You must go back with me to the autumn of 1827.

My father, as you know, was a sort of gentleman farmer in -shire;and I, by his express desire, succeeded him in the same quietoccupation, not very willingly, for ambition urged me to higheraims, and self-conceit assured me that, in disregarding its voice,I was burying my talent in the earth, and hiding my light under abushel. My mother had done her utmost to persuade me that I wascapable of great achievements; but my father, who thought ambitionwas the surest road to ruin, and change but another word fordestruction, would listen to no scheme for bettering either my owncondition, or that of my fellow mortals. He assured me it was allrubbish, and exhorted me, with his dying breath, to continue in thegood old way, to follow his steps, and those of his father beforehim, and let my highest ambition be to walk honestly through theworld, looking neither to the right hand nor to the left, and totransmit the paternal acres to my children in, at least, asflourishing a condition as he left them to me.

'Well! - an honest and industrious farmer is one of the most usefulmembers of society; and if I devote my talents to the cultivationof my farm, and the improvement of agriculture in general, I shallthereby benefit, not only my own immediate connections anddependants, but, in some degree, mankind at large:- hence I shallnot have lived in vain.' With such reflections as these I wasendeavouring to console myself, as I plodded home from the fields,one cold, damp, cloudy evening towards the close of October. Butthe gleam of a bright red fire through the parlour window had moreeffect in cheering my spirits, and rebuking my thankless repinings,than all the sage reflections and good resolutions I had forced mymind to frame; - for I was young then, remember - only four-and-twenty - and had not acquired half the rule over my own spirit thatI now possess - trifling as that may be.

However, that haven of bliss must not be entered till I hadexchanged my miry boots for a clean pair of shoes, and my roughsurtout for a respectable coat, and made myself generallypresentable before decent society; for my mother, with all herkindness, was vastly particular on certain points.

In ascending to my room I was met upon the stairs by a smart,pretty girl of nineteen, with a tidy, dumpy figure, a round face,bright, blooming cheeks, glossy, clustering curls, and little merrybrown eyes. I need not tell you this was my sister Rose. She is,I know, a comely matron still, and, doubtless, no less lovely - inyour eyes - than on the happy day you first beheld her. Nothingtold me then that she, a few years hence, would be the wife of oneentirely unknown to me as yet, but destined hereafter to become acloser friend than even herself, more intimate than that unmannerlylad of seventeen, by whom I was collared in the passage, on comingdown, and well-nigh jerked off my equilibrium, and who, incorrection for his impudence, received a resounding whack over thesconce, which, however, sustained no serious injury from theinfliction; as, besides being more than commonly thick, it wasprotected by a redundant shock of short, reddish curls, that mymother called auburn.

On entering the parlour we found that honoured lady seated in herarm-chair at the fireside, working away at her knitting, accordingto her usual custom, when she had nothing else to do. She hadswept the hearth, and made a bright blazing fire for our reception;the servant had just brought in the tea-tray; and Rose wasproducing the sugar-basin and tea-caddy from the cupboard in theblack oak side-board, that shone like polished ebony, in thecheerful parlour twilight.

'Well! here they both are,' cried my mother, looking round upon uswithout retarding the motion of her nimble fingers and glitteringneedles. 'Now shut the door, and come to the fire, while Rose getsthe tea ready; I'm sure you must be starved; - and tell me whatyou've been about all day; - I like to know what my children havebeen about.'

'I've been breaking in the grey colt - no easy business that -directing the ploughing of the last wheat stubble - for theploughboy has not the sense to direct himself - and carrying out aplan for the extensive and efficient draining of the lowmeadowlands.'

'That's my brave boy! - and Fergus, what have you been doing?'

'Badger-baiting.'

And here he proceeded to give a particular account of his sport,and the respective traits of prowess evinced by the badger and thedogs; my mother pretending to listen with deep attention, andwatching his animated countenance with a degree of maternaladmiration I thought highly disproportioned to its object.

'It's time you should be doing something else, Fergus,' said I, assoon as a momentary pause in his narration allowed me to get in aword.

'What can I do?' replied he; 'my mother won't let me go to sea orenter the army; and I'm determined to do nothing else - except makemyself such a nuisance to you all, that you will be thankful to getrid of me on any terms.'

Our parent soothingly stroked his stiff, short curls. He growled,and tried to look sulky, and then we all took our seats at thetable, in obedience to the thrice-repeated summons of Rose.

'Now take your tea,' said she; 'and I'll tell you what I've beendoing. I've been to call on the Wilsons; and it's a thousandpities you didn't go with me, Gilbert, for Eliza Millward wasthere!'

'Well! what of her?'

'Oh, nothing! - I'm not going to tell you about her; - only thatshe's a nice, amusing little thing, when she is in a merry humour,and I shouldn't mind calling her - '

'Hush, hush, my dear! your brother has no such idea!' whispered mymother earnestly, holding up her finger.

'Well,' resumed Rose; 'I was going to tell you an important pieceof news I heard there - I have been bursting with it ever since.You know it was reported a month ago, that somebody was going totake Wildfell Hall - and - what do you think? It has actually beeninhabited above a week! - and we never knew!'

'Impossible!' cried my mother.

'Preposterous!!!' shrieked Fergus.

'It has indeed! - and by a single lady!'

'Good gracious, my dear! The place is in ruins!'

'She has had two or three rooms made habitable; and there shelives, all alone - except an old woman for a servant!'

'Oh, dear! that spoils it - I'd hoped she was a witch,' observedFergus, while carving his inch-thick slice of bread and butter.

'Nonsense, Fergus! But isn't it strange, mamma?'

'Strange! I can hardly believe it.'

'But you may believe it; for Jane Wilson has seen her. She wentwith her mother, who, of course, when she heard of a stranger beingin the neighbourhood, would be on pins and needles till she hadseen her and got all she could out of her. She is called Mrs.Graham, and she is in mourning - not widow's weeds, but slightishmourning - and she is quite young, they say, - not above five orsix and twenty, - but so reserved! They tried all they could tofind out who she was and where she came from, and, all about her,but neither Mrs. Wilson, with her pertinacious and impertinenthome-thrusts, nor Miss Wilson, with her skilful manoeuvring, couldmanage to elicit a single satisfactory answer, or even a casualremark, or chance expression calculated to allay their curiosity,or throw the faintest ray of light upon her history, circumstances,or connections. Moreover, she was barely civil to them, andevidently better pleased to say 'good-by,' than 'how do you do.'But Eliza Millward says her father intends to call upon her soon,to offer some pastoral advice, which he fears she needs, as, thoughshe is known to have entered the neighbourhood early last week, shedid not make her appearance at church on Sunday; and she - Eliza,that is - will beg to accompany him, and is sure she can succeed inwheedling something out of her - you know, Gilbert, she can doanything. And we should call some time, mamma; it's only proper,you know.'

'Of course, my dear. Poor thing! How lonely she must feel!'

'And pray, be quick about it; and mind you bring me word how muchsugar she puts in her tea, and what sort of caps and aprons shewears, and all about it; for I don't know how I can live till Iknow,' said Fergus, very gravely.

But if he intended the speech to be hailed as a master-stroke ofwit, he signally failed, for nobody laughed. However, he was notmuch disconcerted at that; for when he had taken a mouthful ofbread and butter and was about to swallow a gulp of tea, the humourof the thing burst upon him with such irresistible force, that hewas obliged to jump up from the table, and rush snorting andchoking from the room; and a minute after, was heard screaming infearful agony in the garden.

As for me, I was hungry, and contented myself with silentlydemolishing the tea, ham, and toast, while my mother and sisterwent on talking, and continued to discuss the apparent or non-apparent circumstances, and probable or improbable history of themysterious lady; but I must confess that, after my brother'smisadventure, I once or twice raised the cup to my lips, and put itdown again without daring to taste the contents, lest I shouldinjure my dignity by a similar explosion.

The next day my mother and Rose hastened to pay their complimentsto the fair recluse; and came back but little wiser than they went;though my mother declared she did not regret the journey, for ifshe had not gained much good, she flattered herself she hadimparted some, and that was better: she had given some usefuladvice, which, she hoped, would not be thrown away; for Mrs.Graham, though she said little to any purpose, and appearedsomewhat self-opinionated, seemed not incapable of reflection, -though she did not know where she had been all her life, poorthing, for she betrayed a lamentable ignorance on certain points,and had not even the sense to be ashamed of it.

'On what points, mother?' asked I.

'On household matters, and all the little niceties of cookery, andsuch things, that every lady ought to be familiar with, whether shebe required to make a practical use of her knowledge or not. Igave her some useful pieces of information, however, and severalexcellent receipts, the value of which she evidently could notappreciate, for she begged I would not trouble myself, as she livedin such a plain, quiet way, that she was sure she should never makeuse of them. "No matter, my dear," said I; "it is what everyrespectable female ought to know; - and besides, though you arealone now, you will not be always so; you have been married, andprobably - I might say almost certainly - will be again." "You aremistaken there, ma'am," said she, almost haughtily; "I am certain Inever shall." - But I told her I knew better.'

'Some romantic young widow, I suppose,' said I, 'come there to endher days in solitude, and mourn in secret for the dear departed -but it won't last long.'

'No, I think not,' observed Rose; 'for she didn't seem verydisconsolate after all; and she's excessively pretty - handsomerather - you must see her, Gilbert; you will call her a perfectbeauty, though you could hardly pretend to discover a resemblancebetween her and Eliza Millward.'

'Well, I can imagine many faces more beautiful than Eliza's, thoughnot more charming. I allow she has small claims to perfection; butthen, I maintain that, if she were more perfect, she would be lessinteresting.'

'And so you prefer her faults to other people's perfections?'

'Just so - saving my mother's presence.'

'Oh, my dear Gilbert, what nonsense you talk! - I know you don'tmean it; it's quite out of the question,' said my mother, gettingup, and bustling out of the room, under pretence of householdbusiness, in order to escape the contradiction that was tremblingon my tongue.

After that Rose favoured me with further particulars respectingMrs. Graham. Her appearance, manners, and dress, and the veryfurniture of the room she inhabited, were all set before me, withrather more clearness and precision than I cared to see them; but,as I was not a very attentive listener, I could not repeat thedescription if I would.

The next day was Saturday; and, on Sunday, everybody wonderedwhether or not the fair unknown would profit by the vicar'sremonstrance, and come to church. I confess I looked with someinterest myself towards the old family pew, appertaining toWildfell Hall, where the faded crimson cushions and lining had beenunpressed and unrenewed so many years, and the grim escutcheons,with their lugubrious borders of rusty black cloth, frowned sosternly from the wall above.

And there I beheld a tall, lady-like figure, clad in black. Herface was towards me, and there was something in it which, onceseen, invited me to look again. Her hair was raven black, anddisposed in long glossy ringlets, a style of coiffure ratherunusual in those days, but always graceful and becoming; hercomplexion was clear and pale; her eyes I could not see, for, beingbent upon her prayer-book, they were concealed by their droopinglids and long black lashes, but the brows above were expressive andwell defined; the forehead was lofty and intellectual, the nose, aperfect aquiline and the features, in general, unexceptionable -only there was a slight hollowness about the cheeks and eyes, andthe lips, though finely formed, were a little too thin, a littletoo firmly compressed, and had something about them that betokened,I thought, no very soft or amiable temper; and I said in my heart -'I would rather admire you from this distance, fair lady, than bethe partner of your home.'

Just then she happened to raise her eyes, and they met mine; I didnot choose to withdraw my gaze, and she turned again to her book,but with a momentary, indefinable expression of quiet scorn, thatwas inexpressibly provoking to me.

'She thinks me an impudent puppy,' thought I. 'Humph! - she shallchange her mind before long, if I think it worth while.'

But then it flashed upon me that these were very improper thoughtsfor a place of worship, and that my behaviour, on the presentoccasion, was anything but what it ought to be. Previous, however,to directing my mind to the service, I glanced round the church tosee if any one had been observing me; - but no, - all, who were notattending to their prayer-books, were attending to the strangelady, - my good mother and sister among the rest, and Mrs. Wilsonand her daughter; and even Eliza Millward was slily glancing fromthe corners of her eyes towards the object of general attraction.Then she glanced at me, simpered a little, and blushed, modestlylooked at her prayer-book, and endeavoured to compose her features.

Here I was transgressing again; and this time I was made sensibleof it by a sudden dig in the ribs, from the elbow of my pertbrother. For the present, I could only resent the insult bypressing my foot upon his toes, deferring further vengeance till wegot out of church.

Now, Halford, before I close this letter, I'll tell you who ElizaMillward was: she was the vicar's younger daughter, and a veryengaging little creature, for whom I felt no small degree ofpartiality; - and she knew it, though I had never come to anydirect explanation, and had no definite intention of so doing, formy mother, who maintained there was no one good enough for mewithin twenty miles round, could not bear the thoughts of mymarrying that insignificant little thing, who, in addition to hernumerous other disqualifications, had not twenty pounds to call herown. Eliza's figure was at once slight and plump, her face small,and nearly as round as my sister's, - complexion, something similarto hers, but more delicate and less decidedly blooming, - nose,retrousse, - features, generally irregular; and, altogether, shewas rather charming than pretty. But her eyes - I must not forgetthose remarkable features, for therein her chief attraction lay -in outward aspect at least; - they were long and narrow in shape,the irids black, or very dark brown, the expression various, andever changing, but always either preternaturally - I had almostsaid diabolically - wicked, or irresistibly bewitching - oftenboth. Her voice was gentle and childish, her tread light and softas that of a cat:- but her manners more frequently resembled thoseof a pretty playful kitten, that is now pert and roguish, now timidand demure, according to its own sweet will.

Her sister, Mary, was several years older, several inches taller,and of a larger, coarser build - a plain, quiet, sensible girl, whohad patiently nursed their mother, through her last long, tediousillness, and been the housekeeper, and family drudge, from thenceto the present time. She was trusted and valued by her father,loved and courted by all dogs, cats, children, and poor people, andslighted and neglected by everybody else.

The Reverend Michael Millward himself was a tall, ponderous elderlygentleman, who placed a shovel hat above his large, square,massive-featured face, carried a stout walking-stick in his hand,and incased his still powerful limbs in knee-breeches and gaiters,- or black silk stockings on state occasions. He was a man offixed principles, strong prejudices, and regular habits, intolerantof dissent in any shape, acting under a firm conviction that hisopinions were always right, and whoever differed from them must beeither most deplorably ignorant, or wilfully blind.

In childhood, I had always been accustomed to regard him with afeeling of reverential awe - but lately, even now, surmounted, for,though he had a fatherly kindness for the well-behaved, he was astrict disciplinarian, and had often sternly reproved our juvenilefailings and peccadilloes; and moreover, in those days, whenever hecalled upon our parents, we had to stand up before him, and say ourcatechism, or repeat, 'How doth the little busy bee,' or some otherhymn, or - worse than all - be questioned about his last text, andthe heads of the discourse, which we never could remember.Sometimes, the worthy gentleman would reprove my mother for beingover-indulgent to her sons, with a reference to old Eli, or Davidand Absalom, which was particularly galling to her feelings; and,very highly as she respected him, and all his sayings, I once heardher exclaim, 'I wish to goodness he had a son himself! He wouldn'tbe so ready with his advice to other people then; - he'd see whatit is to have a couple of boys to keep in order.'

He had a laudable care for his own bodily health - kept very earlyhours, regularly took a walk before breakfast, was vastlyparticular about warm and dry clothing, had never been known topreach a sermon without previously swallowing a raw egg - albeit hewas gifted with good lungs and a powerful voice, - and was,generally, extremely particular about what he ate and drank, thoughby no means abstemious, and having a mode of dietary peculiar tohimself, - being a great despiser of tea and such slops, and apatron of malt liquors, bacon and eggs, ham, hung beef, and otherstrong meats, which agreed well enough with his digestive organs,and therefore were maintained by him to be good and wholesome foreverybody, and confidently recommended to the most delicateconvalescents or dyspeptics, who, if they failed to derive thepromised benefit from his prescriptions, were told it was becausethey had not persevered, and if they complained of inconvenientresults therefrom, were assured it was all fancy.

I will just touch upon two other persons whom I have mentioned, andthen bring this long letter to a close. These are Mrs. Wilson andher daughter. The former was the widow of a substantial farmer, anarrow-minded, tattling old gossip, whose character is not worthdescribing. She had two sons, Robert, a rough countrified farmer,and Richard, a retiring, studious young man, who was studying theclassics with the vicar's assistance, preparing for college, with aview to enter the church.

Their sister Jane was a young lady of some talents, and moreambition. She had, at her own desire, received a regular boarding-school education, superior to what any member of the family hadobtained before. She had taken the polish well, acquiredconsiderable elegance of manners, quite lost her provincial accent,and could boast of more accomplishments than the vicar's daughters.She was considered a beauty besides; but never for a moment couldshe number me amongst her admirers. She was about six and twenty,rather tall and very slender, her hair was neither chestnut norauburn, but a most decided bright, light red; her complexion wasremarkably fair and brilliant, her head small, neck long, chin wellturned, but very short, lips thin and red, eyes clear hazel, quick,and penetrating, but entirely destitute of poetry or feeling. Shehad, or might have had, many suitors in her own rank of life, butscornfully repulsed or rejected them all; for none but a gentlemancould please her refined taste, and none but a rich one couldsatisfy her soaring ambition. One gentleman there was, from whomshe had lately received some rather pointed attentions, and uponwhose heart, name, and fortune, it was whispered, she had seriousdesigns. This was Mr. Lawrence, the young squire, whose family hadformerly occupied Wildfell Hall, but had deserted it, some fifteenyears ago, for a more modern and commodious mansion in theneighbouring parish.

Now, Halford, I bid you adieu for the present. This is the firstinstalment of my debt. If the coin suits you, tell me so, and I'llsend you the rest at my leisure: if you would rather remain mycreditor than stuff your purse with such ungainly, heavy pieces, -tell me still, and I'll pardon your bad taste, and willingly keepthe treasure to myself.

Yours immutably,

GILBERT MARKHAM.