and a patron of malt liquors, bacon and eggs, ham, hung beef, and
other strong meats, which agreed well enough with his digestive organs,
and therefore were maintained by him to be good and wholesome for
everybody, and confidently recommended to the most delicate convalescents
or dyspeptics, who, if they failed to derive the promised benefit from
his prescriptions, were told it was because they had not persevered, and
if they complained of inconvenient results therefrom, were assured it was
all fancy.

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

Their sister Jane was a young lady of some talents, and more ambition.
She had, at her own desire, received a regular boarding-school education,
superior to what any member of the family had obtained before. She had
taken the polish well, acquired considerable 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 could she number me amongst her admirers. She was about six
and twenty, rather tall and very slender, her hair was neither chestnut
nor auburn, but a most decided bright, light red; her complexion was
remarkably fair and brilliant, her head small, neck long, chin well
turned, but very short, lips thin and red, eyes clear hazel, quick, and
penetrating, but entirely destitute of poetry or feeling. She had, or
might have had, many suitors in her own rank of life, but scornfully
repulsed or rejected them all; for none but a gentleman could please her
refined taste, and none but a rich one could satisfy her soaring
ambition. One gentleman there was, from whom she had lately received
some rather pointed attentions, and upon whose heart, name, and fortune,
it was whispered, she had serious designs. This was Mr. Lawrence, the
young squire, whose family had formerly occupied Wildfell Hall, but had
deserted it, some fifteen years ago, for a more modern and commodious
mansion in the neighbouring parish.