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(From "Jane Eyre”)
THE truest love that ever heart
Felt at its kindled core Did through each vein, in quickened start,
The tide of being pour.
Her coming was my hope each day,
Her parting was my pain;
I dreamed it would be nameless bliss,
As I loved, loved to be; And to this object did I press
As blind as eagerly.
But wide as pathless was the space
That lay, our lives between,
Of ocean-surges green.
And haunted as a robber-path
Through wilderness or wood; For Might and Right, and Woe and Wrath,
Between our spirits stood.
I dangers dared; I hind'rance scorned;
I omens did defy:
I passed impetuous by. ...
I care not in this moment sweet,
Though all I have rushed o'er
Though haughty Hate should strike me down,
Right bar approach to me,
Swear endless enmity.
My love has placed her little hand
With noble faith in mine,
Our nature shall entwine.
My love has sworn, with sealing kiss,
With me to live-to die;
As I love-loved am I!
EMILY BRONTÉ, novelist, sister of Charlotte Brouté, was born at Thornton, England, in 1818; died at Haworth in 1848. The story of “Wuthering Heights” made her famous. It is a powerful novel, but of almost morbid gloom, and holds the reader with its uncanny fascination.
THE PEOPLE AT WUTHERING
HEIGHTS VESTERDAY afternoon set in misty and cold.
I I had half a mind to spend it by my study ire, instead of wading through heath and mud to Wuthering Heights.
On coming up from dinner, however, (N.B., I dine between twelve and one o'clock; the housekeeper, a matronly lady taken as a fixture along with the house, could not, or would not, comprehend my request that I might be served at five.) On mounting the stairs with this lazy intention, and stepping into the room, I saw a servant-girl on her knees, surrounded by brushes and coal-scuttles, and raising an infernal dust as she extinguished the flames with heaps of cinders. This spectacle drove me back immediately; I took my hat, and, after a four miles' walk, arrived at Heathcliff's garden gate, just in time to escape the first feathery flakes of a snow shower.
On that bleak hill-top the earth was hard with a black frost, and the air made me shiver through every limb. Being unable to remove the chain, I jumped over, and, running up the flagged causeway bordered with straggling gooseberry bushes knocked vainly for admittance till my knuckles tingled and the dogs howled.
“Wretched inmates !” I ejaculated, mentally, "you deserve perpetual isolation from your species for your churlish inhospitality. At least, I would not keep my doors barred in the daytime; I don't care-I will get in !”
So resolved, I grasped the latch and shook it vehemently. Vinegar-faced Joseph projected his head from a round window of the barn.
“What are ye for ?” he shouted. “T maister's dahn i' tfowld. Goa rahnd by th' end ut laith, if yah want tuh spake tull him.”
“Is there nobody inside to open the door ?” I hallooed, responsively.
"They's nobbut ť missis, and shoo’ll nut oppen't an ye mak yer flaysome dins till neeght.”
“Why, can not you tell her who I am, eh, Joseph ?”
“Nor-ne me! Aw'll hae noa hend wi't,” muttered the head, vanishing.
The snow began to drive thickly. I seized the handle to essay another trial, when a young man, without coat, and shouldering a pitchfork, appeared in the yard behind. He hailed me to follow him, and, after marching through a wash-house, and a paved area containing a coal-shed, pump, and pigeon-cote, we at length arrived in the large, warm, cheerful apartment, where I was formerly received.
It glowed delightfully in the radiance of an immense fire, compounded of coal, peat, and wood; and near the table, laid for a plentiful evening meal, I was pleased to observe the “missis," an individual whose existence I had never previously suspected.
I bowed and waited, thinking she would bid me take a seat. She looked at me, leaning back in her chair, and remained motionless and mute.
“Rough weather ! ” I remarked. “I'm afraid, Mrs. Heathcliff, the door must bear the consequence of your servants' leisure attendance; I had hard work to make them hear me.”
She never opened her mouth. I stared-she stared also. At any rate, she kept her eyes on me in a cool, regardless manner, exceedingly embarrassing and disagreeable.
“ Sit down,” said the young man, gruffly. “He'll be in soon.”
I obeyed, and hemmed, and called the villain Juno, who deigned, at this second interview, to move the extreme tip of her tail, in token of owning my acquaintance..
“A beautiful animal !” I commenced again. “Do vou intend parting with the little ones, madam ?”
“ They are not mine," said the amiable hostess, more repellingly than Heathcliff himself could have replied.
“Ah, your favorites are among these !” I continued turning to an obscure cushion full of something like cats.
“A strange choice of favorites,” she observed scornfully.
Unluckily, it was a heap of dead rabbits. I hemmed once more, and drew closer to the hearth, repeating my comment on the wildness of the evening.
“ You should not have come out,” she said, rising and reaching from the chimney piece two of the painted canisters.
Her position before was sheltered from the light: now, I had a distinct view of her whole figure and countenance. She was slender, and apparently scarcely past girlhood: an admirable form, and the most exquisite little face that I have ever had the pleasure of beholding: small features, very fair; Maxen ringlets, or rather golden, hanging loose on