tales. I remember, however, many little particulars which Miss
Bronte gave me, in answer to my inquiries respecting her mode of
composition, etc. She said, that it was not every day, that she
could write. Sometimes weeks or even months elapsed before she
felt that she had anything to add to that portion of her story
which was already written. Then, some morning, she would waken
up, and the progress of her tale lay clear and bright before her,
in distinct vision. when this was the case, all her care was to
discharge her household and filial duties, so as to obtain
leisure to sit down and write out the incidents and consequent
thoughts, which were, in fact, more present to her mind at such
times than her actual life itself. Yet notwithstanding this
"possession" (as it were), those who survive, of her daily and
household companions, are clear in their testimony, that never
was the claim of any duty, never was the call of another for
help, neglected for an instant. It had become necessary to give
Tabby--now nearly eighty years of age--the assistance of a girl.
Tabby relinquished any of her work with jealous reluctance, and
could not bear to be reminded, though ever so delicately, that
the acuteness of her senses was dulled by age. The other servant
might not interfere with what she chose to consider her exclusive
work. Among other things, she reserved to herself the right of
peeling the potatoes for dinner; but as she was growing blind,
she often left in those black specks, which we in the North call
the "eyes" of the potato. Miss Bronte was too dainty a
housekeeper to put up with this; yet she could not bear to hurt
the faithful old servant, by bidding the younger maiden go over
the potatoes again, and so reminding Tabby that her work was less
effectual than formerly. Accordingly she would steal into the
kitchen, and quietly carry off the bowl of vegetables, without