But the children did not want society. To small infantine gayeties
they were unaccustomed. They were all in all to each other. I do not
suppose that there ever was a family more tenderly bound to each other.
Maria read the newspapers, and reported intelligence to her younger
sisters which it is wonderful they could take an interest in. But I
suspect that they had no "children's books," and their eager minds
"browzed undisturbed among the wholesome pasturage of English
literature," as Charles Lamb expresses it. The servants of the
household appear to have been much impressed with the little Brontës'
extraordinary cleverness. In a letter which I had from him on this
subject, their father writes: "The servants often said they had never
seen such a clever little child" (as Charlotte), "and that they were
obliged to be on their guard as to what they said and did before her.
Yet she and the servants always lived on good terms with each
other. . . ."

I return to the father's letter. He says:

"When mere children, as soon as they could read and write, Charlotte
and her brothers and sisters used to invent and act little plays of
their own in which the Duke of Wellington, my daughter Charlotte's
hero, was sure to come off conqueror; when a dispute would not
unfrequently arise amongst them regarding the comparative merits of
him, Bonaparte, Hannibal, and Caesar. When the argument got warm, and
rose to its height, as their mother was then dead, I had sometimes to
come in as arbitrator, and settle the dispute according to the best of
my judgment. Generally, in the management of these concerns, I
frequently thought that I discovered signs of rising talent, which I
had seldom or never before seen in any of their age. . . . A
circumstance now occurs to my mind which I may as well mention. When