[obi/Emily.Bronte/wuther.Z]

WUTHERING HEIGHTS by Emily Bronte.  CHAPTER I.

l80l.---I have just returned from a visit to my land-
lord---the solitary neighbour that I shall be troubled
with. This is certainly a beautiful country. In all Eng-
land I do not believe that I could have fixed on a situa-
tion so completely removed from the stir of society---a
perfect misanthropist's heaven; and Mr. Heathcliff and
I are such a suitable pair to divide the desolation be-
tween us. A capital fellow! He little imagined how my
heart warmed towards him when I beheld his black eyes
withdraw so suspiciously under their brows, as I rode
up, and when his fingers sheltered themselves, with a
jealous resolution, still further in his waistcoat, as I
announced my name.

     "Mr. Heathcliff?" I said.

     A nod was the answer.

     "Mr. Lockwood, your new tenant, sir. I do myself
the honour of calling as soon as possible after my ar-
rival, to express the hope that I have not incon-
venienced you by my perseverance in soliciting the oc-
cupation of Thrushcross Grange. I heard yesterday you
had had some thoughts------"

     "Thrushcross Grange is my own, sir," he interrupted,
wincing. "I should not allow any one to inconvenience
me, if I could hinder it. Walk in!"
 
     The "walk in" was uttered with closed teeth, and ex-
pressed the sentiment, "Go to the deuce." Even the gate
over which he leant manifested no sympathizing move-
ment to the words; and I think that circumstance deter-
mined me to accept the invitation. I felt interested in a
man who seemed more exaggeratedly reserved than
myself.

     When he saw my horse's breast fairly pushing the bar-
rier, he did put out his hand to unchain it, and then sul-
lenly preceded me up the causeway, calling, as we en-
tered the court, "Joseph, take Mr. Lockwood's horse,
and bring up some wine."

     "Here we have the whole establishment of domestics,
I suppose," was the reflection suggested by this com-
pound order. "No wonder the grass grows up between
the flags, and cattle are the only hedge-cutters."

     Joseph was an elderly, nay, an old man---very old,
perhaps, though hale and sinewy. "The Lord help us!"
he soliloquized in an undertone of peevish displeasure,
while relieving me of my horse, looking, meantime, in
my face so sourly that I charitably conjectured he must
have need of divine aid to digest his dinner, and his
pious ejaculation had no reference to my unexpected
advent.

     Wuthering Heights is the name of Mr. Heathcliff's
dwelling, "wuthering" being a significant provincial
adjective, descriptive of the atmospheric tumult to
 
which its station is exposed in stormy weather. Pure,
bracing ventilation they must have up there at all times,
indeed. One may guess the power of the north wind
blowing over the edge by the excessive slant of a few
stunted firs at the end of the house, and by a range of
gaunt thorns all stretching their limbs one way, as if
craving alms of the sun. Happily the architect had fore-
sight to build it strong. The narrow windows are deeply
set in the wall, and the corners defended with large jut-
ting stones.

     Before passing the threshold, I paused to admire a
quantity of grotesque carving lavished over the front,
and especially about the principal door; above which,
among a wilderness of crumbling griffins and shame-
less little boys, I detected the date "1500," and the name
"Hareton Earnshaw." I would have made a few com-
ments, and requested a short history of the place from
the surly owner; but his attitude at the door appeared
to demand my speedy entrance or complete departure,
and I had no desire to aggravate his impatience
previous to inspecting the penetralium.

     One step brought us into the family sitting-room,
without any introductory lobby or passage. They call it
here "the house" pre-eminently. It includes kitchen and
parlour generally. But, I believe, at Wuthering Heights
the kitchen is forced to retreat altogether into another
quarter---at least I distinguished a chatter of tongues
and a clatter of culinary utensils deep within; and I ob-
served no signs of roasting, boiling, or baking about the
 
huge fireplace, nor any glitter of copper saucepans and
tin cullenders on the walls. One end, indeed, reflected
splendidly both light and heat from ranks of immense