A FINE October morning succeeded to the foggy evening that had witnessed my first introduction to Crimsworth Hall.

I was early up and walking in the large park-like meadow surrounding the house.

The autumn sun, rising over the -- --shire hills, disclosed a pleasant country; woods brown and mellow varied the fields from which the harvest had been lately carried; a river, gliding between the woods, caught on its surface the somewhat cold gleam of the October sun and sky; at frequent intervals along the banks of the river, tall, cylindrical chimneys, almost like slender round towers, indicated the factories which the trees half concealed; here and there mansions, similar to Crimsworth Hall, occupied agreeable sites on the hill-side; the country wore, on the whole, a cheerful, active, fertile look.

Steam, trade, machinery had long banished from it all romance and seclusion.

At a distance of five miles, a valley, opening between the low hills, held in its cups the great town of X----.
A dense, permanent vapour brooded over this locality--there lay Edward's "Concern." I forced my eye to scrutinize this prospect, I forced my mind to dwell on it for a time, and when I found that it communicated no pleasurable emotion to my heart--that it stirred in me none of the hopes a man ought to feel, when he sees laid before him the scene of his life's career--I said to myself, "William, you are a rebel against circumstances; you are a fool, and know not what you want; you have chosen trade and you shall be a tradesman.