beset him.  An hour he labored; but not a drop of moisture rewarded his toil.  Overcome by his exertions, he seated himself upon the brink of the pit, and gave way to the agonizing emotions which filled his soul.  A sigh from his wife roused him to a new effort, and, partially invigorated by the few moments’ rest, he again applied himself to his task.  The ground was of a moist character, and he had every encouragement of soon finding the coveted treasure.  Animated by this hope, he redoubled his efforts, and for another hour despair nerved his arm, and strengthened his sinking frame.  Still the buried treasure eluded his search.  Exhausted by his exertions, he sunk heavily upon the side of the pit, and the big tears coursed down his hollow cheeks.  Deserted by man, he felt that there was no God in heaven; and no divinely-born sentiment came to cheer him in the hour of his despondency.  He felt that the hand of death must soon take him and his loved wife into its cold embrace.  With much effort he drew himself to her side, and endeavored to compose his mind for the struggle with the destroyer.

Two hours he lay by her side; but his time had not yet come.  Rested from the severe fatigue he had undergone, he felt a new vigor stealing through his frame.  Something like hope again flitted before his desponding mind, and, partially raising himself from his recumbent posture, he gazed about the apartment.  The pit he had dug was yawning near him.  A shudder convulsed his frame, as it reminded him of the open grave that gaped to receive him.  Had he not dug this grave for himself?

The instinct of self-preservation drew him to his feet.  Seizing the shovel, he advanced to the pit, when, to his unspeakable delight, he perceived that the bottom of it was covered with black, dirty water.  The sight roused his dormant energies, and he saw before him years of life and happiness.  Leaping into the pit, he drank from the putrid pool, using the palms of his hands for a drinking vessel.

Tearing off the top of his glazed cap, he succeeded in making a very tolerable cup of it, with which he conveyed some of the precious liquid to the parched lips of his sinking wife.  The act roused her from the absent mood to which she had abandoned herself.  She took a long draught of the discolored beverage, and, had it been the pure mountain spring, its effect could scarcely have been more magical.  It not only refreshed the body, but inspired the mind.  With this dawning hope the poor prisoners built the flimsy fabric of future joy and safety.

Dalhousie had lived years in the hours of his confinement.  Experience, the stern mentor of humanity, had ministered to him, and imparted the strength and resolution which often require years to mature.  Thoughts, and feelings, and energies, to which he had before been a stranger, came bounding through his mind, as the mighty river, which, having broken away the feeble barrier man had set in its course, roars and thunders