The Tenant of Wildfell Hall | Page 8

doing, for my mother, who maintained there was no one
good enough for me within twenty miles round, could not bear the
thoughts of my marrying that insignificant little thing, who, in addition
to her numerous other disqualifications, had not twenty pounds to call
her own. Eliza's figure was at once slight and plump, her face small,
and nearly as round as my sister's, - complexion, something similar to
hers, but more delicate and less decidedly blooming, - nose, retrousse, -
features, generally irregular; and, altogether, she was rather charming
than pretty. But her eyes - I must not forget those 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, and ever changing, but always either preternaturally
- I had almost said diabolically - wicked, or irresistibly bewitching -
often both. Her voice was gentle and childish, her tread light and soft as
that of a cat:- but her manners more frequently resembled those of a
pretty playful kitten, that is now pert and roguish, now timid and
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, who had patiently
nursed their mother, through her last long, tedious illness, and been the
housekeeper, and family drudge, from thence to the present time. She
was trusted and valued by her father, loved and courted by all dogs,
cats, children, and poor people, and slighted and neglected by
everybody else.
The Reverend Michael Millward himself was a tall, ponderous elderly
gentleman, 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 of fixed principles,
strong prejudices, and regular habits, intolerant of dissent in any shape,
acting under a firm conviction that his opinions were always right, and
whoever differed from them must be either most deplorably ignorant,
or wilfully blind.
In childhood, I had always been accustomed to regard him with a
feeling of reverential awe - but lately, even now, surmounted, for,
though he had a fatherly kindness for the well-behaved, he was a strict
disciplinarian, and had often sternly reproved our juvenile failings and
peccadilloes; and moreover, in those days, whenever he called upon our
parents, we had to stand up before him, and say our catechism, or
repeat, 'How doth the little busy bee,' or some other hymn, or - worse
than all - be questioned about his last text, and the heads of the
discourse, which we never could remember. Sometimes, the worthy
gentleman would reprove my mother for being over-indulgent to her
sons, with a reference to old Eli, or David and Absalom, which was
particularly galling to her feelings; and, very highly as she respected
him, and all his sayings, I once heard her exclaim, 'I wish to goodness
he had a son himself! He wouldn't be so ready with his advice to other

people then; - he'd see what it is to have a couple of boys to keep in
order.'
He had a laudable care for his own bodily health - kept very early hours,
regularly took a walk before breakfast, was vastly particular about
warm and dry clothing, had never been known to preach a sermon
without previously swallowing a raw egg - albeit he was gifted with
good lungs and a powerful voice, - and was, generally, extremely
particular about what he ate and drank, though by no means abstemious,
and having a mode of dietary peculiar to himself, - being a great
despiser of tea and such slops, 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