Nature. Will they be found sufficient for a perfect life?

Put together a strong soul, a tender conscience, a woman's heart, and a
man's intellect, and we have a Charlotte Bronté,--surely one of the best
types of the modern mind. Will she find these four noble parts of Human
Nature sufficient for the task of living?

Let Charlotte Bronté answer, walking painfully across the moor with hand
held hard to beating side, sitting now and then upon a stone to keep
herself from falling, wondering why the daylight blinds her so, obliged
to give up Villette owing to the terrible headaches which it brings on.
Let Charlotte Bronté answer, dying before her time at thirty-nine years
of age, when the path of fame was just beginning to be bright before
her, and the world was just beginning to know how much it wanted her.
Charlotte Bronté, the gifted and the feeble, the lynx-eyed and the
blind, so full of glorious strength and pitiable weakness! Charlotte
Bronté, who feels the pressure of every-day life to be as hard as a
giant's grasp upon her throat! Charlotte Bronté cannot tell why she is
so unhappy, why she feels like a prisoner in the world,--why earth, our
beautiful earth, is like a charnel house to her. And yet we think that
the most ordinary passerby could see very satisfactory reasons why
Charlotte Bronté was what she was, and felt what she felt. Hollow cheek
and faded eye, teach their wisdom to their possessor last of all. The
pale-eyed school-girl, who never played along with the other children,
never ran and laughed and shouted with the rest, little knew what days
and hours and years of dulness, of pain and agony, she was laying up for
the future, what a premature grave she was digging for herself. Peace be
with her, her toil is over; it is now three years since Heaven received
in Charlotte Bronté one angel more.