title, his estate, and twenty thousand a year.

Cairnforth Castle is one of the loveliest residences in all Scotland.
It is built on the extremity of a long tongue of land which stretches
out between two salt-water lochs--Loch Beg, the "little," and Loch
Mhor, the "big" lake. The latter is grand and gloomy, shut in by bleak
mountains, which sit all round it, their feet in the water, and their
heads in mist and cloud. But Loch Beg is quite different. It has
green, cultivated, sloping shores, fringed with trees to the water's
edge, and the least ray of sunshine seems always to set it dimpling with
wavy smiles. Now and then a sudden squall comes down from the chain of
mountains far away beyond the head of the loch, and then its waters
begin to darken--just like a sudden frown over a bright face; the
waves curl and rise, and lash themselves into foam, and any little
sailing boat, which has been happily and safely riding over them five
minutes before, is often struck and capsized immediately. Thus it
happened when the late earl was drowned.

The minister--the Rev. Alexander Cardross--had been sailing with
him; had only just landed, and was watching the boat crossing back
again, when the squall came down. Though this region is a populous
district now, with white villas dotted like daisies all along the green
shores, there was then not a house in the whole peninsula of Cairnforth
except the Castle, the Manse, and a few cottages, called the "clachan."
Before help was possible, the earl and his boatman, Neil Campbell, were
both drowned. The only person saved was little Malcolm Campbell--
Neil's brother--a boy about ten years old.

In most country parishes of Scotland or England there is an almost
superstitious feeling that "the minister," or "the clergyman," must be