'My aim, sir, is to push out into the open world, and for this I trust not poetry alone--that might launch the vessel, but could not bear her on; sensible and scientific prose, bold and vigorous efforts in my walk in life, would give a further title to the notice of the world; and then, again, poetry ought to brighten and crown that name with glory; but nothing of all this can be ever begun without means, and as I don't possess these, I must in every shape strive to gain them. Surely, in this day, when there is not a _writing_ poet worth a sixpence, the field must be open, if a better man can step forward. 'What I send you is the Prefatory Scene of a much longer subject, in which I have striven to develop strong passions and weak principles struggling with a high imagination and acute feelings, till, as youth hardens towards old age, evil deeds and short enjoyments end in mental misery and bodily ruin. Now, to send you the whole of this would be a mock upon your patience; what you see, does not even pretend to be more than the description of an imaginative child. But read it, sir; and, as you would hold a light to one in utter darkness--as you value your own kind-heartedness--_return_ me an _answer_, if but one word, telling me whether I should write on, or write no more. Forgive undue warmth, because my feelings in this matter cannot be cool; and believe me, sir, with deep respect, 'Your really humble servant, 'P. B. BRONTË.' Mrs. Gaskell gives the following six stanzas, which are about a third of the whole, and declares them not to be the worst part of the composition:-- 'So where He reigns in glory bright, Above those starry skies of night, Amid His Paradise of light, Oh, why may I not be? 'Oft when awake on Christmas morn, In sleepless twilight laid forlorn, Strange thoughts have o'er my mind been borne How He has died for me. 'And oft, within my chamber lying, Have I awaked myself with crying, From dreams, where I beheld Him dying Upon the accursed tree. 'And often has my mother said, While on her lap I laid my head, She feared for time I was not made, But for Eternity. 'So "I can read my title clear To mansions in the skies, And let me bid farewell to fear, And wipe my weeping eyes." 'I'll lay me down on this marble stone, And set the world aside, To see upon her ebon throne The Moon in glory ride.'