I Would Always Rather Be Happy Than

I Smiled: I Thought To Myself Mr. Rochester Is Peculiar — He Seems To Forget That He Pays Me £30 Per Annum For Receiving His Orders. "the Smile Is Very Well," Said He, Catching Instantly The Passing Expression; "but Speak Too." "i Was Thinking, Sir, That Very Few Masters Would Trouble Themselves To Inquire Whether Or Not Their Paid Subordinates Were Piqued And Hurt By Their Orders.

A Christmas Frost Had Come At Midsummer; A White December Storm Had Whirled Over June; Ice Glazed The Ripe Apples, Drifts Crushed The Blowing Roses; On Hayfield And Cornfield Lay A Frozen Shroud: Lanes Which Last Night Blushed Full Of Flowers, To-day Were Pathless With Untrodden Snow; And The Woods, Which Twelve Hours Since Waved Leafy And Flagrant As Groves Between The Tropics, Now Spread, Waste, Wild, And White As Pine-forests In Wintry Norway.

I Had A Theoretical Reverence And Homage For Beauty, Elegance, Gallantry, Fascination But Had I Met Those Qualities Incarnate In Masculine Shape, I Should Have Known Instinctively That They Had Nor Could Have Sympathy With Anything In Me.

I Believe While I Tremble; I Trust While I Weep.

We Wove A Web In Childhood, A Web Of Sunny Air; We Dug A Spring In Infancy Of Water Pure And Fair; We Sowed In Youth A Mustard Seed, We Cut An Almond Rod; We Are Now Grown Up To Riper Age— Are They Withered In The Sod?