"
In the middle of the summer of 1835, a great family plan was mooted at
the parsonage. The question was, to what trade or profession should
Branwell be brought up? He was now nearly eighteen; it was time to
decide. He was very clever, no doubt; perhaps to begin with, the
greatest genius in this rare family. The sisters hardly recognised their
own, or each others' powers, but they knew _his_. The father, ignorant
of many failings in moral conduct, did proud homage to the great gifts of
his son; for Branwell's talents were readily and willingly brought out
for the entertainment of others. Popular admiration was sweet to him.
And this led to his presence being sought at "arvills" and all the great
village gatherings, for the Yorkshiremen have a keen relish for
intellect; and it likewise procured him the undesirable distinction of
having his company recommended by the landlord of the Black Bull to any
chance traveller who might happen to feel solitary or dull over his
liquor. "Do you want some one to help you with your bottle, sir? If you
do, I'll send up for Patrick" (so the villagers called him till the day
of his death, though in his own family he was always "Branwell"). And
while the messenger went, the landlord entertained his guest with
accounts of the wonderful talents of the boy, whose precocious
cleverness, and great conversational powers, were the pride of the
village.
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