1801.

    - I
          have just
              returned from a visit
                   to my landlord -
                       the solitary neighbour
         that I
            shall be troubled with.

    This is
          certainly a beautiful country!

    In all England,
           I do not believe
             that I
                could have
                      fixed on
                           a situation 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 between 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 arrival,
           to express the hope
             that I
                have not inconvenienced you
                       by my perseverance
                           in soliciting the occupation
                               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 expressed the sentiment,
         'Go to the Deuce:'
         even the gate over which
             he leant
                  manifested no sympathising movement
                       to the words;
        and I think
             that circumstance determined 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 barrier,
           he did
              put out his hand
                   to unchain it,
         and then sullenly preceded me
               up the causeway,
           calling,
         as we entered 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 compound 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 soliloquised
           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 foresight
                  to build it strong:
         the narrow windows
            are deeply
                  set in the wall,
           and the corners
               defended with large jutting stones.

    Before passing the threshold,
           I paused
              to admire a quantity
                   of grotesque carving