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of watching and thinking. My reflections were too undefined
and fragmentary to merit record: I hardly yet knew where I was;
Gateshead and my past life seemed floated away to an immeasurable
distance; the present was vague and strange, and of the future I
could form no conjecture. I looked round the convent-like garden,
and then up at the house -- a large building, half of which seemed
grey and old, the other half quite new. The new part, containing
the schoolroom and dormitory, was lit by mullioned and latticed
windows, which gave it a church-like aspect; a stone tablet over
the door bore this inscription:-

"Lowood Institution. -- This portion was rebuilt A.D. -- , by Naomi
Brocklehurst, of Brocklehurst Hall, in this county."

"Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good
works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven." -- St. Matt.
v. 16.

I read these words over and over again: I felt that an explanation
belonged to them, and was unable fully to penetrate their import.
I was still pondering the signification of "Institution," and
endeavouring to make out a connection between the first words and
the verse of Scripture, when the sound of a cough close behind me
made me turn my head. I saw a girl sitting on a stone bench near;
she was bent over a book, on the perusal of which she seemed intent:
from where I stood I could see the title -- it was "Rasselas;" a
name that struck me as strange, and consequently attractive. In
turning a leaf she happened to look up, and I said to her directly -

"Is your book interesting?" I had already formed the intention of
asking her to lend it to me some day.

"I like it," she answered, after a pause of a second or two, during
which she examined me.

"What is it about?" I continued. I hardly know where I found the
hardihood thus to open a conversation with a stranger; the step
was contrary to my nature and habits: but I think her occupation
touched a chord of sympathy somewhere; for I too liked reading,
though of a frivolous and childish kind; I could not digest or
comprehend the serious or substantial.

"You may look at it," replied the girl, offering me the book.

I did so; a brief examination convinced me that the contents were
less taking than the title: "Rasselas" looked dull to my trifling
taste; I saw nothing about fairies, nothing about genii; no bright
variety seemed spread over the closely-printed pages. I returned
it to her; she received it quietly, and without saying anything
she was about to relapse into her former studious mood: again
I ventured to disturb her -

"Can you tell me what the writing on that stone over the door means?
What is Lowood Institution?"

"This house where you are come to live."

"And why do they call it Institution? Is it in any way different
from other schools?"

"It is partly a charity-school: you and I, and all the rest of

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