As each volume contains from sixty to a hundred pages, and the size of the page lithographed is rather less than the average, 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 the cold sleet and stormy fogs of November are succeeded by the snow-storms, 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 rather do anything than that.’

   “Charlotte.  ’Why are you so glum to-night, Tabby?  Oh! suppose we
   had each an island of our own.’

   “Branwell.  ‘If we had I would choose the Island of Man.’

   “Charlotte.  ‘And I would choose the Isle of Wight.’

   “Emily.  ‘The Isle of Arran for me.’

   “Anne.  ‘And mine shall be Guernsey.’

“We then chose who should be chief men in our islands.  Branwell chose John Bull, Astley Cooper, and Leigh Hunt; Emily, Walter Scott, Mr. Lockhart, Johnny Lockhart; Anne, Michael Sadler, Lord Bentinck, Sir Henry Halford.  I chose the Duke of Wellington and two sons, Christopher North and Co., and Mr. Abernethy.  Here our conversation was interrupted by the, to us, dismal sound of the clock striking seven, and we were summoned off to bed.  The next day we added many others to our list of men, till we got almost all the chief men of the kingdom.  After this, for a long time, nothing worth noticing occurred.  In June, 1828, we erected a school on a fictitious island, which was to contain 1,000 children.  The manner of the building was as follows.  The Island was fifty miles in circumference, and certainly appeared more like the work of enchantment than anything real,” &c.

Two or three things strike me much in this fragment; one is the graphic vividness with which the time of the year, the hour of the evening, the feeling of cold and darkness outside, the sound of the night-winds sweeping over the desolate snow-covered moors, coming