Towards the close of the last century, there lived in the extensive
parish of Ashton, in the county of ----, a hard-hearted, eccentric old
man, called Mark Hurdlestone, the lord of the manor, the wealthy owner
of Oak Hall and its wide demesne, the richest commoner in England, the
celebrated miser.

Mark Hurdlestone was the wonder of the place; people were never tired of
talking about him--of describing his strange appearance, his odd ways
and penurious habits. He formed a lasting theme of conversation to the
gossips of the village, with whom the great man at the Hall enjoyed no
enviable notoriety. That Mark Hurdlestone was an object of curiosity,
fear, and hatred, to his humble dependents, created no feeling of
surprise in those who were acquainted with him, and had studied the
repulsive features of his singular character.

There was not a drop of the milk of human kindness in his composition.
Regardless of his own physical wants, he despised the same wants in
others. Charity sued to him in vain, and the tear of sorrow made no
impression on his stony heart. Passion he had felt--cruel, ungovernable
passion. Tenderness was foreign to his nature--the sweet influences of
the social virtues he had never known.

Mark Hurdlestone hated society, and never mingled in festive scenes. To
his neighbors he was a stranger; and he had no friends. With power to
command, and wealth to purchase enjoyment, he had never travelled a
hundred miles beyond the smoke of his own chimneys; and was as much a
stranger to the world and its usages as a savage, born and brought up in
the wilderness. There were very few persons in his native place with
whom he had exchanged a friendly greeting; and though his person was as