Miss Bronte left Roe Head in 1832, having won the affectionate regard both of her teacher and her school-fellows, and having formed there the two fast friendships which lasted her whole life long; the one with “Mary,” who has not kept her letters; the other with “E.,” who has kindly entrusted me with a large portion of Miss Bronte’s correspondence with her.  This she has been induced to do by her knowledge of the urgent desire on the part of Mr. Bronte that the life of his daughter should be written, and in compliance with a request from her husband that I should be permitted to have the use of these letters, without which such a task could be but very imperfectly executed.  In order to shield this friend, however, from any blame or misconstruction, it is only right to state that, before granting me this privilege, she throughout most carefully and completely effaced the names of the persons and places which occurred in them; and also that such information as I have obtained from her bears reference solely to Miss Bronte and her sisters, and not to any other individuals whom I may find it necessary to allude to in connection with them.

In looking over the earlier portion of this correspondence, I am struck afresh by the absence of hope, which formed such a strong characteristic in Charlotte.  At an age when girls, in general, look forward to an eternal duration of such feelings as they or their friends entertain, and can therefore see no hindrance to the fulfilment of any engagements dependent on the future state of the affections, she is surprised that “E.” keeps her promise to write.  In after-life, I was painfully impressed with the fact, that Miss Bronte never dared to allow herself to look forward with hope; that she had no confidence in the future; and I thought, when I heard of the sorrowful years she had passed through, that it had been this this pressure of grief which had crushed all buoyancy of expectation out of her.  But it appears from the letters, that it must have been, so to speak, constitutional; or, perhaps, the deep pang of losing her two elder sisters combined with a permanent state of bodily weakness in producing her hopelessness.  If her trust in God had been less strong, she would have given way to unbounded anxiety, at many a period of her life.  As it was, we shall see, she made a great and successful effort to leave “her times in His hands.”

After her return home, she employed herself in teaching her sisters, over whom she had had superior advantages.  She writes thus, July 21st, 1832, of her course of life at the parsonage:—­

“An account of one day is an account of all.  In the morning, from nine o’clock till half-past twelve, I instruct my sisters, and draw; then we walk till dinner-time.  After dinner I sew till tea-time, and after tea I either write, read, or do a little fancy-work, or draw, as I please.  Thus, in one delightful, though somewhat monotonous course, my life is passed.  I have been only out twice to tea since I came home.  We are expecting company this afternoon, and on Tuesday next we shall have all the female teachers of the Sunday-school to tea.”