I Believe While I Tremble;

It Is Strange,' Pursued He, 'that While I Love Rosomond Oliver So Wildly-with All The Intensity, Indeed, Of A First Passion, The Object Of Which Is Exquisitely Beautiful, Graceful, And Fascinating--i Experience At The Same Time A Calm, Unwarped Consciousness, That She Would Not Make Me A Good Wife; That She Is Not The Partner Suited To Me; That I Should Discover This Within A Year After Marriage; And That To Twelve Months' Rapture Would Succeed A Lifetime Of Regret. This I Know.

Silence Is Of Different Kinds, And Breathes Different Meanings.

Reason Sits Firm And Holds The Reins, And She Will Not Let The Feelings Burst Away And Hurry Her To Wild Chasms. The Passions May Rage Furiously, Like True Heathens, As They Are; And The Desires May Imagine All Sorts Of Vain Things: But Judgment Shall Still Have The Last Word In Every Argument, And The Casting Vote In Every Decision. Strong Wind, Earthquake-shock, And Fire May Pass By: But I Shall Follow The Guiding Of That Still Small Voice Which Interprets The Dictates Of Conscience.

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.

Mr. Rochester, If Ever I Did A Good Deed In My Life — If Ever I Thought A Good Thought—if Ever I Prayed A Sincere And Blameless Prayer — If Ever I Wished A Righteous Wish — I Am Rewarded Now. To Be Your Wife Is, For Me, To Be As Happy As I Can Be On Earth.