：　I　felt　desolate　to　a　degree。　I　felt—yes；　idiot　that　I　am—I　felt　degraded。　I　doubted　I　had　taken　a　step　which　sank　instead　of　raising　me　in　the　scale　of　social　existence。　I　was　weakly　dismayed　at　the　ignorance；　the　poverty；　the　coarseness　of　all　I　heard　and　saw　round　me。　But　let　me　not　hate　and　despise　myself　too　much　for　these　feelings；　I　know　them　to　be　wrong—that　is　a　great　step　gained；　I　shall　strive　to　overe　them。　To…　morrow；　I　trust；　I　shall　get　the　better　of　them　partially；　and　in　a　few　weeks；　perhaps；　they　will　be　quite　subdued。　In　a　few　months；　it　is　possible；　the　happiness　of　seeing　progress；　and　a　change　for　the　better　in　my　scholars　may　substitute　gratification　for　disgust。

Meantime；　let　me　ask　myself　one　question—Which　is　better？—To　have　surrendered　to　temptation；　listened　to　passion；　made　no　painful　effort—no　struggle；—but　to　have　sunk　down　in　the　silken　snare；　fallen　asleep　on　the　flowers　covering　it；　wakened　in　a　southern　clime；　amongst　the　luxuries　of　a　pleasure　villa：　to　have　been　now　living　in　France；　Mr。　Rochester’s　mistress；　delirious　with　his　love　half　my　time—for　he　would—oh；　yes；　he　would　have　loved　me　well　for　a　while。　He　did　love　me—no　one　will　ever　love　me　so　again。　I　shall　never　more　know　the　sweet　homage　given　to　beauty；　youth；　and　grace—for　never　to　any　one　else　shall　I　seem　to　possess　these　charms。　He　was　fond　and　proud　of　me—it　is　what　no　man　besides　will　ever　be。—But　where　am　I　wandering；　and　what　am　I　saying；　and　above　all；　feeling？　Whether　is　it　better；　I　ask；　to　be　a　slave　in　a　fool’s　paradise　at　Marseilles—fevered　with　delusive　bliss　one　hour—suffocating　with　the　bitterest　tears　of　remorse　and　shame　the　next—or　to　be　a　village…schoolmistress；　free　and　honest；　in　a　breezy　mountain　nook　in　the　healthy　heart　of　England？

Y