r used to say he would converse
with her on any of the leading topics of the day with as much freedom
and pleasure as with any grown-up person. . . .

Miss Branwell instructed the children at regular hours in all she could
teach, making her bed-chamber into their schoolroom. Their father was
in the habit of relating to them any public news in which he felt an
interest; and from the opinions of his strong and independent mind they
would gather much food for thought; but I do not know whether he gave
them any direct instruction. Charlotte's deep, thoughtful spirit
appears to have felt almost painfully the tender responsibility which
rested upon her with reference to her remaining sisters. She was only
eighteen months older than Emily; but Emily and Anne were simply
companions and playmates, while Charlotte was motherly friend and
guardian to both; and this loving assumption of duties beyond her years
made her feel considerably older than she really was.

I have had a curious packet confided to me, containing an immense
amount of manuscript, in an inconceivably small space; tales, dramas,
poems, romances, written principally by Charlotte, in a hand which is
almost impossible to decipher without the aid of a magnifying
glass. . . .

As each volume contains from sixty to a hundred pages . . . the amount
of the whole seems very great, if we remember that it was all written
in about fifteen months. So much for the quantity; the quality strikes
me as of singular merit for a girl of thirteen or fourteen. Both as a
specimen of her prose style at this time, and also as revealing
something of the quiet domestic life led by these children, I take an
extract from the introduction to "Tales of the Islanders," the title of
one of their "Little Magazines":

"JUNE the 31st, 1829.

"The play of the 'Islanders' was formed in December, 1827, in the
following manner: One night, about the time when cold sleet and stormy
fogs of November are succeeded by the snowstorms and high, piercing
night-winds of confirmed winter, we were all sitting round the warm
blazing kitchen fire, having just concluded a quarrel with Tabby
concerning the propriety of lighting a candle, from which she came off
victorious, no candle having been produced. A long pause succeeded,
which was at last broken by Branwell saying in a lazy manner, 'I don't
know what to do.' This was echoed by Emily and Anne.

"Tabby. 'Wha ya may go t'bed.'

"Branwell. 'I'd