nearer and nearer, and at last shaking the very door of the room where they were sitting—­for it opened out directly on that bleak, wide expanse—­is contrasted with the glow, and busy brightness of the cheerful kitchen where these remarkable children are grouped.  Tabby moves about in her quaint country-dress, frugal, peremptory, prone to find fault pretty sharply, yet allowing no one else to blame her children, we may feel sure.  Another noticeable fact is the intelligent partisanship with which they choose their great men, who are almost all stanch Tories of the time.  Moreover, they do not confine themselves to local heroes; their range of choice has been widened by hearing much of what is not usually considered to interest children.  Little Anne, aged scarcely eight, picks out the politicians of the day for her chief men.

There is another scrap of paper, in this all but illegible handwriting, written about this time, and which gives some idea of the sources of their opinions.

THE HISTORY OF THE YEAR 1829.

“Once Papa lent my sister Maria a book.  It was an old geography-book; she wrote on its blank leaf, ‘Papa lent me this book.’  This book is a hundred and twenty years old; it is at this moment lying before me.  While I write this I am in the kitchen of the Parsonage, Haworth; Tabby, the servant, is washing up the breakfast-things, and Anne, my youngest sister (Maria was my eldest), is kneeling on a chair, looking at some cakes which Tabby has been baking for us.  Emily is in the parlour, brushing the carpet.  Papa and Branwell are gone to Keighley.  Aunt is upstairs in her room, and I am sitting by the table writing this in the kitchen.  Keighley is a small town four miles from here.  Papa and Branwell are gone for the newspaper, the ‘Leeds Intelligencer,’ a most excellent Tory newspaper, edited by Mr. Wood, and the proprietor, Mr. Henneman.  We take two and see three newspapers a week.  We take the ‘Leeds Intelligencer,’ Tory, and the ‘Leeds Mercury,’ Whig, edited by Mr. Baines, and his brother, son-in-law, and his two sons, Edward and Talbot.  We see the ‘John Bull;’ it is a high Tory, very violent.  Mr. Driver lends us it, as likewise ‘Blackwood’s Magazine,’ the most able periodical there is.  The Editor is Mr. Christopher North, an old man seventy-four years of age; the 1st of April is his birth-day; his company are Timothy Tickler, Morgan O’Doherty, Macrabin Mordecai, Mullion, Warnell, and James Hogg, a man of most extraordinary genius, a Scottish shepherd.  Our plays were established; ‘Young Men,’ June, 1826; ‘Our Fellows,’ July, 1827; ‘Islanders,’ December, 1827.  These are our three great plays, that are not kept secret.  Emily’s and my best plays were established the 1st of December, 1827; the others March, 1828.  Best plays mean secret plays; they are very nice ones.  All our plays are very strange ones.  Their nature I need not write on paper, for I think