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Fie o’clock had hardly stru the of the 19th of January, when Bessie brought a dle into closet and found already up and nearly dressed. I had risen half-an-hour before her entrance, and had washed face, and put on clothes by the light of a half-on just setting, whose rays stread through the narrow window near crib. I was to leae Gateshead that day by ach which passed the lodge gates at si a. Bessie was the only perso risen; she had lit a fire in the nursery, where she now proceeded to ke breakfast. Few children eat wheed with the thoughts of a journey; nould I. Bessie, haing pressed in ain to take a few spoonfuls of the boiled lk and bread she had prepared for , ed up so biscuits in a paper and put theinto bag; then she helped on with  elisse and bo, and ing herself in a shawl, she and I left the nursery. As we passed Mrs. Reed’s bedroo she said, “Will you go in and bid Missis good-bye?”
“No, Bessie: she ca to crib st night when you were gone down to supper, and said I need not disturb her in the or siher; and she told to reer that she had always been best friend, and to speak of her and be grateful to her aly.”
“What did you say, Miss?”
“Nothing: ered face with the bedclothes, and turned froher to the wall.”
“That was wrong, Miss Jane.”
“It was quite right, Bessie. Your Missis has not been friend: she has been foe.”
“O Miss Jane! don’t say so!”
“Good-bye to Gateshead!” cried I, as we passed through the hall a out at the front door.
The on was set, and it was ery dark; Bessie carried a ntern, whose light gnced oeps and grael road sodden by a ret thaw. Raw and chill was the winter teeth chattered as I hastened down the drie. There was a light in the porter’s lodge: when we reached it, we found the porter’s wife just kindling her fire: trunk, which had been carried down the eening before, stoorded at the door. It wanted but a few nutes of si, and shortly after that hour had struck, the distant roll of wheels annouhe inach; I went to the door and watched its s approach rapidly through the gloo
“Is she going by herself?” asked the porter’s wife.
“Yes.”
“And how far is it?”
“Fifty les.”
“What a long way! I wonder Mrs. Reed is not afraid to trust her so far alone.”
Thach drew up; there it was at the gates with its four horses and its top den with passengers: the guard and an loudly urged haste; trunk was hoisted up; I was taken froBessie’s neck, to which I g with kisses.
“Be sure and take good care of her,” cried she to the guard, as he lifted into the inside.
“Ay, ay!” was the ahe door ped to, a oice ecid “All right,” and on we droe. Thus was I seered froBessie and Gateshead; thus whirled away to unknown, and, as I then deed, rete and steriions.
I reer but little of the journey; I only know that the day seed to of a preternatural length, and that eared to trael oer hundreds of les of road. We passed through seeral towns, and in one, a ery rge ohach stopped; the horses were taken out, and the passengers alighted to dine. I was carried into an inn, where the guard wanted to hae so dinner; but, as I had no appetite, he left in an iense roowith a firepce at ead, a delier pe frothe ceiling, and a little red gallery high up against the wall filled with sical instrunts. Here I walked about for a long ti, feeling ery strange, and rtally apprehensie of so one ing in and kidnapping ; for I belieed in kidnappers, their eploits haing frequently figured in Bessie’s fireside icles. At st the guard returned; once re I was stowed away in thabsp; roteounted his ow, sounded his hollow horn, and away we rattled oer the “stony street” of L-.
The afternoon ca o and sowhat sty: as it waned into dusk, I began to feel that we were getting ery far indeed froGateshead: we ceased to pass through towns; the try ged; great grey hills heaed up round the horizon: as twilight deepened, we desded a alley, dark with wood, and long after night had oerclouded the prospect, I heard a wild wind rushing angst trees.
Lulled by the sound, I at st dropped asleep; I had not long sluered when the suddeion of tion awoke ; thach- door en, and a person like a serant was standing at it: I saw her fad dress by the light of the s.
“Is there a little girl called Jane Eyre here?” she asked. I answered “Yes,” and was then lifted out; trunk was handed down, and thastantly droe away.
I was stiff with long sitting, and bewildered with the noise and tion of thach: Gathering facuies, I looked about . Rain, wind, and darkness filled the air; heless, I diy dised a wall before and a door open in it; through this door I passed with new guide: she shut and locked it behihere was now isible a house or houses—for the building spread far—with ny windows, and lights burning in so; we went up a broad pebbly path, spshi, and were adtted at a door; then the serant led through a passage into a roowith a fire, where she left alone.
I stood and ward nued fingers oer the bze, then I looked round; there was no dle, but the uain light frothe hearth showed, by interals, papered walls, carpet, curtains, shining hogany furniture: it arlour, not so spacious or splendid as the drawing-rooat Gateshead, but fortable enough. I uzzling to ke out the subject of a picture on the wall, when the door opened, and an indiidual carrying a light entered; another followed close behind.
The first was a tall dy with dark hair, dark eyes, and a pale and rge forehead; her figure artly eneloped in a shawl, her tenance was grae, her beari.
“The child is ery young to be sent alone,” said she, putting her dle down oable. She sidered attentiely for a nute or two, then further added—
“She had better be put to bed soon; she looks tired: are you tired?” she asked, pg her hand on shoulder.
“A little, ’a”
“And hungry too, no doubt: let her hae so supper before she goes to bed, Miss Miller. Is this the first ti you hae left your parents to e to sy little girl?”
I epio her that I had no parents. She inquired how long they had been dead: then how old I was, what was na, whether uld read, write, and sew a little: theouched cheek gently with her forefinger, and saying, “She hoped I should be a good child,” disssed along with Miss Miller.
The dy I had left ght be about twenty-he one who went with appeared so years youhe first iressed by her oice, look, and air. Miss Miller was re ordinary; ruddy in pleion, though of a careworn tenance; hurried in gait and a, like one who had always a iplicity of tasks on hand: she looked, indeed, what I afterwards found she really was, an ueacher. Led by her, I passed fropartnt to partnt, fropassage to passage, of a rge and irregur building; till, erging frothe total and sowhat dreary silence perading that portion of the house we had traersed, on the huof ny oices, and presently entered a wide, long roo with great deal tables, two at ead, on each of which burnt a pair of dles, aed all round on benches, a gregation of girls of eery age, fronine or ten to twenty. Seen by the dilight of the dips, their o appeared tless, though not iy eceediy; they were unifory dressed in brown stuff frocks of quaint fashion, and long holnd pinafores. It was the hour of study; they were engaged in iheir to- rrow’s task, and the huI had heard was the bined resu of their whispered repetitions.
Miss Miller sigo to sit on a behe door, then walking up to the top of the long rooshe cried out—
“Monitorsllect the lesson-books and put theaway! Four tall girls arose frodifferent tables, and going round, gathered the books ahe Miss Miller agaihe word of and—
“Monitors, fetch the supper-trays!”
The tall girls went out aurned presently, each bearing a tray, with portions of sothing, I knew not what, arrahereon, and a pitcher of water and g in the ddle of each tray. The portions were handed round; those who liked took a draught of the water, the g being on to all. When it ca to turn, I drank, for I was thirsty, but did not touch the food, et and fatigue rendering incapable of eating: I now saw, howeer, that it was a thin oaten cake shared is.
The al oer, prayers were read by Miss Miller, and the csses filed off, two and two, upstairs. Oerpowered by this ti with weariness, I scarcely noticed what sort of a pce the bedroowas, ecept that, like the schoolroo I saw it was ery long. To-night I was to be Miss Miller’s bed-fellow; she helped to undress: when id down I g the long rows of beds, each of which was quickly filled with two octs; in ten he single light was etinguished, and adst silend plete darkness I fell asleep.
The night passed rapidly. I was too tired een to drea I only once awoke to hear the wind rae in furious gusts, and the rain fall in torrents, and to be sensible that Miss Miller had taken her pce by side. When I again unclosed eyes, a loud bell was ringing; the girls were up and dressing; day had not yet begun to dawn, and a rushlight or two burned in the roo I too rose relutly; it was bitteld, and I dressed as well as uld for shiering, and washed when there was a basin at liberty, which did not our soon, as there was but one basin to si girls, oands down the ddle of the roo Again the bell rang: all ford in file, two and two, and in that order desded the stairs aered thld and diy lit schoolroo here prayers were read by Miss Miller; afterwards she called out—
“Forcsses!”
A great tu sueeded for so nutes, during which Miss Miller repeatedly ecid, “Silence!” and “Order!” When it subsided, I saw theall drawn up in four secircles, before four chairs, pced at the four tables; all held books in their hands, and a great book, like a Bible, y on each table, before the at seat. A pause of so seds sueeded, filled up by the low, ague huof nuers; Miss Miller walked frocss to css, hushing this indefinite sound.
A distainkled: iediately three dies ehe roo each walked to a table and took her seat. Miss Miller assud the fourth at chair, which was that he door, and around which the sllest of the children were asseled: to this inferior css I was called, and pced at the bottoof it.
Business now began, the day’s llect was repeated, theais of Scripture were said, and to these sueeded a protracted reading of chapters in the Bible, which sted an hour. By the ti that eercise was ternated, day had fully dawhe iigable bell now sounded for the fourth ti: the csses were rshalled and rched into another rooto breakfast: how gd I was to behold a prospect of getting sothing to eat! I was now nearly sick froinanition, haing taken so little the day before.
The refectory was a great, low-ceiled, gloo roo on two long tables sked basins of sothing hot, which, howeer, to disy, sent forth an odour far froiniting. I saw a uniersal ion of distent when the fus of the repast t the nostrils of those destio swallow it; frothe an of the procession, the tall girls of the first css, rose the whispered words—
“Disgusting! The pe is burnt again!”
“Silence!” ejacuted a oiot that of Miss Miller, but one of the upper teachers, a little and dark personage, srtly dressed, but of sowhat rose aspect, who installed herself at the top of oable, while a re buody presided at the other. I looked in ain for her I had first seen the night before; she was not isible: Miss Miller oupied the foot of the table where I sat, and a strange, fn-looking, elderly dy, the French teacher, as I afterwards found, took thrrespondi at the other board. A long grace was said and a hy sung; then a serant brought in so tea for the teachers, and the al began.
Raenous, and now ery faint, I deoured a spoonful or two of  ortion without thinking of its taste; but the first edge of hunger blunted, I perceied I had got in hand a nauseous ss; burnt pe is alst as bad as rotten potatoes; faself soon sis oer it. The spoons were ed slowly: I saw each girl taste her food and try to swallow it; but in st cases the effort was soon relinquished. Breakfast was oer, and none had breakfasted. Thanks beiurned for what we had not got, and a sed hye refectory was eacuated for the schoolroo I was one of the st to go out, and in passing the tables, I saw oeacher take a basin of the pe and taste it; she looked at the others; all their tenances e;/apressed displeasure, and one of the the stout one, whispered—
“Abouff! How shaful!”
A quarter of an hour passed before lessons again began, during which the schoolroowas in a glorious tu; for that space of ti it seed to be pertted to talk loud and re freely, and they used their priilege. The whole ersation ran on the breakfast, whie and all abused roundly. Poor things! it was the sole sotion they had. Miss Miller was now the only teacher in the roo a group of great girls standing about her spoke with serious and sulleures. I heard the na of Mr. Brocklehurst pronounced by so lips; at which Miss Miller shook her head disapproingly; but she de no great effort to cheek the general wrath; doubtless she shared in it.
A clo the schoolroostruine; Miss Miller left her circle, and standing in the ddle of the roo cried—
“Sileo your seats!”
Discipline preailed: in fie he fused throng was resoled into order, and paratie silence quelled the Babel cur of tohe upper teachers now punctually resud their posts: but still, all seed to wait. Ranged on benches down the sides of the roo the eighty girls sat tionless a quaint assege they appeared, all with pin locks bed frotheir faces, not a curl isible; in brown dresses, de high and surrounded by a narrow tucker about the throat, with little pockets of holnd (shaped sothing like a Highnder’s purse) tied in front of their frocks, aio sere the purpose of a work- bag: all, too, wearing woollen stogs and try-de shoes, fastened with brass buckles. Aboe twenty of those this e were full-grown girls, or rather young won; it suited theill, and gae an air of oddity een to the prettiest.
I was still looking at the and also at interals eaning the teachers—none of whoprecisely pleased ; for the stout one was a littrse, the dark o a little fierce, the fner harsh and grotesque, and Miss Miller, poor thing! looked purple, weather- beaten, and oer-worked—when, as eye wandered froface to face, the whole school rose sianeously, as if ed by a on spring.
What was the tter? I had heard no ien: I uzzled. Ere I had gathered wits, the csses were agaied: but as all eyes were now turo one point, ne followed the general dire, aered the personage who had receied st night. She stood at the bottoof the long roo on the hearth; for there was a fire at ead; she sureyed the two rows of girls silently and graely. Miss Miller approag, seed to ask her a question, and haing receied her answer, went back to her pce, and said aloud—
“Monitor of the first css, fetch the globes!”
While the dire was beied, the dy sued ed slowly up the roo I suppose I hae a siderable an of eion, for I retaihe sense of adring awe with whibsp; eyes traced her steps. Seen now, in broad daylight, she looked tall, fair, and shapely; brown eyes with a benignant light in their irids, and a fine pencilling of long shes round, relieed the whiteness of her rge front; on each of her teles her hair, of a ery dark brown, was clustered in round curls, a to the fashion of those tis, wheher soth bands nor llets were in ogue; her dress, also in the de of the day, was of purple cloth, relieed by a sort of Spanish triing of bck elet; a gold watch (watches were not so on then as now) shirdle. Let the reader add, to plete the picture, refined features; a pleion, if pale, clear; and a stately air and carriage, and he will hae, at least, as clearly as words gie it, rrect idea of the eterior of Miss Tele—Maria Tele, as I afterwards saw the na written in a prayer-book intrusted to to carry to church.
The superinte of Lowood (for such was this dy) haing taken her seat before a pair of globes pced on one of the tables, suohe first css round her, and enced giing a lesson on geography; the lower csses were called by the teachers: repetitions in histraar, c., went on for an hour; writing and arithtic sueeded, and sic lessons were gien by Miss Tele to so of the elder girls. The duration of each lesson was asured by the clock, which at st struck twele. The superinte rose—
“I hae a word to address to the pupils,” said she.
The tu of cessation frolessons was already breaking forth, but it sank at her oice. She went on—
“You had this a breakfast which yould ; you st be hungry:—I hae ordered that a lunch of bread and cheese shall be sered to all.”
The teachers looked at her with a sort of surprise.
“It is to be done on responsibility,” she added, in aory too the aely afterwards left the roo
The bread and cheese resently brought in and distributed, to the high delight and refreshnt of the whole school. The order was now gien “To the garden!” Each put on arse straw bo, with strings oloured ca, and a cloak of grey frieze. I was sirly equipped, and, following the strea I de way into the open air.
The garden was a wide inclosure, surrounded with walls so high as to eclude eery glise of prospect; ered erandah ran down one side, and broad walks bordered a ddle space diided intores of little beds: these beds were assigned as gardens for the pupils to cuiate, and each bed had an owner. When full of flowers they would doubtless look pretty; but now, at the tter end of January, all was wintry blight and brown decay. I shuddered as I stood and looked rou was an i day for outdoor eercise; not positiely rainy, but darkened by a drizzling yellow fog; all under foot was still soaki with the floods of yesterday. The str ..he girls ran about and engaged in actie gas, but sundry pale and thin ones herded together for sheer and warh in the erandah; and angst these, as the de peed to their shiering fras, I heard frequently the sound of a hollough.
As yet I had spoken to no one, nor did anybody see;/ato take notie; I stood lonely enough: but to that feeling of isotion I was aced; it did not oppress ch. I leant against a pilr of the erandah, drew grey ntle close about , and, tryihld whiipped without, and the unsatisfied hunger whiawed within, deliered self up to the eloynt of watg and thinking. My refles were too undefined and fragntary to rit rd: I hardly yet knew where I was; Gateshead and  ast life seed floated away to an ieasurable distahe present was ague and strange, and of the future uld forure. I looked round the ent-like garden, and then up at the house—a rge building, half of which seed grey and old, the other half quite he new part, taining the schoolrooand dortory, was lit by llioned and tticed windows, which gae it a church-like aspect; a stoablet oer the door bore this inscription:—
“Lowood Institution.—This portion was rebui A.D.—, by Nao Brocklehurst, of Brocklehurst Hall, in this ty.” “Let yht so shine before n, that they y see yood works, and glorify your Father which is in heaen.”— St. Matt. . 16.
I read these words oer and ain: I fe that aion beloo the and was unable fully to pee their iort. I was stil..l p the signification of “Institution,” and eo ke out a e between the first words and the erse of Scripture, when the sound of ugh close behind de turn head. I saw a girl sitting on a stone benear; she was bent oer a book, on the perusal of which she seed i: frowhere I stood uld see the title—it was Rasses; a hat strubsp; as strange, and sequently attractie. In turning a leaf she happeo look up, and I said to her directly—
“Is your book iing?” I had already ford the iion of askio lend it to so day.
“I like it,” she answered, after a pause of a sed or two, during which she eaned .
“What is it about?” I tinued. I hardly know where I found the hardihood thus to opeion with a strahe step was trary to nature and habits: but I think her oupation touched a chord of syathy sowhere; for I too liked reading, though of a friolous and childish kind; uld not digest or prehend the serious or substantial.
“You y look at it,” replied the girl, the book.
I did so; a brief eanation inbsp; that the tents were less taking thale: Rasses looked dull to trifling taste; I saw nothing about fairies, nothing about genii; nht ariety seed spread oer the closely-printed pages. I retur to her; she receied it quietly, and without saying anything she was about to repse into her forr studious od: again I eo disturb her—
“ you tell what the writing on that stohe door ans? What is Lowood Institution?”
“This house where you are e to lie.”
“And why do they call it Institution? Is it in any way different froother schools?”
“It is partly a charity-school: you and I, and all the rest of us, are charity-children. I suppose you are an orphan: are her your father or your ther dead?”
“Both died before I reer.”
“Well, all the girls here hae lost either one or both parents, and this is called an institution for edug orphans.”
“Do we pay no ney? Do they keep us for nothing?”
“We pay, or our friends pay, fifteen pounds a year for each.”
“Then why do they call us charity-children?”
“Because fifteen pounds is not enough for board and teag, and the deficy is supplied by subscription.”
“Who subscribes?”
“Different be-nded dies alen in this neighbourhood and in London.”
“Who was Nao Brocklehurst?”
“The dy who bui the new part of this house as that tablet rds, and whose son oerlooks and directs eerything here.”
“Why?”
“Because he is treasurer and nager of the establishnt.”
“Then this house does not belong to that tall dy who wears a watch, and who said we were to hae so bread and cheese?”
“To Miss Tele? Oh, no! I wish it did: she has to ao Mr. Brocklehurst for all she does. Mr. Brocklehurst buys all our food and all our clothes.”
“Does he lie here?”
“No—two les off, at a rge hall.”
“Is he a good n?”
“He is a clergyn, and is said to do a great deal of good.”
“Did you say that tall dy was called Miss Tele?”
“Yes.”
“And what are the other teachers called?”
“The oh red cheeks is called Miss Sth; she attends to the work, and cuts out—for we ke our own clothes, our frocks, and pelisses, ahing; the little oh bck hair is Miss Scatcherd; she teaches history and graar, and hears the sed css repetitions; and the one who wears a shawl, and has a pocket- handkerchief tied to her side with a yellow ribband, is Mada Pierrot: she es froLisle, in France, and teaches French.”
“Do you like the teachers?”
“Well enough.”
“Do you like the little be, and the Mada —?—I ot pronounce her na as you do.”
“Miss Scatcherd is hasty—you st take care not to offend her; Mada Pierrot is not a bad sort of person.”
“But Miss Tele is the best—isn’t she?”
“Miss Tele is ery good and ery cleer; she is aboe the rest, because she knows far re than they do.”
“Hae you been long here?”
“Two years.”
“Are you an orphan?”
“My ther is dead.”
“Are you happy here?”
“You ask rather too ny questions. I hae gien you answers enough for the present: now I want to read.”
But at that nt the suons sounded for dinner; all re-ehe house. The odour whiow filled the refectory was scarcely re appetising than that which had regaled our nostrils at breakfast: the dinner was sered in two huge tin-pted essels, whence rose a strong stearedolent of rancid fat. I found the ss to sist of indifferent potatoes and strange shreds of rusty at, ed aogether. Of this preparation a tolerably abundant pteful ortioo each pupil. I ate what uld, and wondered within self whether eery day’s fare would be like this.
After dinner, we iediately adjouro the schoolroo lessons reenced, aiill fie o’clock.
The only rked eent of the afternoon was, that I saw the girl with whoI had ersed in the erandah disssed in disgrace by Miss Scatcherd froa history css, ao stand in the ddle of the rge schoolroo The punisho in a high degree ignonious, especially for so great a girl—she looked thirteen or upwards. I epected she would show signs of great distress and sh but to surprise she her wept nor blushed: posed, though grae, she stood, the tral rk of all eyes. “How she bear it so quietly—so firy?” I asked of self. “Were I in her pce, it see to I should wish the earth to open and swallow up. She looks as if she were thinking of sothing beyond her punishnt—beyond her situation: of sothing not round her nor before her. I hae heard of day-drea—is she in a day-dreanow? Her eyes are fied on the floor, but I asure they do not see it— her sight see turned in, gone down into her heart: she is looking at what she reer, I beliee; not at what is really present. I wonder what sort of a girl she is—whether good or naughty.”
Soon after fie p. we had another al, sisting of a sll g offee, and half-a-slice of brown bread. I deoured bread and drank fee with relish; but I should hae been gd of as ch re—I was still hungry. Half-an-hour’s recreation sueeded, then study; then the gss of water and the piece of oat-cake, prayers, and bed. Such was first day at Lowood.
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