"This," says Waldron, "is certainly one of the most dreadful places that imagination can form; the sea runs under it through the hollows of the rock with such a continual roar, that you would think it were every moment breaking in upon you, and over it are the vaults for burying the dead.

The stairs descending to this place of terrors are not above thirty, but so steep and narrow, that they are very difficult to go down, a child of eight or nine years not being able to pass them but sideways."-- WALDRON'S _Description of the Isle of Man, in his Works_, p.

105, folio.
"Do not think better of me than I deserve," said the Earl to Peveril; "my mother has omitted to tell you the culprit was pretty Peggy of Ramsey, and her crime what in Cupid's courts would have been called a peccadillo." "Do not make yourself worse than you are," replied Peveril, who observed the Countess's cheek redden,--"you know you would have done as much for the oldest and poorest cripple in the island.

Why, the vault is under the burial-ground of the chapel, and, for aught I know, under the ocean itself, such a roaring do the waves make in its vicinity.

I think no one could remain there long, and retain his reason." "It is an infernal hole," answered the Earl, "and I will have it built up one day--that is full certain .-- But hold--hold--for God's sake, madam--what are you going to do ?--Look at the seal before you put it to the warrant--you will see it is a choice antique cameo Cupid, riding on a flying fish--I had it for twenty zechins, from Signor Furabosco at Rome--a most curious matter for an antiquary, but which will add little faith to a Manx warrant.
"My signet--my signet--Oh! you mean that with the three monstrous legs, which I supposed was devised as the most preposterous device, to represent our most absurd Majesty of Man .-- The signet--I have not seen it since I gave it to Gibbon, my monkey, to play with .-- He did whine for it most piteously--I hope he has not gemmed the green breast of ocean with my symbol of sovereignty!" "Now, by Heaven," said the Countess, trembling, and colouring deeply with anger, "it was your father's signet! the last pledge which he sent, with his love to me, and his blessing to thee, the night before they murdered him at Bolton!" "Mother, dearest mother," said the Earl, startled out of his apathy, and taking her hand, which he kissed tenderly, "I did but jest--the signet is safe--Peveril knows that it is so .-- Go fetch it, Julian, for Heaven's sake--here are my keys--it is in the left-hand drawer of my travelling cabinet--Nay, mother, forgive me--it was but a _mauvaise plaisanterie_; only an ill-imagined jest, ungracious, and in bad taste, I allow--but only one of Philip's follies.