Hour after hour passed,—perhaps a night; for he was conscious of having slept for a long time. He had consumed all his provisions, and some decisive measure must be taken. To stay where he was would be certain death, but in what direction should he move? Even had he still possessed a light, the question would have been scarcely less difficult to answer, so numerous and so intricate were the branches from the main cavern, in which he had now involved himself. Having no other chance, he walked on, in the hope of eventually finding the passage into which he had first descended.

Day must have again passed, if he might jndge by the hunger and exhaustion which overpowered him. He could move no more, and again he sank down in unwilling rest, when, as before, sleep gave him a temporary respite from his sufferings. But it was only for a short time, and when he awoke, it was to increased agony.

Many hours had passed away in these alternations of sleep and suffering, and vain efforts to extricate himself from the caverns. The darkness did not, probably, add much to his difficulties, but it considerably augmented his sense of them. At every step he dreaded again coming in contact with the waters, which, his recent experience told him, were holding their subterranean course through

some of the branches, More than once he thought he heard their sullen murmurs, though, perhaps, it was no more than the wind eddying, from some unseen outlet, through the passages. Strange to say, it was to a sudden apprehension of this kind that he eventually owed his safety.

It was, as he believed, the seventh, though, in fact, it was only the third day of his immersion in these dreary caverns. The sustaining power of fanaticism had, at least, the good effect of saving him from utter desperation, and affording him a staff to lean on which others might have wanted. Having breathed a fervent prayer to Heaven, he felt, as he himself used, in other times, to tell the tale, "wonderfully strengthened and uplifted," so that he was enabled once more to resume his efforts to escape. Suddenly, he heard again, or thought he heard, the rush of water at no great distance from him. Whether real or only fancy, this made him at once strike into an opposite direction, when oh, joy! a light-evidently the light of day—was seen glimmering upon the walls of the cavern. Following this happy sign, he soon found himself restored to the upper world, but by an opening amongst the hills, at a considerable distance from that by which he had at first entered.

In the cottage of a peasant, who chanced to be of his own tenets, he found food, rest, and a temporary

shelter. To abide here, however, for any length of time was manifestly imprudent, though, even had this not been the case, the rancour which he now felt against Mr. Corbet for having withdrawn his protection, would not have allowed him to remain here in quiet. No one can hate so bitterly as a genuine fanatic.

Great was the surprise of Mr. Corbet when the haggard figure of the Puritan on a sudden stood before him, where he was superintending his new works; but much was that surprise augmented when the old man, pointing to the unfinished building, and assuming the tone and action of a prophet, exclaimed, "Woe unto thee, man of the hardened heart-hardened, even as the Lord hardened the heart of Pharoah, to thine own destruction. Rejoice not in thy wealth, nor in the halls of thy pride; for never shall a cope-stone be set upon them. Neither shalt thou, nor thy children, nor thy children's children dwell therein; but they shall be a ruin and a desolation; and the snake, and the eft, and the adder shall be found there; and thy house shall be full of doleful creatures."

That the spirit of prophecy in the old man was no other than the spirit of hate may well be admitted; but his prognostics carried some show of reason, or, we should rather say, of probability with them. When he surveyed the great extent

of the intended edifice, he might naturally enough conclude that Mr. Corbet would incur the fate of those who plan first and count the cost afterwards.

Whether the castle was ever complete, according to the original design, is not known. Certain it is, however, that it was garrisoned for the Parliament in 1644, when it sustained considerable damage from the attacks of the royalists. Since then it has not been inhabited by the family, and it now presents a pile of ruins, the most picturesque objects to be seen in this part of the country. The walls, for the most part, remain, showing the style and extent of the building, but the roof has fallen in. These venerable fragments are preserved with much care by the present owner of the estate, Sir Andrew Vincent Corbet, who resides at Acton Reynald, about two miles distant.

307

THE EARL OF HOPETOUN'S DINNER AT
STANG-HILL TOWER.

IN the vast and beautiful pleasure grounds of Hopetoun House stands a solitary, slender Tower, now an object in the great lord's park, but once the residence of an ancient Scottish laird, who, in common with many others of his class, was rooted out to give elbow-room to the new peer.

The peerage of the Earl of Hopetoun would, in the estimation of an Englishman, be accounted ancient; but in Scotland it stands on a very modern basis. His Lordship's ancestor was a servant of Magdalen of France, queen of James V; and for several generations, the family were in trade, and only gradually ascended to the rank of merchants. A son of Hope, the Edinburgh merchant, was a distinguished lawyer, and one of the leaders of the Presbyterians in Charles the First's