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blameless in his life and habits, he yet did not appear to enjoy
that mental serenity, that inward content, which should be the
reward of every sincere Christian and practical philanthropist. Often,
of an evening, when he sat at the window, his desk and papers before
him, he would cease reading or writing, rest his chin on his hand, and
deliver himself up to I know not what course of thought; but that it
was perturbed and exciting might be seen in the frequent flash and
changeful dilation of his eye.
I think, moreover, that Nature was not to him that treasury of
delight it was to his sisters. He expressed once, and but once in my
hearing, a strong sense of the rugged charm of the hills, and an
inborn affection for the dark roof and hoary walls he called his home;
but there was more of gloom than pleasure in the tone and words in
which the sentiment was manifested; and never did he seem to roam
the moors for the sake of their soothing silence- never seek out or
dwell upon the thousand peaceful delights they could yield.
Incommunicative as he was, some time elapsed before I had an
opportunity of gauging his mind. I first got an idea of its calibre
when I heard him preach in his own church at Morton. I wish I could
describe that sermon: but it is past my power. I cannot even render
faithfully the effect it produced on me.
It began calm- and indeed, as far as delivery and pitch of voice
went, it was calm to the end: an earnestly felt, yet strictly
restrained zeal breathed soon in the distinct accents, and prompted
the nervous language. This grew to force- compressed, condensed,
controlled. The heart was thrilled, the mind astonished, by the
power of the preacher: neither were softened. Throughout there was a
strange bitterness; an absence of consolatory gentleness; stern
allusions to Calvinistic doctrines- election, predestination,
reprobation- were frequent; and each reference to these points sounded
like a sentence pronounced for doom. When he had done, instead of
feeling better, calmer, more enlightened by his discourse, I
experienced an expressible sadness; for it seemed to me- I know not
whether equally so to others- that the eloquence to which I had been
listening had sprung from a depth where lay turbid dregs of
disappointment- where moved troubling impulses of insatiate
yearnings and disquieting aspirations. I was sure St. John Rivers-
pure-lived, conscientious, zealous as he was- had not yet found that
peace of God which passeth all understanding; he had no more found it,
I thought, than had I with my concealed and racking regrets for my
broken idol and lost elysium- regrets to which I have latterly avoided
referring, but which possessed me and tyrannised over me ruthlessly.
Meantime a month was gone. Diana and Mary were soon to leave Moor
House, and return to the far different life and scene which awaited
them, as governesses in a large, fashionable, south-of-England city,