[From Sketches in IoM, 1844]

MAUGHOLD HEAD.-RAMSEY AND ITS NEIGHBOURHOOD.

The joyous day 'gan early to appeare,
And fayre Aurora from the deawy bed
Of aged Tithone gan herselfe to reare
With rosy cheekes, for shame as blushing red
Her golden locks, for hast, were loosely shed
About her cares, when Una her did marke
Clymbe to her charet, all with flowers spred,
From heaven high to chace the chearlesse darke ;
With mery note her lowd salutes the mounting larke."

AGAIN we are abroad upon our rambling excursions; again the summer has bedecked herself in her loveliest apparel, and the mountain and the valley-the floweret and the tree-all nature, in sooth, seems to leap and exult for very joy. It was early when we arose this morning. The sun had but just emerged from the glittering chambers of the east, and, as his brilliant rays of light fell upon the slumbering tide, one might have fancied there was a pathway to it over the deep, for seraphic beings alone to walk on, studded and paved throughout with gold and amber, sapphires and rubies, pearls and emeralds. The heavens are perfectly cloudless ; we have scanned the vast blue expanse thereof, but cannot discern even a single cloud hovering there. Last evening, at sun-down, there was a faint breeze blowing from the land, and now it but sighs through the leaves, like the soft echo of an wolian harpstring, or the whispering of angels, and scarcely agitates with its influence even the delicate and fragile stem of the pale heath-bell.

" Morning is up again-rising like a lovely maiden refreshed with sleep. She drew the crimson drapery of dawn around her lovely limbs, and stole half- abashed from her cloudy couch to peep at Nature while she slept! Star after star receded from their celestial stations, replete with love, and dazzled by her beauty. She but stepped a-tip-toe upon the hills, and the light that glanced from her sublime eyes awoke the trees and flowers. The earth soon became aware of her presence, and was all astir; brook babbled louder to brook,-and bird sang sweeter to bird ; grove poured forth its music to grove, and valley to valley responded. The deep glens lifted up their dusky eyes at her presence, and the dark brows of the thickets were lighted up with a smile as she passed; the arched fountain bowed its silver neck before her, and the drowsy bees rose to salute her with a song; a thousand winged instru- ments sprang up beneath her feet, and blew their humming horns in the dancing air. Earth and sky rushed to each other's embrace, exclaiming"

" Morning has again awoke."

It is indeed a heaven-born morning, and brings to our recollection the following lines-

" How deep, how holy is the calm,
Each sound seems flush' d by magic spell,
As if sweet peace with honied balm
Blent with each dew-drop as it fell.
Would that the cares which man pursue,
A pause, like this of nature, knew !"

For some hours we have been on foot ; across yon romantic country to the southward we have journeyed, and are now reclining on the highest point of the north-eastern promontory of the Island known by the name of Maughold Head.* Gentle reader, we candidly confess to you, in all sincerity of heart, that we know not whither to direct our wanderings, for the whole country around us is so beautiful it makes us undecided which way to choose; truly, there is a con- centration in this localë of all that is picturesque and sublime-the stupendous mountain and the lowly valley-the sun-lit woodland and the pale margin of the deep mysterious ocean! Gaze from hence! look well around, for it is no ordinary landscape you are contemplating-nay, there is a loveliness breathing here which would lead captive the heart of the poet and the painter. The long slope of valley fetching up from the creek of Corna to the line of hills which are bound by the azure-clad Barrule ; and there, cresting the heights in unbroken quietude, sleep the emerald woods of Ballure and Clabane, whilst reposing on the margin of an extensive crescent-shaped bay is seen the pleasant town of Ramsey. Beyond, and to the left, an undulating chain of mountains, fading, as they recede from the eye, in all the endless tints of mountain scenery, from the dark colourings in the foreground to the palest azure and aerial gray; and on the right, a champagne tract of fertile country, terminating in the far north by the Point of Ayre.

Against the cliffs beneath where we stand the sea is gently murmuring, and its melancholy cadence is borne to our ear like the sweet breathing of an infant. Over its extensive area, far as the eye can roam, all is still and untroubled, and it looks like a highly polished mirror, or rather like a huge mass of quick-silver undulating from unseen motion below. It was off this headland, in the year 1759, if history do not mislead us, that a fierce and desperate engagement took place between Admiral Thurot,2 with four ships of the French navy, and Captain Elliott, with a simi lar number of the English. The battle lasted for a considerable time, and so loud was the roar of the cannon, as it boomed athwart the tide, that it was plainly audible at the southern side of the Island, twenty-five miles distant There was but little wind blowing at the time, the gale which howled in the morning baying subsided into a pleasant breeze.- The ships had all sail crowded on them glow and aloft, and they fought running for some distance, but soon the combatants came to closer quarters- and grappled each other, yard-arm to yard-arm, in deadly conflict. Here, where we are now resting, hundreds of the islanders were assembled, watching the progress of the battle. There was a deep and intense anxiety depicted in their countenances-not a word was uttered for some time, but many a men- tal prayer went up to Him who giveth the victory,to succour and aid their allies. Loudly still the cannon pealed-broadside Answering broadside in quick succession ; but suddenly there was a cessation -the din of war terminated-the columns of smoke which enveloped the ships rolled down to leeward, and a universal shout of joy and exultation burst forth from the spectators ; and from height to height along the coast it echoed and re-echoed, as, fluttering triumphantly in the breeze, was seen the victorious flag of England, the ensign "that braved a thousand years the battle and the breeze," hoisted over the pale lily of France, thus proclaiming, in language the most emphatic, that THE VICTORY WAS WON-THE BATTLE OUR OWN!!

Let us now wend our way down the hill-althouglI who could feel weary in contemplating so beautiful, so magnificent a panorama? The parish church of Maughold is situate on the acclivity of the pro- montory, and is a neat but unadorned building.- We were much interested by the Danish monuments which are placed around its burial-ground. Some warrior, or mighty prince of Denmark perhaps, re- poses within these precincts; he who fought in single combat, or led his army on against his foes, for numerous were the battles fought in this vicinity between the several nations who made incursions on these shores in days of old. But they are all forgotten ; time has drawn a veil over their achievements; the lord and his vassal, friend and foe, are "each in his narrow house for ever laid." The flowers of the field shed a perfume over their graves, and the evening breeze sings their requiem, and, save by them, they are remembered not.

We have traversed the valley, and are wandering down a declivity leading towards Ramsey. Ballure bridge lies immediately at the foot of this hill, embosomed amid stately ash and elm trees, and crosses a ravine, through which gushes a bright and spark- ling stream, looking so crystally clear and refreshing that we must needs lave our lips in it. A little beyond the bridge we entered a narrow grassy lane which led us into the woods of Ballure. O ! how delicious to wander through this romantic place, when

" On the burthen of the air
The breath of buds came faint and rare ;
And far in the transparent sky
The small earth.keeping birds were seen
Soaring deliriously high."

They know not the pleasure-the extacy which is awakened in the heart, who cannot appreciate the loveliness of woodland scenery.

" Away to the woods with the silvery rind,
And the emerald tresses afloat on the wind ;
For 'tis joy to go to those sylvan bowers,
When summer is rich with leaves and flowers."

As we look around we are led to imagine this wood interminable, for from hence nought is to be seen but a forest of leaves bounding the horizon on all sides. A ray of sunlight has penetrated through the dense foliage, and as the eye traces it far away in the vista, it seems like a scene of fairy enchantment-a place which the sylvan nymphs would choose out of a thousand other localities, to bold their festive revelry in. Look at the ground, it is covered with innumerable flowers, daisies, violets, blue hyacinths, and as- phodels, enamelling it with their beauty and breath- ing rich odours about our pathway. Crossing a deep ravine, we wound up an acclivity, and shortly found ourselves elevated above the plantations, enjoying another magnificent view of Ramsey and the country around. The town is immediately below us, and the distant headland of Maugbold, which we left some time back, looms like a huge eouchant lion, guarding the southern extremity of the bay. Away to the left is Sky Hill, renowned for the numerous battles which were fought in its vicinity during the early periods of history. It is said that a noble fortress once stood upon its history. but now it is an undistinguishable heap of ruin. The sheep browse over it, and the shepherd makes his pillow where formerly proud warriors and noble dames oft met in chivalric pomp, and the chieftain held his feudal and barbaric court. The castellated building at the foot of Sky Hill is Milntown, the delightful residence of the Honourable Deemster Christian, and a more picturesque place there could not possibly have been selected. The Vale of Glenaldyn is immediately in the rear, through which the mountain stream courses its way, adding its tribute to the main river of Sulby, which is meandering through a rich and variegated extent of country.

Now again we are in the tangled wood, and hark, how delightfully the birds are singing, for mid-day has passed away, and the sun's rays are slanting over the heath-clad heights of Barrule.

" Here from the leafy bough the meek dove cooeth ;
Here a sweet undersong the streamlet singeth ;
Here, too, the missel-thrush and woodlark wooeth
The ear with softest melody, and bringeth
The sighing gale-which wantonly undoeth
The jasmine, as it round the chestnut clingeth,
Like a fair child its hoary sire caressing,

From out the twilight forest depths, a whispered blessing.
Here the world's wanderer, sick at heart and weary,
Stretching his form upon the fragrant heather
Forgetteth soon the ways so dark and dreary
'Twas his to tread, the friends of summer weather,
Who left him with the sunshine ; visions cheery
Flit o'er his mental sight, and, like a feather
Shed from the soaring eagle's golden pinions,
His soul is floating far in fancy's bright dominions."

But we must bid adieu to these scenes so charming, and go to Ramsey. This is Ramsey, kind reader -the pretty little town of Ramsey. The houses in this portion of it have been but recently erected;- how charmingly they are situated-could your heart desire a lovelier locality? But we intend shewing you more of Ramsey bye-and-bye, that is, if you will kindly accompany us in our wanderings. So au revoir for the present.

1 During the government of Conindrius and Rormulus, we learn, that St. Maughold was cast in here, in a little leathern boat, his hands manacled and bolts on his feet; the bishop receiv- ed him with admiration and pity, especially when be informed him that he had been a captain of banditti in Ireland, and that he voluntarily underwent this penance for his former course of life. He retired into this parish, where once a city is said to have been built, but of which there are no remains visible at present. In his retirement it was that Saint Bridget, one of the tutelary saints of Ireland, came to receive the veil of virginity from his hand, as his nephew Cogitosus, who wrote his life, informs us.

Beneath the rocks which form this bold headland is the celebrated spring called Saint Maughold's well, which it was formerly the custom of the inhabitants to resort to on account of its supposed medicinal virtues. Indeed the custom is not yet obsolete ; for on the first Sunday in the month of August, the natives still make a pilgrimage to drink of its waters.

2 Thurot was killed in the action, and his body thrown over- board, probably by his own order. Some time afterwards it was supposed to have floated ashore on the coast of Scotland, and was privately interred there.