The number of pupils was so small that the attendance to certain subjects at particular hours, common in larger schools, was not rigidly enforced.  When the girls were ready with their lessons, they came to Miss W—–­ to say them.  She had a remarkable knack of making them feel interested in whatever they had to learn.  They set to their studies, not as to tasks or duties to be got through, but with a healthy desire and thirst for knowledge, of which she had managed to make them perceive the relishing savour.  They did not leave off reading and learning as soon as the compulsory pressure of school was taken away.  They had been taught to think, to analyse, to reject, to appreciate.  Charlotte Bronte was happy in the choice made for her of the second school to which she was sent.  There was a robust freedom in the out-of-doors life of her companions.  They played at merry games in the fields round the house:  on Saturday half-holidays they went long scrambling walks down mysterious shady lanes, then climbing the uplands, and thus gaining extensive views over the country, about which so much had to be told, both of its past and present history.

Miss W—–­ must have had in great perfection the French art, “conter,” to judge from her pupil’s recollections of the tales she related during these long walks, of this old house, or that new mill, and of the states of society consequent on the changes involved by the suggestive dates of either building.  She remembered the times when watchers or wakeners in the night heard the distant word of command, and the measured tramp of thousands of sad desperate men receiving a surreptitious military training, in preparation for some great day which they saw in their visions, when right should struggle with might and come off victorious:  when the people of England, represented by the workers of Yorkshire, Lancashire, and Nottinghamshire, should make their voice heard in a terrible slogan, since their true and pitiful complaints could find no hearing in parliament.  We forget, now-a-days, so rapid have been the changes for the better, how cruel was the condition of numbers of labourers at the close of the great Peninsular war.  The half-ludicrous nature of some of their grievances has lingered on in tradition; the real intensity of their sufferings has become forgotten.  They were maddened and desperate; and the country, in the opinion of many, seemed to be on the verge of a precipice, from which it was only saved by the prompt and resolute decision of a few in authority.  Miss W—–­ spoke of those times; of the mysterious nightly drillings; of thousands on lonely moors; of the muttered threats of individuals too closely pressed upon by necessity to be prudent; of the overt acts, in which the burning of Cartwright’s mill took a prominent place; and these things sank deep into the mind of one, at least, among her hearers.