THE ISLE OF MAN. mediately resolved upon a chase battue, and, whilst in the act of bringing my rifle, by some unaccountable awkwardness I pulled the trigger, and the piece went off; the ball carrying away the peak of my cap, and passing clean through the ceiling. This proved a caution in after life with respect to the management of fire arms which I have never neglected. Most fortunately the house was a single story one; else there is no saying whom I might have injured. The messrooms of the 47th and 29th were favourite resorts of a forenoon. Sometimes we went there in palkees, sometimes on pony back. Once, whilst adopting this latter mode of transport, the brute that I bestrode (a Pegu pony) got the bit into his mouth, and being accustomed to short cuts when at liberty, charged through a narrow gap in a prickly pear hedge, where, though squeezing myself into the smallest space, we both contrived to carry some score or two of fearfully thorny leaves, the anguish occasioned by which was awful for the moment, though furnishing excessive mirth at a later period of the day, after S., the doctor of the 29th, had carefully extracted every thorn, and when the circulating cup had restored good humour and bilarity. They were jolly reunions, those mess dinners at Massulipatam, and the officers very wisely contrived to dine between four and five p.m.; so that the great heat of the day had generally given way to the milder breezes of evening, and we were not exposed to the insect annoyance to which I have already alluded. The two greatest attractions at Massulipatam were a swimming bath, and a billiard table; to the former, with reckless carelessness, many a fine young man has resorted immediately after quitting the latter, though the result almost invariably entailed a fortnight's fever, and sometimes sick leave to visit England or the Cape. But gambling, save for a bottle or so of champague, was never countenanced. If evidence were wanting to testify to the insalubrity of the climate, the stranger has only to visit the grave yard at Massulipatam. There indeed are recorded the names and virtues of not a few of our unhappy countrymen- aye, and country. women and children, too. Formerly a European regiment used to be stationed here, but the casual 539 ties amongst all ranks were so great, that the Government were compelled to do away with the station and to garrison the place exclusively with native Sepoys. Even these latter, if due attention was not paid to the hours of drill, sometimes succumbed to the intense heat and exercise, superadded to the absurd costume that insane regulations had condemned them to wear. Some four miles from Massulipatam, and bordering on the sea coast, there was a small convalescent encampment, which rejoiced in the name of Tavishapoondy. During the hottest months. goodness preserve us from the coolest), the greater number of families resorted to this place, and under the umbrageous foliage of a few banian trees, enjoyed all the pleasures of straw hatted rusticity. Only one bungalow existed, which was devoted exclusively to ti klies, tents affording shelter to all the gentlemen thither resorting. After all, however, it certainly was a great treat to be enabled for awhile to flee the heat and dust of that city of madapollains, Massulipatam, and rusticate amongst the shingles and sea shells, the pleasant sea side odour, the unspeakably beneficial sea breeze, the crabs, the prawns, and the capital pomphrets that Tavishapoondy yielied. But even here our enjoyments were brought to a speedy and unpleasant end. The old bungalow, neglected through scores of years, harboured snakes, scorpions, and centipedes, and the first shower of rain brought these unwelcome intruders swarming amongst the ladies. One child was stung-one old lady frightened into fits. The result was that early next day the place was evacuated, and we were once more grilling under the fiery influence of the hot sun and the long shore winds. An occasional visit to the fort where the old brigadier resided with his family-where also the fort adjutant, poor S., dwelt in gloomy solitude, and acted occasionally as parson-to some extent varied the wretched monotony of our life in that vilest of all vile Indian cantonments, Massulipatam. The very name of the place causes a thrill through my blood, which even with this long period intervening, I can scarcely repress. For fevers and heat-for insects and want of sleep-for reptiles, sand, and prickly pear-for want of appetite and insatiable unquenchable thirst, commend us to Massulipatam. THE ISLE OF MAN. WHO has heard of, who has seen, the lovely Isle of Man, with its poetical scenery, clear atmosphere, and crystal sea, with its hills, its glens, its long and varied walks o'er hill and dale? We know the island well. To us it is an oasis of life—the one spot of earth we love so dearly. Each mountain seems an old familiar friend; each streamlet murmurs with the voice of a companion, and whispers to us of memories almost past away, friends lost to sight, hopes and warm feelings long since dead or grown cold. But we must leave all memories of the past, aud give a slight account of the geographical and historical position of the Isle of Man. described both as a “ Paynim”—i. e. a heathen,— and a magician; the latter assertion being quite in character with the Manx people, who are a superstitious race, and would look on a magician with reverence, and feel proud of dating their origin from him. This Island, as every one knows, is situated in the monarchs. Whether this genealogy of the aforeIrish sea; and is nearly equidistant from the three said Mannanen be correct or not, one thing seems adjacent countries of England, Ireland and Scot-certain-that, in the early Manx records, he is land. Its extreme length is about 30 miles; its breadth 12. A long range of hills intersects the island; and terminates at either end in the two mountains of North and South Barrule. The most elevated peak of this chain is called "Snea-fell" or Snafield; it is from 1,700, to 2,000 feet in height, and from the summit a magnificent view, including the distant outline of the three adjacent kingdoms, may be obtained. The ascent, particularly from the Sulby side, is easy-and the sure footed Manx horses or ponies will carry the traveller up with perfect safety. Now that we have mentioned these Manx quadrupeds, we may as well say one word in their favour. They are not remarkable for beauty of appearance, but they are remarkable for extreme tenacity of foot, the usual style of their drivers being to gallop down hills (strewed with loose stones, and which can only bear semblance to the sides of mountains) at full pace; and yet a Manx horse never is known to stumble! We remember once being on the summit of Laxey Hill; and we were trembling as we thought of the descent; however, we imagined the driver would drag his wheel, and get down and lead his horse, so we made up our minds to shut our eyes and cling to the jaunting car with all our might, and trust to find ourselves after an interval at the bottom of the hill. We offered to get out and walk, but our charioteer-a rubicund Manxman laughed at the notion, or smiled rather (for the Manx peasantry are very respectful in their demeanour). "He'll be all right, sure, my lady," he replied; but we did not know to whem the "he" applied,-whether to the horse, the car, or ourselves; so we sat still resigned, little knowing what we had to encounter; for no sooner were we fairly at the summit of the hill, with the terrific descent before us, than our Jehu gathered up his reins, shouted to his horse, slashed away with the whip, and off we were in a regular Manx gallop, tumbling here and there, dashing from side to side, now in a rut and now out of one, until we reached the bottom of the hill-safely-yes, safely, and without a single broken bone; but with a very keen sense of relief, at having got over this hill; and a very urgent wish to know if there were any more like it before us. But to our description of the island-or rather, correctly speaking, to our notice of it. First, as to the name-the Isle of Man"-sometimes written with the double final consonant "Mann." This name is supposed to be a corruption of that of "Mannanen Mac Ler," from whom the Manx people date their origin, and who is supposed to have been the original founder and legislator of this people. Now this same Mannanen Mac Ler, or Mac Lir, or Mac Lear, some traditions state to have been the son of Alladius, king of Ulster, and brother to Fergus, the first of the Scottish This "Mannanen" seems also to have been something of a second Prospero-to have kept his island for days together under the friendly shadow of a mist when any foe threatened invasion-to have raised great storms to ward off sail inimical, and bidden the sun shine kindly on those who visited his shores with amicable intent. There is, indeed, another theory with regard to this potent necromancer, and this theory is, that he was a merchant of opulence and wealth; who ruled the island, not through the magic of his wand, but the power of his gold. This version of the tale, however, is unpoetical; so, as everything connected with the Isle of Man should breathe of poetry, we discard it. Among the early, and sometimes questionable, records of this island, we find that the Druids made it their resort when they fled from the Romans in Anglesea. This fact is borne out by the frequent Druidical remains in the island-by certain institutions and observances bearing token of Druidical origin. The Druids, in mere point of civilisation, were of great service to the Manx people, and rescued them from the semibarbarous state in which they found them; but, while advancing the cause of general civilisation, they retarded that of the Christian religion, for Christianity had been introduced among the Manx before this period. The Druids were successful in their efforts in this respect, until the early part of the fifth century, when Rome sent her emissaries to the island, and finally succeeded in establishing her own faith there. So much for the early ecclesiastical constitution. Now we come to the monarchical government, which we shall state as briefly as possible : Towards the beginning of the tenth century, Orry, a Danish prince, having achieved other victories, determined on the conquest of the Isle of Man. He succeeded in his determination, and ascended the throne under the title of "Res Manniæ et Insularum." King Orry died after a time, and was succeeded by his son, and then by a line of Danish and Norwegian kings, who at last surrendered the island to Alexander the Third, of Scotland, for the sum of 4000 marks-£2,666 13s. sterling. The Manx people, however, did not submit unresistingly to the Scottish yoke; internal quarrels and rebellions were the consequences, until Edward I. seized on the island, and gave it to John Baliol, to be held by him as a fief of the crown. Robert Bruce afterwards recovered it; but it was retaken by Edward II. After PEEL CASTLE. this, by grant, or otherwise, the island came into the possession of several noble families, and finally became the property of the Stanley family, one of whom was created Earl of Derby by Henry VII., of England. The courageous conduct of a lady of this house, in defending Castle Rushen against the Parliamentary forces of England, during the reign of Charles I., is a well-known historical fact. From the Derby family, through the female line of succession, it descended to James, second Duke of Athol. With some alterations as to the disposal of revenue, this family retained possession of it until 1829, when the whole of the remaining interest in the island was purchased by the English Government for the sum of £416,000. It would appear, by the tone of the Manx ballads of that day, that this purchase of their island by the British crown was anything but agreeable to the inhabitants. One of their songs, conveying this idea, runs thus : For the babes unborn will rue the day This poetical effusion does not present a very flattering view of the "old wives" of the Manx land. We must hope that under the British rule they have improved. The principal towns in the island are Douglas, Castletown, Peel, and Ramsey. Douglas far exceeds the others in size and population, and is the chief seat of commerce. It is beautifully situated, on the bay of the same name, and possesses both a harbour and a pier, the latter erected at a cost of £22,000. Public schools, libraries, mechanics' institutions, and, in fact, institutions of all kinds, abound in Douglas, as well as churches and chapels of every sect and denomination. The town itself (the old town we mean) consists of long and irregular streets, and is anything but inviting in appearance; but new streets and squares have of late years been built, and they are a great improvement on the old localities. There are several good hotels; the "Castle Mona," and the Fort Ann are considered the best. The former of these was originally the residence of the Duke of Athol, and was built by him at a cost of £35,000. It is a magnificent building, standing in its own grounds, and looks, like what it was once, a fine old ducal mansion. Castletown, the scene of insular Government, may be considered the next point of importance in the island. It was originally called "Rushen." The principal object of interest here is the Castle; "Castle Rushen," now used as a prison, and also containing apartments for the accommodation of the various courts of law. This edifice, which is in perfect preservation, is of Danish architecture; the date of its erection is placed somewhere about 947; but this is a matter of uncertainty. Castletown also contains several excellent schools, as well as King William's College, founded in 1830, 341 where a good solid education may be obtained at a very low rate. Next we notice Peel-a mere fishing village, situated on the West coast of the island, of little importance, known only as being the chief scene of the herring fishery-interesting from the beauty of its situation on a bold rocky coast, and from its holding the ruins of its venerable castle; a place of sad associations; rendered famous by the incarceration of many noble prisoners; among the more illustrious of whom may be named the unfortunate Eleanor Cobham, Duchess of Glo'ster, who was condemned on the charge of witchcraft, and sentenced to perpetual imprisonment by Henry VI. We have been in the dungeon, which for fourteen years was the sad scene of this unhappy lady's anguish. We have paced up and down its gloomy length; looked from its narrow port-hole windows, on the broad expanse of sea, the only thing visible; listened to the sullen plash of the waves against the rocks and walls, and wondered at man's ignorance and savage cruelty, in condemning a woman, a creature bred in the lap of luxury, reared with tenderness and care, to so horrible a fate, on so idiotic, so foul a charge. There is a legend connected with this castle, which may not be deemed out of place here. It is said that, in olden times, when the castle was fully garrisoned, a black dog—a spectre hound, of grim and threatening aspect-each night came from his goblin territory, and traversing the long, stony passage leading from the captain's quarters to the guard-room, squatted his unwelcome person or presence (whichever may be most consistent with his goblin nature) before the guard-room fire; remaining there till cockcrow, and then returning whence and as he came. One night (so the story goes) a soldier, rendered most valiant through the medium of his potations, determined to face this dreaded hound; and for that purpose followed him along the stony passage we have already mentioned. What happened is not recorded, but it is supposed that he had entered into some fearful struggle with the spectre, for on his returning to the guard-room, he was speechless. He never recovered from his midnight adventure, but died a few days after, without disclosing what he had seen, or what had happened to him. Now this is the legend, and all lovers of poetry will, of course, yield it implicit credence. For our own part, all we can say is that we have walked through the passage, taken the same route as the spectral hound, but not having met him, or seen any traces of him, we are not, on our own individual responsibility, prepared to corroborate the tale. Peel Castle is built on a rocky island, which can scarcely be called such, as it is only separated by a small sound from the mainland. Ramsey is the last place of which, for the present, we shall give any particular account. This town is on the eastern, or opposite side of the island, about sixteen miles from Peel. With the bright blue bay before it, stretching far and far away-the rocky headlands of Manghold promontory, and the point of Ayre, bounding the view on either side; the great hills towering behind, and looking down on the little place as if they loved to stand there and protect it-Ramsey is as beautiful a spot as human mind could desire. Then its glens, and valleys, and mountain walks-its trickling streams, and tiny waterfalls! Ramsey, with all thy faults, thou art a very lovely place, and we love thee very dearly still. We recollect thy glorious bay, with the bright moon shining on it, and making it seem like a sea of magic light-and that moon, no moon was ever so bright as the moon which shone in Ramsey. But in connection with this town, a tale comes into our mind; a tragedy of humble life-one of those sad events which hold a world of woe, and yet which excite in the callous multitude no stronger expression of sympathy than a careless "poor thing," simply because the sufferer was one of the wild flowers of the field, and not a prized exotic of the hothouse of the world! On the road between Ramsey and Peel stood a large, gloomy house, of which scarcely a vestige now remains. It was, in the days of which we write, an inn, kept by two old people of the name of Christian, who lived there with their daughter Kate, a very beautiful girl of some seventeen sum mers. How this Kate, with her laughing blue eyes and dimpled smile, and those cheeks that literally seemed to have stolen the bloom from the roses, which flowered all around the latticed window of her bedroom, could be the child of any persons so dry, hard, and forbidding as Roger Christian and his wife, remains a mystery, which the country people resolved by imputing to the fairies (all Manx people believe devoutly in faries) the sin of having changed one of their own race for the progeny of the innkeeper. Whether this were true or not, it is certain that Kate was just about as beautiful as aught of mortal clay could be-and this her old father, with even his blind eyes, could see-and even more than that he could see, and it is a pity he did not see to some good purpose, that a certain young Lord Roland, who had come to the island to escape from various unpleasant consequences of a reckless life, resulting from unliquidated bills and the like, was winning poor Kate's heart. Now good Kate Christian, with all her goodness and all her beauty, was no fitting mate for one of a noble stock; and so Lord Roland himself felt; yet he still sat, and talked, and sang with the girl; still looked on her lovely face, with eyes which spoke the admiration his tongue also uttered. Had any And Kate almost worshipped him. told her that he would have wronged her, she would have laughed them to scorn. She never thought how their intimacy would end; she did not feel herself worthy of being his wife, such a thought would have seemed presumption to her; but anything except the wife-her mind was too pure even to conceive or entertain that thought. But these attachments come on very insidiously, and so it was in the present instance. She still walked with him in the clear moonlight, and listened to him as he talked to her, and questioned him of all that her mind craved to know-for Lord Roland had a clear and cultivated intellect, and chained the girl to him as much by its strength as by anything else. But a dreadful trial was in store for Kate; a trial she had never expected. An old uncle of Lord Roland's died, and left him the whole of his vast property. Of course this cleared away all necessity on his part for a lengthened residence in the Isle of Man; he had learned to love her— perhaps we might say he had contracted the habit of loving her, for very often, after all, what is mistaken for love is nothing more than a habit. We are thrown constantly with some one, and we naturally look for the daily companionship of that one, and we miss such when we cannot have it. But this is not love; it is the mock gem; the diamond paste; contrast it with the real stone, and its cheat appears; subject it to some test, and its real value is discovered. Lord Roland thought a great deal about going away, but he never thought of taking her with him and making her his wife-no, now he was a rich man he felt that could never be. While poor, and when he had before him the prospect of spending his life in the island, he fancied she might be his amusement, his toy; but now, when she seemed to stand between him and his former friends and companions, why it was a different affair. At first he lacked the courage to tell Kate that he was going away from her, but he broke it to her by degrees-at first he spoke of the "probability of being obliged to leave for a short time" -and even that drove a dagger to poor Kate's heart-then he hinted at the day when he would be obliged to go-and Kate could have dropped as, with outward calm, she listened to him. "You will soon be back, dear Roland," she would say, soon be back, the sun will never shine on me while you are gone." "It shone on you before I came Kate; you would soon forget me." But he did not believe what he uttered; in his vile selfishness, he did not wish to believe it. At last a letter came from his mother requiring his instant return. He showed it to Kate; he told her he could linger no longer-and what did the poor child do? She clung to him in agony of grief; she besought him not to leave her; she had an instinctive feeling that the diamond of his affection would not stand the test-the one great test of absence-she offered, nay, she implored, to be allowed to go with him-she set aside every feeling which should have made her drive him from her, and she offered to accompany him-anything so that she need not part from him. And he basely profited by her devotion, and accepted the fearful sacrifice. Weeks passed on quickly; yet Lord Roland still lingered near Kate. Some KATE CHRISTIAN. times he felt anxious about her for her sweet face did not at all times now wear its sunny aspect; it became sad, very sad-and a smile never lit up those lovely eyes, save when they looked into Roland's, and reflected his glance. On a clear and balmy night, a summer night in the Isle of Man, they walked together along the cliffs which lead from Ramsay towards the point of Ayre. The path was broken and uneven; but Kate did not mind, for Roland's arm was round her, and she could not fall while upheld by him. Alas, poor girl! her greatest fall was caused by him. At times something very like a sob would come from her, and there were large drops rolling down her pallid cheeks. How could he cause such anguish, when he had the power of transforming it to pure and spotless joy? How could he refrain from saying "Mine, Kate, mine-my own, my wife; let the whole world stand between us with its sophistry and its false doctrines of conventionality-with its sneer, and pride, and cowardice ?" But he did not do this. He feared to hold up to the world, as the future Lady Roland, the simple, unknown Manx girl, while he did not fear (that which was a far more worthy object for fear) to break her heart, and sin in doing that. "Kate-dear Kate"-and his cruel voice, cruel in its tone of mocking, cheating kindness, whispered to her" Kate! look up, dear love !--you do not repent this compact between us; surely you, Kate, reared in this wild spot, are above the fancies of the world. Nay, dear-do you doubt me? Do you deem that, because no priestly ceremony has passed between us, I can forget, forsake you? Speak, and say if this little trembling hand could be mine more exclusively for the fancied tie of the golden marriage circlet ?" What could she answer, poor child? She was unskilled in the cheating sophistry he used. She felt all she wished to utter, but lacked courage to tell him all she felt. "Look up, Kate dear"—and he smiled on her; "I shall not be gone for long, and then, when I return, our future life will be spent here, wandering along these lovely shores, listening to the rippling of the dancing waves, and the distant cry of the sad sea bird, who calls its absent mate; and we shall feel for the poor lonely bird, Kate, and, looking into each other's eyes, whisper-Even thus we were absent, lonely, once; but that time is past.' "Roland"—and she clung more closely to him -"why must you go to that great noisy town, where everything will make you forget me? Can you not be happy here-as happy as you have been hitherto ?" 543 go with him. She had pled to him in vain-and now she would suffer rather than again crave that which he denied. So she lay there on his shoulder, very still and quiet, and thinking of nothing but his departure. Every feeling of earth was en bodied in that one thought. As she walked home, she seemed in a kind of dream; for when he spoke she did not answer him, but kept her eyes fixed on some distant spot. Suddenly she stopped, and trembled violently. "Roland!"-her voice was in a whisper-" do you hear that low, mournful, melancholy chaunt, coming like the breath of the southern wind over sea and land? Can you not hear it, as it dies away and then swells again on the trembling senses? It tells of woe-of death. There !-see you not that tall spectral form striding from peak to peak of yon distant mountains ?-and that scream echoing through the rocky glen? Roland! you must hear that!-but," and she flung his hand impatiently away, "you are of southern blood, and your dull senses open not to the fairy sounds of our island." He looked at her in alarm. Her wild excitement startled him her face was pale as death; her lips moved; she had forgotten him-everything in the vivid pictures of her own imagination, She walked on quickly beside him, until they came to one of those breaches or valleys which intersect the cliffs. For a moment she stood on the edge of the precipice; she staggered, and would have fallen, but he caught her in his arms. Kate!" She seemed to be awaking from a dream. "I fancied, dear Roland," she said, "that I was alone, that you had left me, and the elfin guardians of the island seemed to lead me on whither I knew not; but come, Roland, the fancy is passed away now." He led her carefully on, and for the first time, perhaps, he felt as seriously towards her as such a man could feel. He even thought, could he venture to marry her? He had spent many and many a happy month with her, but marriage was a different thing. "She would not be happy in his station of life," he argued. "She would meet with perpetual mortifications and slights." All sophistry! He could have made her happy anywhere, and he knew it only too well. Within the next four and twenty hours, Roland stood on the pier at Douglas. And Kate! poor forsaken Kate, wept in her Ramsey home, until she wept her tears away; and then her grief became too deep, for this expression of her woe. Weeks and months passed, and Roland lingered still in London. Could he be expected to remember poor lonely Kate? He surrounded with a thousand objects of interest, was it reasonable to expect this, of him; the mere man of pleasure to cling to that one gentle, loving nature? When first he went away, she believed he would come back very soon; then when that hope faded, she |