there is one shadowy incident left to show, besides the testimony of her local hearers who survive. It is this: in 1849 Charlotte Bronte, then in the first flush of her fame, sought Harriet Martineau's acquaintance, saying that she desired "to see one whose works have so often made her the subject of my thoughts." In the following year Charlotte visited Harriet at "The Knoll," and heard one of the English History lectures. Her bright eyes were fixed on the lecturer all through; and as Harriet stood on her low platform, while the audience dispersed, she heard Charlotte say, in the very voice of the lecturer, what Edward said in the wind-mill at Cressy: "Is my son dead?" They walked silently to the house together--about three hundred paces--and when Harriet turned up her lamp in the drawing-room, the first thing she saw was Charlotte looking at her with wide, shining eyes, and repeating, in the same tone, "Is my son dead?" To those who know the dramatic quality of Charlotte Bronte's imagination, there is a beam of light reflected from this trifling anecdote upon the force and the manner of the speaker who had so impressed her. [15] In speaking of her eloquent writings I refer specially to the _History of the Peace_; and I have seen the manuscript of this, bearing evidence that the hand could not keep pace with the flow of words and thoughts. The opinion which this keenly observant and candid woman formed of Harriet Martineau is of peculiar interest, and, as it specially refers to the period and the relations of which we are now treating, I quote it from Mrs. Gaskell's _Life of Charlotte Bronte_. It is given in some private letters, written from "The Knoll" (not, as Mrs. Chapman absurdly says, to Emily Bronte, who was dead, but) to Charlotte's life-long and most confidential friend, Miss Ellen Nussey:-- "I am at Miss Martineau's for a week. Her house is very pleasant both within and without; arranged at all points with admirable neatness and comfort. Her visitors enjoy the most perfect liberty; what she claims for herself she allows them.... She is a great and good woman.... The manner in which she combines the highest mental culture with the nicest discharge of feminine duties filled me with admiration; while her affectionate kindness earned my gratitude. I think her good and noble qualities far outweigh her defects. It is my habit to consider the individual apart from his (or her) reputation, practice independent of theory, natural disposition isolated from acquired opinion. Harriet Martineau's person, practice, and character inspire me with the truest affection and respect.