those dependent on it sometimes amounts to a tyranny of which one would rather be the victim than the inflicter.  We can only trust in such cases that the employers err rather from a density of perception and an absence of sympathy, than from any natural cruelty of disposition.  Among several things of the same kind, which I well remember, she told me what had once occurred to herself.  She had been entrusted with the care of a little boy, three or four years old, during the absence of his parents on a day’s excursion, and particularly enjoined to keep him out of the stable-yard.  His elder brother, a lad of eight or nine, and not a pupil of Miss Bronte’s, tempted the little fellow into the forbidden place.  She followed, and tried to induce him to come away; but, instigated by his brother, he began throwing stones at her, and one of them hit her so severe a blow on the temple that the lads were alarmed into obedience.  The next day, in full family conclave, the mother asked Miss Bronte what occasioned the mark on her forehead.  She simply replied, “An accident, ma’am,” and no further inquiry was made; but the children (both brothers and sisters) had been present, and honoured her for not “telling tales.”  From that time, she began to obtain influence over all, more or less, according to their different characters; and as she insensibly gained their affection, her own interest in them was increasing.  But one day, at the children’s dinner, the small truant of the stable-yard, in a little demonstrative gush, said, putting his hand in hers, “I love ’ou, Miss Bronte.”  Whereupon, the mother exclaimed, before all the children, “Love the governess, my dear!”

“The family into which she first entered was, I believe, that of a wealthy Yorkshire manufacturer.  The following extracts from her correspondence at this time will show how painfully the restraint of her new mode of life pressed upon her.  The first is from a letter to Emily, beginning with one of the tender expressions in which, in spite of ‘humbug,’ she indulged herself.  ‘Mine dear love,’ ‘Mine-bonnie love,’ are her terms of address to this beloved sister.

“June 8th, 1839.

“I have striven hard to be pleased with my new situation.  The country, the house and the grounds are, as I have said, divine; but, alack-a-day! there is such a thing as seeing all beautiful around you—­pleasant woods, white paths, green lawns, and blue sunshiny sky—­and not having a free moment or a free thought left to enjoy them.  The children are constantly with me.  As for correcting them, I quickly found that was out of the question; they are to do as they like.  A complaint to the mother only brings black looks on myself, and unjust, partial excuses to screen the children.  I have tried that plan once, and succeeded so notably, I shall try no more.  I said in my last letter that Mrs. —–­ did not know me.  I now begin to find she does not intend to know me; that she cares