite unnecessary ways,
as Irishmen are apt to do. He