"I have asked, this day, two persons who lived in Haworth at the time to
which you allude, the son and daughter of an acting trustee, and each of
them between sixty and seventy years of age, and they assure me that the
donkey was introduced. One of them says it was mounted by a half-witted
man, seated with his face towards the tail of the beast, and having
several hats piled on his head. Neither of my informants was, however,
present at these edifying services. I believe that no movement was made
in the church on either Sunday, until the whole of the authorised reading-
service was gone through, and I am sure that nothing was more remote from
the more respectable party than any personal antagonism toward Mr.
Redhead. He was one of the most amiable and worthy of men, a man to
myself endeared by many ties and obligations. I never heard before your
book that the sweep ascended the pulpit steps. He was present, however,
in the clerical habiliments of his order . . . I may also add that among
the many who were present at those sad Sunday orgies the majority were
non-residents, and came from those moorland fastnesses on the outskirts
of the parish locally designated as 'ovver th' steyres,' one stage more
remote than Haworth from modern civilization.

"To an instance or two more of the rusticity of the inhabitants of the
chapelry of Haworth, I may introduce you.

"A Haworth carrier called at the office of a friend of mine to deliver a
parcel on a cold winter's day, and stood with the door open. 'Robin!
shut the door!' said the recipient. 'Have you no doors in your country?'
'Yoi,' responded Robin, 'we hev, but we nivver steik 'em.' I have
frequently remarked the number of doors open even in winter.

"When well directed, the indomitable and independent energies of the
natives of this part of the country are invaluable; dangerous when