Newspaper Page Text
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A LIVING LIE,
THE STORY OF A DOUBLE LIFE.
I3y Lily Tinsley, Magazine,"
Author of “A Day of Reckoning," “In the Ring,” “The Child of the Shadow “A
London Secret,” “Cousin Dick.” "Blaoz water Towers," ifco.
[Copyright, 1892, by Tillotson & So*.]
CHAPTER 111.
THE REST OP THE WIT,
As will perhaps be guessed this other bus
iness of the arch fiend, who wua fighting
thus desperately for hie safety against such
tremendous odds, was to do with the letter
he bad found so opportunely in Leonard
Forrester’s room.
That the business was of even greater im
portance, not the closest watcher, bad he
bad any, could have told. Through the
sunlit streets, along which the unhappy lsd
in his Innocent guilt had passed, with dowu
bent bead, feet whioh had seemed at each
step to grow heavier and heavier, and
bated breath—a bunted beast, as it were, in
his consciousness of his powerless. es* to es
cape from the dread of the past —this fellow
man of his made bis way with erect and
gallant bearing, which called forth more
than one admiring comment from those
who met him—nay with a smile and a song
alternately upon his lips.
This—and not oniy was the lad’s guilt
linads double as it were by that cruel
deceit), upon him to the utmost—but in the
future—nay, in the very present, as it wore,
his band was ready for the performance of
anew crime—which, despite it may not at
first seem possible—was to be even yet more
terrible than the first.
All unknowing of the inopportune deliv
ery of her anonymous letter to Leo, and the
evil which was more than likely to ensue
from the latest ohanoe in her husband's
favor, Madge Royal, herself securely dis
guised, was early at the tryst she had ap
pointed in it. This was a secluded spot at
the edge of a wood not a mile from Hunt
ingford Hall, just, indeed, where a thicket
bordered the stream, not many yards above
Its birthplace, the mill.
Madge’s way thither had been less direct,
certainly less resolutely taken, than her
husband's. Many and many a fearful
glance had she cast behind her. More than
once the had turned back and retraced her
etepa even more hastily than she had traced
them. And even, when at length she
reached the end of her journey ing, though
she was faint and weary with the weakness
of body which could not but accompany so
' terribly sore a mind as hers, she did not
dare to trust herself to the comparatively
restful seat of the stile close at hand, but
shrank, crouched, as it were, beneath the
■halter of the hedge, remaining motionless
as a dusky statue herself, save when her
fear made her start up with a look of un
told dread on her white face, only to cronch
down the next moment lower than before.
Was it a shadow of the evil coming so
fast upon her which possessed her?
Who could tell?
What was her mission, if not already
guessed, her thoughts will perhaps best
tell—this briefly, for in tbe terror to whioh
the was a prey, even while with that strong
will which had hitherto kept her up when
the other ninety-nine women out of a hun
dred must have fallen, sbe defied it. Hhe
seemed to have lost all power to do any
thing but repeat over and over again to
herself the one idea whioh led her on.
“To risk so much—to dare reveal half
tbe truth when the whole means what I
dare not even dream! But yet how could
I let this cruel work go on, when by a
word I might prevent it?—how let such a
blight rest upon tbe lives of those wbo are
not only innocent, but who, even while be
lieving me worthless like all the rest of the
world, of all that world were kind and
gentle to me? She did not sbriuk
and turn from me as others
did. He would have kept his word
and saved me, at almost any cost,
when in my folly I led him into the very
danger I meant to have warned him against.
Yes, I must do it. I must save them—and
save Ralph from this other sin of letting
them suffer for his sin.”
Brave, noble heart! even in its fear and
dread, that despite all the long list of bitter
failures in tbe past. It could yet be true to
tbe vow so lightly taken in comparison to
tbe work of fulfilment—to save tbeuDbappy
soul which was so strangely linked to it.
What then were the unhappy girl’s feel
ings when tbe end of all her hoping a; and
fearing was that, in the place of I Leonard
Forrester, her husband stood before her
suddenly.
Though she had been aware of his coming
by the sound of his footsteps along the
pathway through the wood, by that time
tbe gloaming bad so deepened that he was
close upon her before she could reooguize
him in his true character.
Yet even had it been otherwise —had she
been able to decry him so much as a mile
away, it would have been all the same to
her. She would have had no power to make
good her escape, however, easily or safely.
It was a pitiful proof indeed, of her belief
to tbe full in the evil of her master, that she
never as much as betrayed one sign of sur
prise in the midst of her fear that indeed
was soul-stricken —at his uppearanoe before
her.
It was a proof, too, despite that fear —if
any such was needed—of her valor In the
case, whioh was so nearly at an end,
gj. Ay—very nearly.
Short and sharp was to be this last inter
view between Royal and his unhappy wife.
-Quite coolly, as he had oome all tne long
way from tbe town, ha stepped up closely
to ner—as in her very fear she no longer
crouched in]the shadow, but reared up tall
and white-faced iu the dim light—beautiful
in face and form as ever, defying time and
trouble still, as she had onoe so idly, as it
seemed, promised to do.
But he heeded such gifts as little now as
ever, utterly careless as pitiless.
“Bo it’s you,” he said briefly. "I thought
I was not likely to be mistaken."
And with that crafty cruelty that he
had never at any time failed to show
toward her, of all his victims—none tbe less
that she was tbe least deserving of all—be
droe- from his pocket the letter, by means
of which chance had given him one of the
many opportunities he so sorely needed—
that she might not fail to know—if indeed
she could —that it was sbe herself who had
laid her own trap.
She, however, paid but little heod to the
means of bis latest turn of the scale of cruel
fate against her. It was sufficient for her
that sbe knew in advance that she had
failed once more in her endeavor to stay on
its downward course the avalanche of evil
which her husband had set in motion.
Ay; and she knew more even than that.
Despite the villain wore his mask so well
that not a feature of bis handsome face was
marred—tbe smile and song scarcely indeed
faded from bis lips—she knew that this time
she had not merely failed—to tako up heart
as beet she could, and try again—that she
had had her best chance and lost it.
She made no attempt to offer any excuses
provtDg how absolutely useless,if not worse,
■be knew them to be; this even though she
might have gained a little time to have
found strength, if not to make any reost
anoe to her fate—that wai impossible in
her love; if a weapon of defence, tbe most
sure and safe, had beeu placed in her hand
she could not have lifted it against what
ever torture at least to have met that (a:o
In the spirit in which she had tried so bard
to live.
lusto and, when to the single question which
feu from her lipe, rather than was uttered,
so low and yet unbroken in 1 heir music,
were the aot ents, “Ralph, what are you
going to dof’ bis reply announced his In ten
Uoa as briefly as vividly.
"I am goiug to kill vou”—she did not
■•ream even.
But she would not have been mortal not
t > have shrank, if for his sake as much as
her own.
For her piea for mercy was, “For God’s
sake no—Ralph, don’t—you dare not do it!"
And with it her hands went out, not in self
detense, but to oliug to him as if by bodily
force, since all else was unavailing to keep
him back from the accomplishment of bis
fell purpose.
For a moment or so, strange us it may
seem, he did not shake her off.
Had any eye of man seen them ho stand
together, it might easily have believed that
he it was who was being overcome—by
good— not to resolutely set to accomplish
such terrible evil.
Fet, truly, he was; for the girl was not
content with her first, as it were, impulsive
pleading, but did net fail to substantiate it
by every meaus in her power. By every
endeavor, every woman's art she strove to
win from him the mercy she knew all the
while would not bo vouchsafed. Rearing
up before him in new, strange, almost awe
some beauty; falling ou her knees in her
prayerfulnese. scrupling not merely to cling
to him, but to twine her long arms round
bis neck; ay, eveu at last to
press, not merely her face—ail glowing now
with the intensity of her earnestuess—-to
his cold inarbie one, but to rain upon it
kisses, even upon the lips which had already
spoken in a matt >r in which they for once
at least were not likely to have lied.
Ah, it was strange, most strange to think,
and terrible as strange, such a scene.
Surely never before had these womanly
arts been used to such an eud. To subdue
and oajule for love or vanity, often, to win
the preoicus boon of life—nay more, to
save a soul if such savings could be—
never!
But to no avail.
Though that last touch—the kisses on
his lips—might have stirred him to some
response of whatever sort, it was not so
with Royal. It was the striking of a
cbuch clock in the distant town which
called him to act.
The time was come for what he had/ set
himself to do, and he would do it.
That he had displayed no w eapon, nor by
any gesture ind cated the possession of such,
had not oaused the girl to doubt the full
ness of his dark intent.
It, had been her eyes, indeed, whioh had
traveled so often, while she had pleaded, to
the narrow stream, which ran almost at
their feet as they stood. She knew it was
deep and swift and would serve his purpose
as surely as he in setting himself to bis task
had been assured tbst chance was as certain
to befriend him in ibis instance as in every
other.
None the less, because of that knowledge
when roused to action st last, it was, as it
were, an involuntary one. Namely, mak
ing a step back from her be all but lost his
balance on the sloping bank, so that with a
cry at last of fear, sue made a movement
forward, and caught him by the arm.
Had it beeu his trick to put her off her
guard or not?
It mattered little; but at least he had a
little overcalculated his balance, and must
have fallen into tbe rushing stream but for
her.
And so she had saved him.
But least of all could that save her?
He recovered himself sooner than she.
It was done! Heaven alone knows how!
Did he catch her up in his arms in the
embrace she bad ever prayed for In vain,
and so cast her headlong into the oruel
water ? Or did be strike at her as she stood
before him —strike her down iike a log to
the earth.aud then drag her by her glory of
dusky hair to river’s the reedy edge, and so
let her be sucked down—down into surging
tide? It mattered little.
It was done —this other deed of dread.
She who so lately had stood up in all her
pride of life and beauty, lay upon the
bosom of the rushing stream,still as already
lifeless.
Not as in that other case would this
crime be hidden.
This little river could not keep Its secret
as did the mighty London one.
Not hidden!
Who says not? Thestream.it was true,
was not wide nor so well stored with such
secrets as to confound them, but it would do
its work as well; for in its midst was a great
gaunt monster with not merely gaping
jaws, but grinding teeth, which would
devour, or at all events rend to pieoes, be
youd all recognition, whatsoever came
within its reach.
The swiftly-flowing water would bear its
burden, swiftly, swiftly to where the tor
rent became an eddy, to where the great
mill wheel whirled unoeasingly round and
round. There would be not a sound other
than of splash and roar of the water; the
wheel would grind perhaps a little slower
than usual, stagger even for a moment, and
then go on, on, on as ever, and not a trace
be left save a dull, red stain for a while on
the snowy foam, soon alike to fade and die
out.
Chance again, It seemed—a ghastly
chance favored tbe murderer.
But ho could neither rejoice or be glad.
Only his work done—flee away—away from
the place as far as his feet would carry
him
It was well he did so, for the consumma
tion of his plans seemed to be likely to be
even yet more horrible that had at first
seemed possible.
Roused from her insensibility by the
touoh of the ioy water, the drowning woman
made frantic efforts to save herself, seeking
to stay her oourse by means of the weeds
and grass at hand, but in vain only to drift
nearer and nearer the even yet more certain
more terrible destruction.
This truth, uuremembered or recognized
in the other danger, suddenly seemed to
burst upon her.
For tbe moment the knowledge so par
alyzed her strength of mind and body that
her senses seemed again on tbe point of
leaving her. But in time she gathered up
the strength to try and save herself once
more, though the cry of bitter anguish
which was wruug from her lips seemed ut
terly vain in those desolate regions. There
were of course men at work in the mill, but
the noise of water and the machinery would
of necessity deafen their ears to auy voice,
most of all one so weak and faint as her*.
But it hat been said, in time, she cried out.
For desolate as was the spot—the mur
derer even already too far away for the
faimest echo of it to reach him,even had he
not been deaf to to any sound but the
thumping of his doubly-burdened heart
against his side—the cry for help was none
the less heard and answered.
“Is it my fancy, or are they already on
my track? It is sooner than I said; but
what if they have followed up tho clew
sooner to make su. e. I distinctly saw three
figures dart across the edge of the copse.
Royal was right. I haven't a moment to
lose, but I will see her once more and do
what I can to put myself right m her eyes.
If they are after me, that cut across the
oommon aud back around to the edge of the
wood will put them off the scent a bit, aud
I ball have just time. Gome what may I
will make it.”
Needless to say whose were the foregoing
thoughts. Hcareoly knowing what be did
in blind obedience to Royal’s directions
I,eonard Ferret had set out on his journey.
Yet was it s ' indeed? This way bn was in.
whs not that his master bad mapped out for
him. No, for chance, ay chance again, had
inspired him to disobedience.
it was not strange that the great inter
ests at stake in bis innocent flight should
more than confirm iu him the instructive
fear of being followed and overtaken by hi*
pursuers, whi h had hauuted aud hounded
him iu bis guilt
THE MORNING NEWS: SUNDAY, DECEMBER 11; 1892—SIXTEEN PAGES.
Very real indeed waa the belief, ao much
so that recovering from the moment of in
creased terror with which Madge's scream
inspired him, though realizing at a glam-e
her danger—his first instinct was of self
preservation.
Not only was he but a very poor swim
mer, even if any art or skill would avail
against the power of those gaping jaws of
the millwheel, but to delay so m :oh as one
moma.it was, or seemed to' him, to lose the
advantage he had gained over the pursuers
he believed upon his track—to fall into their
hands, perhaps, beyond all power to save
himself.
It was only a brief instant the struggle
lasted. That it had to be fought at all was
sure no mark against the lad. for after all
his life was very dear to him then, even in
the dazed, half mad condition into which
Royal bad tortured him—dearer than ever
because of the knowledge of his innocence,
and the oontrast to what bad so lately been
bis living death iu bis supposed guilt.
And after all it was more than his own
safety he held in his hand, but what was
dearer by far—that of those he loved, as he
was proving in this very danger of bis
flight
That be conquered was then all the more
honor.
Conquer he did.
To the winds with all but the knowledge
of the terrible fate which awaited a frail
woman before his very eves—which he
must do his best to avert —if it was eveu to
share.
It was well he set to bis task so fully alive
to all its danger, for very nearly, very
nearly was the full prioe of such heroism
paid.
How he reached the now unconscious
woman he scarcely knew. Her progress for
the moment mnst have been stayed by ths
reeds and bushes. But reach her he did—
though almost as he grasped her by the
nearest fold of her cloak the stream bore
them each alike —onward, nearer and nearer
to the more terrible death.
Nearer aud nearer. Not even the strongest,
most skilful of swimmers could have made
head way against such a tide, no power on
earth, it seemed, could save them.
Full well Leo knew this. And the
woman, whose senses had now ocrue back
to her once more, recognized it more clearly
than he.
With a last Instinct of her noble nature
she cried out to her preserver to let her go
and save himself.
But he paid no heed, only bade her trust
to him and be of good c'neer, though his
heart more than sickened at the fate which
was so near and bo terrible.
Onward and onward. Nearer and nearer.
Another moment and it would be too late.
With an agonized prayer, but never los
ing his hold upon the woman, for whom, in
vain it seemed, he bad given his life, the
lad closed his eyes, and oreparod to meet
bis fate.
Onward and onward. Nearer and nearer.
A stop. A crushing sensation and all would
be over.
Onward and onward. Nearer and nearer.
A stop.
What waa this!
Surely this was not death. The roar and
splash of the water seemed suddenly to
grow fainter, that terrible, helpless, drift
ing onward, to cease.
Wbat was it?
Scaroely daring to think, muoh less to
hope, Leo opened bis eyes.
Nothing but a miracle could have saved
them. And such it seemed bad been ac *
ootnpllined.
At the very moment the gaping jaws of
death w mid have seized their prey, a hand
upon the machinery had, as it wore, closed
them.
The day’s work was done—the mill wheel
stayed still.
The two—reecuer and rescued—were safe
from that danger at least.
But anew uue threatened them. Unsup
ported by rush of the tide, Madge once
more uuoousclous, began to sink, dragging
down her rescuer with her.
Greater than ever was his impulse to let
go his hold upon her. But resisting it he
struok out blindly with his free hand in a
vain hope of trying to keep afloat.
To his surprise and joy his fingers struok
sharply against s>meLhing hard and sub
stantial. Distinctively he closed them round
it; not a moment too soon, for even then
his arm, upon whioh the girl hung a per
fectly dead weight, received a horrible
wrench.
But he never heeded the pain iu his almost
delirious joy at this second rescue.
Yes. saved. This time entirely, for not
only was it that he clung to the mill wheel
as to a rook, but crossing the bridge from
the mill itself were the miller and his men,
who, in answer to his shout for help, sprang
at once into a boat moored to a stake in the
bank, and came as fast as oars could bring
them across the stream.
Iu a few moments the double rescue was
entirely accomplishes.
But to what end? When the woman in
whoee hands was the double—ay, double, as
ho was to learn—safety of her rescuer—lay
like one dead—incapable of giving so much
as one sign of warning to him.
He, indeed, did not wait for any suoh.
Pressing upon the kindly miller some
money to eosure her being attended to—he
would not stay so muoh as to dry his wet
clothes or to bind up the uglv out on his
forehead, whioh in his efforts’to raise the
givl well out of the water till the boat came
near, the wheel had inflicted.
His sole aim was to get on his way as
quickly as might lie—his fear now double,
for not only had he lost far more time than
he could afford, but had as well no idea how
far behind were his real or imaginary pur
suer*.
Away he sped once more—gallant res
cuer that he was—like a hunted hound.
And so it seemed chance once more after
all favored Royal—had saved him from this
great sin and at no risk to himself. This,
none the less, that it was no fancy of the
lad’* at all that he was being tracked. At
the moment of the delivery of the lad’s ill
omened confession at the police station,
there had been present within it a spirit
of authority, who had not only in
spired the somewhat sleepy officers of
justice therein to action—but imbued with
a feeling of interest for which he was utterly
unable to account, had himself taken the
lead in the matter. He had not counted
upon the affair taking the turn It had, i. e.,
in lieu of the latter proving a mere trick—a
chance clew leading to the tracking of the
author, as it were, across the country.
Still less did he dream, wneu that track
ing led across a bridge over a mill stream,
that justice, in being beforehand la the
matter, was, in reality, overrunning itself
the confessed and escaped murderer—safe
fram capture then at least iu the danger of
the rushing tide below.
[TO ER CONCLPDED.]
The Testimonials
Published on behalf of Hood’s Sarsaprillaa
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Old Gent (reflectively)—He might do nicely as
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“How do you enjoy the bagpipes. Miss
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Miss Crasher—O, I think they are horrid; I
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Ocean.
“O, pipa! I know what makes peopls laugh
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W A K EM AN WAN DERINGS
THE LI TTLE MANX ISLAND AND
ITS FOLK— 11.
A Series of Charming Pictures of
Manxland—lsland scenes From High
est Mountain Peak to ISdga of Cir
cling Sea, Whereat a Stride One May
Pass From the Nineteenth to the
Fifth Century.
ICowriohUi
Ramsey, Isle or Man, Nov. 23.— You
will always have the Isle of Man dearest as
a series of charming p otures in your mem
ory after you have sailed around the island.
It is only a little journey of seventy-five or
eighty miles. The steamers bring you from
Douglas to Douglas again in only six hours’
time. Pleasanter still is it ti engage a
smart little craft and alone or with friends
idle along at will with wind or tide, gain
ing much Manx color and feeling from your
grave and serious skipper’s tales, and com
ing close to the fisher life of the countless
half hid coves and bays.
Besides, in this way with a zood marine
glass you can scan every square foot of
Manxland. There is n iwl.ere a greater dis
tance than six or seven miles from highest
mountain peak to edge of oirding sea. The
beautiful topographical configuration of the
isiand is thus made memorable. From a
mile or two at sea, off Douglas, which shines
from its crescent bay with almost the brill
iancy of Naples, the cnlef mountain range
shows at its best. It extends th. ee-fourths
of the island’s length, almost os centrally
as a line oould be drawn.
And every one of the pleasant Manx
mountains is ia full view. There is Bouth
Barrula, tbe southernmost. Tuen comes
the Cairn and Greeba. Between these is
the great valley pass leading from Douglas,
the maitime eastern capital of Man, to an
cient Peel, its western p >rt, a nueold fishing
town, reminding of Cornish St. Ives. A
flood of light seems to break each way
through this deep, wide pass. Between the
Cairn and Greeba is the famous Manx
Mecca of Druidic origin, Tynwald mount,
where all the laws of Manxland are still
annually proclaimed.
Colden, Sartfell and Beinny Phott group
closely to the north, and then comes
Snaefell, mountain monarch of Manxland,
his only northern rival, giant North Bar
rule, which breaks into savage Maughton
head, by pleasant Ramsey bay. It is a
strange feeling that you can sea half the
homes of the entire Manx nation at a glance.
From the top of Snaefell you can see them
all. Besides, from the same place you can
look far into Ireland, Scotland, England
and Wales.
Coastiug to the north, the ever changing
panorama of iu view,
first comes Laxey hay and village, tbe latter
at tbe entrance to a witching glen, sur
rounded by noble hills, whose sides are
thickly dotted with stone monuments left
by the earlier island races. Here is als .
found a great oairn called King Orrv’s
grave, which tradition and dim Manx his
tory assign to the bones of the Danish prince
who more than I,OOJ years ago gave the
Manxmen freeraeu’g rights. Older than
Orry’s bones are the Laxey mines, the only
ones of importance in Mao, which possesses
the famous Laxey overshot water-wheel,
said to be the largest In the world.
Perhaps six miles farther to the north,
and your craft will be abreast of Maughold
Head. It is a weird aud grand old head
land, and the vicinity has for ages pos
sessed a reverential awe to all seafaring
folk. This has been due to the miracles
wrought at its holy well, and to the odor of
sanctity left upon the place by St. Maugh
old. Tne latter was in his early life a gay
and wicked Irish prince. Converted by the
preaching of the good St. Patrick, he de
termined to renounce the world. He put to
sea in a wicker boat, giving himself up to
the meroy of the winds and waves. He was
driven ashore here on the most inaccessible
coast of Man. The holy well or fountain
burst from tbs spot where he first gained
safe ground.
Then followed the wonderful conversion
to Christianity from paganism of the Manx
people. The very walls of the curious old
St. Maughold church were built by this
evangelist, and one of the strangest and
most venerable crosses in Britain, the cross
of St. Maughold, still standing iu the an
cient churchyard, was erected .ocommemo
rate |the saint’s deliverance from the sea
and his conversion of the Manx people.
One side of this remarkable relic contains a
carving of St. Maughold; another of the
Virgin and Child; and a later embellish
ment on a third side depicts the crucifix, to
which is joined the arms of Man—the three
bent legs, with the brave motto: “Whichever
way thrown (or casti, it stands.” The entire
district is a bit of unchangeable antiquity,
bound by primitive customs, enmeshed in
tbe strangest superstitions. Illustrative,
the parish clerk is still elected by tbe votes
of only those parishioners who “put out
smoke,” that is, whose habitations possess a
chimney; aud a near Runic cross by the
roadside is a profane old female wool car
rier who, for cursing at the wind, was
turned to stoue.
When Maughold Head is rounded, the
long reach of Ramsey bay, extending nine
miles to Point of Avre, the northernmost
headland of Man, gives a scene of unsur
passed beauty and interest. The red cliffs
trace an almost Vermillion shore line be
tween the bine of the sea and the shimmer
ing gold of the upland gorse. At the cen
ter of the bay is the fine old town, iis
ancient walls and roofs contrasting
strangely with its modern ways and facades.
A sleepy yet bright old face has Ramsey;
like some nodding grandam whom hoyden
children have stolen upon in her sleen to
beflower and benbbon and who, on waking,
has as much mischief in her glad old eyes
as in the merry hearts that made the frolic.
To the right and left, villas and villages
innumerable; and behind, but a mile or
two away, the golden gorse is blended with
the purples and mists among the hights of
North Barrule.
In rounding the Point of Ayre your skip
per will cease his tales and attend closely to
his little craft. It is a dangerous ocean
way. The meeting of the tides causes
almost a maelstrom, “tho Streeu,” or strife,
contention, the Manx call it. All around
the northern c ast, which is low. from sea
to sward are strauge terraces of sea cobbles;
small, polished stones as round os cannon
balls. They are constantly changing their
position from the action of the waters, aid
are as treacherous to the foot as quicksands.
Between Ayre light house and the northern
base of the mountains, perhaps anjeigbth of
the total area of Mau, is* an almost level
plain. It is called the “Curragh.” The
most primitive of the Manx peasantry are
found here; and Celtic affinities are most
pronounced. In more than UK) tiny hamlets
like the “auld clachans” of the Scottish
Highlands you will find fully nine-tenths
possessing the Celtic appellative Ball (townl,
as Ballavurkisb, Ballakinuag, Bailaheauey,
and the like.
All along down the west coast your in
terest will be divided botwoen glimpses of
strange old Manx hamlets peeping from the
mountain bases where flashes of foaming
streams tremble like the gor3e tops upon the
hills, with the splendid mountain views be
hind and above, and the plainly discerned
Irish coast where the Mourne mountains
through the distance cover with purple their
emerald green. But at last here Is aQcieut
Peel, Thistle Head and St. Patriok Isle.
Miles of white strand thread along the coast
to the brown old nest upon tho rocks, like a
shining wav of faith leading unfalteringly
to a dateless antiquity. No cobweb lover
will he disgruntled that a broom of prog
re *s has modernized PeeL Everything is
old and mellow and dim. The bundle Is of
fishing craft forming with their old masts
an antique tracery before the town seem to
belong to a forgotten age. Dark are its
walls, narrow its streets, tiny its windows,
grave and sileut its people.
Gray aud old aud more forbidding than
all else is its o ice mighty castle at the har
bor mouth. It stands ou Patrick's Holm,
or Bt. Patrick’s islaud, seven acres in ex
tent. Venerable, haunted and hallowed
all. Hallowed and venerable for Bt.
Patriok himself raised the beginnings of
the church on whose site tbe half rums of a
great cathedral are now found. Haunted
because of inexpressible cruelties
snd foul murders iu crypts and oastle bare.
Through these lofty pillars, heudmgjsrches,
hollow galleries aud by these disman
tled altars one can stride from the
nineteenth to the fifth oeutury. In the sad
dening echoes of the sea calls he can hear
the meanings of the imprisoned Eleanor,
the curses of H anley, the triumphant “Al
lelujah I” of Germanu* that put to rout the
Baxons iu the bloody Flintshire fields.
Hauntel, more than all else to MaDxiand
mind, because it is the abiding place for all
time of that most terrible of Manx powers
of darkness, the black and dreadful “Moody
Dhoo.”
From Peel to Port Erin is a match lassie
wild and romantio reach of coast. There is
scarcely a break in the lofty, precipitous
wall. And what a grand spot is this Port
Erin and environs! The Manx mountains
rise solemu aud dark behind. The bay is
an alimst landlocked cove. Tremendous
Bradda Head, rising 500 feet sheer from the
ea, shuts out the howling northern temp
ests. Another headland sweeps around and
up from the south. Once the ancient port
was rich from commerce with Ireland. Now
it is a darn antique, sleeping within a tied
ot myrtle. The fashionable have found it
1 ut. and soon another gay and brilliant
Palermo will hide its ancient walls.
Now you are sped around the Calf of
Man. Bolder, grander, more grewsome
still are its vast sea walls and fearful
chasms. Resistless tides gnaw at its base.
The angry spume is flung to its topmost
crags. It is desolate of human life. Mil
lions of sea fowl wheel and shriek above it.
But one other spot have I seen so typical of
furious desolation. Where the Arran
Islaud crags receive the ceaseless poundings
of the Atlantic, anil the thu ders of tbs
everlasting b ittle are so great that evsn the
sea gull’s shriek is soundless, is another such
a needless place.
Coasting along ths eastern shore again,
first Spanish Head is passed and then Port
St. Mary. Between these is a typical Manx
hamlet called tregneish. It is a little
cluster of centuries-old stone cottages.
Huge walls conneot each. The old habits
and dress of the ancient Manx are still pre
served by its two scorn inhabitants. Until
recently, the Manx language was solely
spoken here. The folk are fishermen. God
fearing, simple, g >od. Ali the olden fairies
still live with tt.em; and will remain until
the modern vices come.
Here at Port Bt. Mary during the Ashing
season is the rendezvous of the Manx her
ring fleet. If you are hers at the time, it
will remind you of the animated scenes in
August at Wick in Scotland, or Lerwick in
Shetland. The anchorage is crowded with
heavily laden fisning smacks, whose brown
sails shine like burnished copper in the sun;
while others are constantly rounding the
point into the bay. Small boats are filled
with the shining silvery fish passing to and
fro between tbe smacks aud the shore. Buy
ers’ carts dr.ve into the water up to their
axles the readier to receive the flsh. Not
hundreds but thousands of men, women and
children, all in a fine freuzy of emulative
industry, scurrying in all directions,
and clad in strange attire fill up the
p c ureaque and busy scene. These folk are
nearly all Wesleyan Methodists. They are
as like the Cornish flsherfolk of St. Ives as
the herring of both; and none of their boats
ever put to sea on Saturday or Sunday; nor
do they at any time venture upon their sea
harvestings without goodly prayers aud
psalms.
A little further to the north dark and
gray lies Castletown, now as of old, among
its darker limestone rocks, with its ancient
castle still more smi her towering grew
somely above. This is the once famous
Kushea castle, with scanty remains of
Kushen abbey near, and scene of the mur
der of wicked King Reginald by Ivar the
good knight. The Danes founded the castle,
aud it resembles Elsiuor of Ha :,leS fame.
Its uses now as a prison do not detract from
its almost ferocious grandeur. The abbey,
the last doomed suppression in Britain, is an
off-shoot of beautitul old Furness abbey,
just across the channel iu Lancashire, where
the bones of many a king of man were
willed to lie.
Back at Douglas again from suoh a con
templation as this from the “dear little Isle
of Man,” and 1 warrant you are a soore of
years and an hundred books in advantage
over him who enters Manxland at the sea
gates of its splendid town, and views its
form and folk through the false perspective
of fine hotels, crowds of summer or winter
idlers, and the misleading gay activities
comparing with those of our own Bar Har
bor or Newport, or an English Bourne
mouth or Brighton.
Here of course is some true Manx color In
the strange old closes and wynds of tbe
I ancient part of the city; but Douglas is es
sentially a fashionable watering place the
i whole year round. You must leave Doug
las behiud to completely know Manxland.
Ttiis is no venturesome task. You can
walk to the remotest part of tbe island iu
one day. There never were finer roads.
There never were lovelier views. There
; never were quainter, more ooraforting old
I iuns. And there never were more simple,
genial, hospitable people than in Man. In
most countries I have visited the peasantry
| are vaootis and listless, or suspicious and re
j sentful of him who comes to spy into their
ways and poke among their shrines. The
Manx folk tako it as an honor. The Manx
man is proud of his ancestry, his history,
his independence, his changeless customs
and laws. Indeed, I often think that mu-h
of his goodness to the stranger oomes from
pity that the stranger was not born in his
fair, liberty-loving island.
And after the real pleasure of knowing
any strange land is in getting close to tbe
heart of its common folk. That Is easy
here. You will be thrilled by Manxland
scenes of mountain and coast. It is a won
derful little land for foaming torrents,
flashing streams, entrancing valleys and
shadowy glens. There is not another so
tiny a bit of earth where you may oome
upon so many curious and impressive mon
uments of a hernio past. Fisherfolk and
Highlanders, each with their distinct cen
turies old, changeless ways, are oloser to
gether. The murmurs of the sea can al
most be heard from highest mountain peak.
Contrast is everywhere mighty and close]
But it is because Manx folk themseives afe
more winsome and grand than all fine
sights or scenes, that a loving, contented
sense of exultation gladdens every step of
your progress through all these pleasant
island ways. Eduar L. W axeman.
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STEAMSHIP LINEB.
PRINCE LINE OF STEAMERS.
SAVANNAH TO MEDITERRANEAN AND ADRIATIC PORTS,
The Steamship MERCHANT PRINCE
-WILL COMMENOE TO LOAD ABOUT DEC. 20 FOR—
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ply to
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MURRELL’S LINE. =
FROM BRUNSWICK TO LIVERPOOL AND BREMEN.
The Only South Atlantic Line to European Ports.
SHORT ROUTE TO EUROPE.
Commencing September 30th, 1H92, the following steamships will make regular sailings from
Brunswick, Ga., to Liverpool and Bremen; *.
I- ENHOfc 1,893 TONS CLARK, Master.
e S' 1,063 TONS BLACkLaW, Master.
£• 1>772 TONS JENKINS. Master,
a I’ K&ouVr 1 !-®® - ...1,784 TONB BAILEY. Master.
S. DEKRHILL 1,733 TONS BAINBRIDGE, Maatsl.
Additional steamships will l>e placed oo the line as business warrants.
S. S. peerbill will sail from Liverpool to Brunswick September Ist.
8. 8 Haygreen will sail from Brunswick for Liverpool September 30fch.
Consignments solicited to all points in tbe United kingdom and Continent of Europe,
* or freight, passage and general information, apply to
The Brunswick fermiaal Da, General Agents, Brunswick, Ga., or Messrs.
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LEATHER GOODS.
NEIDLINGER & RABUN
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WALRUS AND SEA LION GIN WRAPPING.
A FULL STOCK OF
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154 ST. JULIAN. 153 BRYAN STREET.
Children Cry for Pitcher’s Castoria*
