To counterbalance this tendency in Charlotte, was the strong common sense natural to her, and daily called into exercise by the requirements of her practical life.  Her duties were not merely to learn her lessons, to read a certain quantity, to gain certain ideas; she had, besides, to brush rooms, to run errands up and down stairs, to help in the simpler forms of cooking, to be by turns play-fellow and monitress to her younger sisters and brother, to make and to mend, and to study economy under her careful aunt.  Thus we see that, while her imagination received vivid impressions, her excellent understanding had full power to rectify them before her fancies became realities.  On a scrap of paper, she has written down the following relation:—­

   “June 22, 1830, 6 o’clock p.m. 
   “Haworth, near Bradford.

“The following strange occurrence happened on the 22nd of June, 1830:—­At the time Papa was very ill, confined to his bed, and so weak that he could not rise without assistance.  Tabby and I were alone in the kitchen, about half-past nine ante-meridian.  Suddenly we heard a knock at the door; Tabby rose and opened it.  An old man appeared, standing without, who accosted her thus:—­

   “Old Man.—­’Does the parson live here?’

   “Tabby.—­’Yes.’

   “Old Man.—­’I wish to see him.’

   “Tabby.—­’He is poorly in bed.’

   “Old Man.—­’I have a message for him.’

   “Tabby.—­’Who from?’

   “Old Man.—­’From the Lord.’

   “Tabby.—­’Who?’

“Old Man.—­’The Lord.  He desires me to say that the Bridegroom is coming, and that we must prepare to meet him; that the cords are about to be loosed, and the golden bowl broken; the pitcher broken at the fountain.’

“Here he concluded his discourse, and abruptly went his way.  As Tabby closed the door, I asked her if she knew him.  Her reply was, that she had never seen him before, nor any one like him.  Though I am fully persuaded that he was some fanatical enthusiast, well meaning perhaps, but utterly ignorant of true piety; yet I could not forbear weeping at his words, spoken so unexpectedly at that particular period.”

Though the date of the following poem is a little uncertain, it may be most convenient to introduce it here.  It must have been written before 1833, but how much earlier there are no means of determining.  I give it as a specimen of the remarkable poetical talent shown in the various diminutive writings of this time; at least, in all of them which I have been able to read.

THE WOUNDED STAG.

Passing amid the deepest shade
   Of the wood’s sombre heart,
Last night I saw a wounded deer
   Laid lonely and apart.

Such light as pierced the crowded boughs
   (Light scattered, scant and dim,)
Passed through the fern that formed his couch
   And centred full on him.