Sketcher.

Southern Cross, Volume 1, Issue 40, 30 December 1893, Page 6

Sketcher.

IN MANXLAND

(By Aurora.)

My first view of Douglas was not inspiriting. I saw “ Bovril ” on the top of the mountain, “Beecham’s Pills ” on the huge sail of a boat gliding along the coast, and “ Pear’s soap v on the most picturesque point of the shore ; but as soon as I got over the shock of these advertising eccentricities, I had time to admire the beauties of the bay —a miniature Bay of Naples, with a background of the most enchanting green hills and valleys. Douglas is a famous little town in theatricals annals- Henry Irving was once in the stock company of the old Douglas theatre. When Toole was playing in the Island some veeks ago the great tragedian telegraphed him where to buy his trippers. (By the bye, on the way home we were very much startled in the saloon one day by hearing a well-to-do illiterate lady passenger exclaim, “ The first meal I mean to have when I got ashore is an ’ erring .” To my amazement she hailed from Manx’s Isle, and evidently had pleasant recollections of the Manxman’s favourite dish.) John Coleman was a theatrical lessee there. Sothern and Montgomery starred there on alternate nights. Wilson Barrett was a member of the stock company, so was Edward Terry. You may wonder how I know all about these things. You can’t talk to a Manxman long before this important information is laid before you, especially if they know you are on the look-out for information. They are proud of their island, and proud of all the big men who visit there. Many volumes have been filled with the glories of “Mannin Veg Yeen,” and I am not surprised. The people and place are utterly different to anything I have ever seen. One of ray most pleasant recollections of various holidays on the island is a climb with a versatile companion over one of the chief Manx mountains —South Barrule. We set out from Castletown with intent simply to ascend and descend. After a glorious walk through country lanes, between the greenest and most delightful of hedges- —you are not yet old enough in New Zealand to grow anything but barbed wire fences —we arrived at the foot of the mountain. I had heard that there were several Druidical circles about, and so I pointed out to my companion various aggregations of rocks as veritable Stonehenges. When I came to the sixth or seventh, however, she began to impugn my veracity, in a shameless manner, After arguing the question at length, we resolutely set our faces toward the summit. I came in a bad second in a rough-and tumble race, and set down on a cairn to devour sandwiches and to survey the prospect. While we were thus refreshing ourselves I told ray companion how the good Manx folk in former times had been wont to climb Barrule on the first Sunday in August, how St. Augustine or Martin Luther, or John Wesley had once improved the occasion, and how, in

consequence, that most excellent and energetic custom had lapsed through incessant pulpiteering. I also pointed out Cronk-na-Irey-Shaa (I cannot pretend to pronounce, but it means the Hill of the Rising Sun), and told her how in ancient and barbarous times witches had been gaily trundled down its steep slope in tar-barrels internally and most grievously spiked. After this she suggested that we should move on, and spying Peel in the distance we changed our mind and our course, and decided to make for that. This we did at a breakneck speed. I am prepared to make affidavit that that mountain side 'was never descended with greater alacrity. I have often wondered since that there were not more mishaps, but beyond the effects of an occasional sprawl, we were none the worse. But here I have been chattering about a mountain-climbing expedition when I should have been soberly discussing the subject at the top of this paper. I cannot lose the present opportunity of mentioning a startling notice which caught my eye at a railway station between Douglas and Castletown. “ The Snaefell and Sulby Glen, the most beautiful scenery in the Isle of Man. Closed on Sundays .” The italics are mine. Fancy closing the scenery on Sunday ! Could any but a Manx brain have conceived such an idea ?

But I must draw in my horns, and merely observe that if any of you visit this little island you must choose a favourable day for crossing the Irish Sea, and you will probably come to the conclusion that Mona can have lost little of its beauty since the day when the first King Orry came sailing in his shadowy ship along the Milky Way.