The tenant of Wildfell Hall

In the autumn of 1827, I found myself reluctantly following in my father's footsteps as a gentleman farmer in -shire, despite my ambition for greater achievements. My mother encouraged me to pursue my potential, but my father believed that ambition led to ruin and that change was destructive. He urged me, even on his deathbed, to adhere to tradition, maintain our family farm, and ensure it remained prosperous for future generations. He argued that an honest, industrious farmer is invaluable to society, and by dedicating my talents to agriculture, I could benefit not just my family but humanity as a whole. As I trudged home from the fields one cold, damp evening in late October, I attempted to console myself with these thoughts. However, the warm glow of a fire through the parlour window uplifted my spirits more than any reflection could. At just twenty-four, I lacked the self-discipline I would later acquire. Yet, I knew I had to change out of my muddy boots and into clean shoes, don a respectable coat, and present myself properly before joining my family, as my mother had high standards for decorum.