my stock is far from exhausted. Some other friends have sent me
books lately. The perusal of Harriet Martineau's 'Eastern Life'
has afforded me great pleasure; and I have found a deep and
interesting subject of study in Newman's work on the Soul. Have
you read this work? It is daring,--it may be mistaken,--but it is
pure and elevated. Froude's 'Nemesis of Faith' I did not like; I
thought it morbid; yet in its pages, too, are found sprinklings
of truth."

By this time, "Airedale, Wharfedale, Calderdale, and Ribblesdale"
all knew the place of residence of Currer Bell. She compared
herself to the ostrich hiding its head in the sand; and says that
she still buries hers in the heath of Haworth moors; but "the
concealment is but self-delusion." Indeed it was. Far and wide in
the West Riding had spread the intelligence that Currer Bell was
no other than a daughter of the venerable clergyman of Haworth;
the village itself caught up the excitement.

"Mr. ----, having finished 'Jane Eyre,' is now crying out for the
'other book;' he is to have it next week. . . . Mr. R ---- has
finished 'Shirley;' he is delighted with it. John ----'s wife
seriously thought him gone wrong in the head, as she heard him
giving vent to roars of laughter as he sat alone, clapping and
stamping on the floor. He would read all the scenes about the
curates aloud to papa." . . . "Martha came in yesterday, puffing
and blowing, and much excited. 'I've heard sich news!' she began.
'What about?' 'Please, ma'am, you've been and written two books--
the grandest books that ever was seen. My father has heard it at
Halifax, and Mr. G---- T---- and Mr. G---- and Mr. M---- at
Bradford; and they are going to have a meeting at the Mechanics'