the character we search out what we have yet left that can
support, and, when found, we cling to it with a hold of
new-strung tenacity. The faculty of imagination lifted me when I
was sinking, three months ago; its active exercise has kept my
head above water since; its results cheer me now, for I feel they
have enabled me to give pleasure to others. I am thankful to God,
who gave me the faculty; and it is for me a part of my religion
to defend this gift, and to profit by its possession.--Yours
sincerely,

"CHARLOTTE BRONTE."

At the time when this letter was written, both Tabby and the
young servant whom they had to assist her were ill in bed; and,
with the exception of occasional aid, Miss Bronte had all the
household work to perform, as well as to nurse the two invalids.

The serious illness of the younger servant was at its height,
when a cry from Tabby called Miss Bronte into the kitchen, and
she found the poor old woman of eighty laid on the floor, with
her head under the kitchen-grate; she had fallen from her chair
in attempting to rise. When I saw her, two years later, she
described to me the tender care which Charlotte had taken of her
at this time; and wound up her account of "how her own mother
could not have had more thought for her nor Miss Bronte had," by
saying, "Eh! she's a good one--she IS!"

But there was one day when the strung nerves gave way--when, as
she says, "I fairly broke down for ten minutes; sat and cried
like a fool. Tabby could neither stand nor walk. Papa had just