I tihe labours of the village-school as actively and faithfully as I could. It was truly hard work at first. Some time elapsed before, with all my efforts, I could prehend my scholars and their nature. Wholly untaught, with faculties quite torpid, they seemed to me hopelessly dull; and, at first sight, all dull alike: but I soon found I was mistaken. There was a difference amongst them as amongst the educated; and when I got to know them, and they me, this difference rapidly developed itself. Their amazement at me, my language, my rules, and ways, once subsided, I found some of these heavy-looking, gaping rustics wake up into sharp-witted girls enough. Many showed themselves obliging, and amiable too; and I discovered amongst them not a feles of natural politeness, and innate self-respect, as well as of excellent capacity, that won both my goodwill and my admiration. These soon took a pleasure in doing their work well, in keeping their perso, in learning their tasks regularly, in acquiring quiet and orderly manners. The rapidity of their progress, in some instances, was even surprising; and an ho and happy pride I took in it: besides, I began personally to like some of the best girls; and they liked me. I had amongst my scholars several farmers’ daughters: young women grown, almost. These could already read, write, and sew; and to them I taught the elements of grammar, geography, history, and the finer kinds of needlework. I fouimable characters amongst them—characters desirous of information and disposed for improvement—with whom I passed many a pleasant evening hour in their own homes. Their parents then (the farmer and his wife) loaded me with attentions. There was an enjoyment in accepting their simple kindness, and in repaying it by a sideration—a scrupulard to their feelings—to which they were not, perhaps, at all times aced, and which both charmed and beed them; because, while it elevated them in their own eyes, it made them emulous to merit the deferential treatment they received.
I felt I became a favourite in the neighbourhood. Whenever I went out, I heard on all sides cordial salutations, and was weled with friendly smiles. To live amidst general regard, though it be but the regard of w people, is like “sitting in sunshine, calm and sweet;” serene inward feelings bud and bloom uhe ray. At this period of my life, my heart far oftener swelled with thankfulhan sank with deje: a, reader, to tell you all, in the midst of this calm, this useful existeer a day passed in honourable exertion amongst my scholars, an evening spent in drawing or reading tentedly alone—I used to rush inte dreams at night: dreams many-coloured, agitated, full of the ideal, the stirring, the stormy—dreams where, amidst unusual ses, charged with adventure, with agitating risk and romantic ce, I still again and agai Mr. Rochester, always at some exg crisis; and then the sense of being in his arms, hearing his voice, meeting his eye, toug his hand and cheek, loving him, being loved by him—the hope of passing a lifetime at his side, would be renewed, with all its first ford fire. Then I awoke. Then I recalled where I was, and how situated. Then I rose up on my curtainless bed, trembling and quivering; and theill, dark night withe vulsion of despair, and heard the burst of passion. By nine o’clock the m I unctually opening the school; tranquil, settled, prepared for the steady duties of the day.
Rosamond Oliver kept her word in ing to visit me.
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