explain to you another time.  He and Mr. W. both bottled up their wrath for that time, but it was only to explode with redoubled force at a future period.  We had two sermons on dissent, and its consequences, preached last Sunday—­one in the afternoon by Mr. W., and one in the evening by Mr. C. All the Dissenters were invited to come and hear, and they actually shut up their chapels, and came in a body; of course the church was crowded.  Mr. W. delivered a noble, eloquent, High-Church, Apostolical-Succession discourse, in which he banged the Dissenters most fearlessly and unflinchingly.  I thought they had got enough for one while, but it was nothing to the dose that was thrust down their throats in the evening.  A keener, cleverer, bolder, and more heart- stirring harangue than that which Mr. C. delivered from Haworth pulpit, last Sunday evening, I never heard.  He did not rant; he did not cant; he did not whine; he did not sniggle; he just got up and spoke with the boldness of a man who was impressed with the truth of what he was saying, who has no fear of his enemies, and no dread of consequences.  His sermon lasted an hour, yet I was sorry when it was done.  I do not say that I agree either with him, or with Mr. W., either in all or in half their opinions.  I consider them bigoted, intolerant, and wholly unjustifiable on the ground of common sense.  My conscience will not let me be either a Puseyite or a Hookist; mais, if I were a Dissenter, I would have taken the first opportunity of kicking, or of horse-whipping both the gentlemen for their stern, bitter attack on my religion and its teachers.  But in spite of all this, I admired the noble integrity which could dictate so fearless an opposition against so strong an antagonist.

“P.S.—­Mr. W. has given another lecture at the Keighley Mechanics’ Institution, and papa has also given a lecture; both are spoken of very highly in the newspapers, and it is mentioned as a matter of wonder that such displays of intellect should emanate from the village of Haworth, ’situated among the bogs and mountains, and, until very lately, supposed to be in a state of semi-barbarism.’  Such are the words of the newspaper.”

To fill up the account of this outwardly eventless year, I may add a few more extracts from the letters entrusted to me.

   “May 15th, 1840.

“Do not be over-persuaded to marry a man you can never respect—­I do not say love; because, I think, if you can respect a person before marriage, moderate love at least will come after; and as to intense passion, I am convinced that that is no desirable feeling.  In the first place, it seldom or never meets with a requital; and, in the second place, if it did, the feeling would be only temporary:  it would last the honeymoon, and then, perhaps, give place to disgust, or indifference, worse, perhaps, than disgust.  Certainly this would be the case