[From Sketches in IoM, 1844]

PEEL CASTLE.

" Gray mists are creeping o'er the earth, dark clouds rush through the sky,

The night-wind with the wakeful hush sweeps low and sadly by. How mournful is its swelling dirge, its deep and stirring tones, As it waves the white grass on the walls, the moss upon the stones! The dew-clamp of a hundred years has quenched the lonely hearth, The feudal pomp of gone-by clays moulders with crumbling earth; The mountain blast hath borne the foam from off the mountain stream,

And wreathed it round the wasted towers that gloom in the moonbeam.

x

A vision of the past returns. The hearth now black and cold, Is blazing bright, while ring around the laugh and song of old There are fair maids and bright-eyed boys, and lips that sweetly smile ;

The war-deed of our sires are told, who fought for our loved Isle ; And there a bard with silver hair sin,- s the bold gathering song, Till the fire of flight in every face burns steady, stern and strong: There is a sbout on every lip, a deed in every eye,

And a hundred high and hoary hills give back the patriot cry." " llolme Peel! gray glory of the Kings of Man, Where hoary German mantles o'er the deep,

In proud enthronement o'er the billowy surge, Abode of ocean princes 1"

Txr morning of the day on which we purposed departing for Peel Castle, was as lovely and glorious

as the heart could well have wished for. All was calm and serene, and the sun, as he uplifted himself out of the eastern heavens, threw athwart the tide that purple and ruby-coloured light which poets are wont to picture when they would describe the all hallowed loveliness of his coming. We felt, indeed, light and joyous of heart, for sunny skies greatly affect our temperament, and we anticipated for ourselves a glorious excursion ; but alas for the instability and uncertainty of all things in this world-before the cup of bliss is raised to the lip, too often is it dashed to the ground, and thus perish our fondest hopes.

We unavoidably delayed setting out until mid-day, and by that time there were strong indications of a change in the weather. Clouds were accumulating in heavy and dark masses in the western sky, and the wind, from a perfect calm, which would scarcely have shaken the dew-drop from the tree, commenced rustling amongst the leaves, rippled the surface of the sea, and every moment seemed to be increasing in its impetuosity. But, regardless of all these portentous threatenings of the elements, we were not to be disappointed in our visit to the venerable ruin ; and ordering a carriage for expedition's sake-having twelve miles to go-we were soon rolling along at a rapid pace.

The road from Douglas towards Peel runs in a defile, if we may so term it, and the scenery through which it traverses is extremely picturesque. Leaving Kirby and Braddan church, reposing amid their emerald groves of sycamore and beech trees, we arrive at a gentle eminence, from whence we perceive a lovely and fertile country-rich in waving cornfields, stretching away to the feet of Garaghan and Snafield, the lofty brows of which are at present enveloped in a dense mist.

On our left, and high up on the acclivity of the hill side, is Ellerslie, and immediately beside it the antiquated church of Marown ; while below in the vale, is Glen Darragh-the Vale of Oaks-and the sweetest spot one could well fancy. We dare not trespass at present to describe the loveliness of its scenery, we shall reserve it for another paper; but if, in the meantime, any one should be inclined for a walk from Douglas, let him visit Glen Darragh. There is but little doubt that it has frequently witnessed the sacrificial rites of the Druids, as there yet remain some vestigia of their temple. Crosby Village is four miles from Douglas, and sheltered by goodly trees, which cast their deep shadows over this pretty place. The cottages are extremely neat, and adorned with parterres in front, which are well stocked with roses, dahlias, and other species of flowers. A little further on we perceived the ruins of an ancient chapel, dedicated to Saint Trinion, who was Archbishop of the Picts, and ordained by St,

Palladius, in the year 455. The architecture is somewhat in the Gothic style ; each window forming an arch by the meeting of two curved stones at the top. Greeba mountain, looking dim and gray, rises sublimely above our head, the road winding along its base. Beyond this gigantic accumulation the country does not assume so hilly an appearance, excepting to the left, where we have South Barrule, and the precipitous Slieu-Whallin, piercing high into the heavens. Along the base of the latter mountain are some neat villas, and the country in this immediate neighbourhood appears to be very well wooded, reminding us not a little of that garden of Irelandthe county of Wicklow. Unfortunately we cannot, for time presses heavily, pass that way ; our direct route is to the right, for there, as you may perceive, is one of the Castle towers jutting up in the distance.

But bark! do you hear how the live thunder is pealing behind Slieu-Whallin-how it reverberates among the crags and fastnesses of the mountains ?now the rain pours down in torrents-the big drops, as they come dancing to the earth, appearing as if they would tear up its surface with their violence.Happily, our carriage is well hooded, or else, for-

0 we should suffer a novel species of martyrdom, by being thoroughly soaked ; and people look ridiculous enough when they get well drenched, particularly when the excursion has been solely

for pleasure. But there is, thanks to the Fates, a break in the clouds-the storm seems to be passing southward, for behold the sunny ray in the west, beaming down its welcome radiance on the hill side, and the azure sky is visible, which augurs that the evening will yet prove propitious. Our charioteer has driven us so fast, that we are descending into Peel, and passing through a long, narrow street, with dingy coloured houses ranged on each side The good people look marvellously well pleased as they stand at their doors watching our progress, the tri-colour flag, which our friend lashed to the whip handle, amusing them not a little, as it waves about in the gale. How we jolt and rattle over this primitively paved street ; it is almost enough to separate soul and body, but, fortunately, we have no great distance to go-the hotel is at handin fact we have just brought up at Frizell's, in the open space which the inhabitants of this goodly town denominate the market-place.

In whatever light you may view Peel, you would certainly agree with us in saying that it is an odd place, oddly built and oddly located; and the streets, or lanes more properly speaking, strangely narrow, and intersecting each other at all imaginable angles. In the days of yore, Peel was renowned as a resort for the smuggler; and many is the cargo of contraband spirits that has been landed from the Dutch

lugger, as she swung at anchor off the beach, or lay to in the offing, with the well-known signal hoisted for her help-mates to come off; but the government has entirely suppressed smuggling to and from the Isle, and, in these days, we have not a solitary "Will Watch" frequenting our shores. Oftentimes have we sat down and listened to the old fishermen as they told us of the daring courage of the smugglers -of the symmetry of their luggges-how tapering and attenuated, yet how strong, the spars they bore -what a press of canvass they carried alow and aloft-and how they could sail in the very eye of the wind with a strong weather helm, and dash the white spray over her mast head, without taking a green sea on board; and the weather-beaten mariners would sigh deeply when they narrated these tales, as if they had lost days of fortune and of happiness!

The evening cleared up most beautifully, but still the wind blew very hard from the northward. The vessels in the offing were under close-reefed topsails, and as for the harbour, it was literally crammed with fishing craft, which had run in to avoid the gale. We were soon on the quay, and engaged a passage in the ferry-boat. A few minutes took us across, the distance not being more than a hundred yards from the pier end, and, after climbing up some rocks upon the small islet where the castle stands, we entered the outer tower, where we found our quondam cicerone, the warder of the Castle-old Summers, ready to receive us. Will you permit us to introduce you to him? You will, indeed, find him a queer old fellow -queer in person, queer in dress, and queer in manner, and withal an inimitable chronicler of the events and traditions connected with this far-famed place. He seems to be above seventy years of age, but is yet hale and active. Look how nimbly he ascends to the portcullis tower, as he says with a peculiar intonation of voice, " Follow me, gentlemen." He has locked the gate-the old and ancient gate-and within the walls of the castle where kings and princes held dominion, we are now standing; but its kings and its rulers have ages ago passed away, and the sound of lordly voices, which once echoed through these banqueting halls, comes no more upon the ear. Where is the flag that flaunted high above these battlements ? Alas! it is furled and crumbled into dust-sunk into the stream of oblivion! No more is the sentinel's footfall heard as he paces his steady rounds! No more bursts forth the watchfire's brilliant blaze, illumining the hills and waters around! No more the minstrel's songs of love and valour strike gladness to the soul; for the days of thy glory and thy chivalry, "Holme Peel," have vanished never to return. All is, indeed, desolate within, and it harrows the very soul to see so noble an edifice crumbling, day by day, into utter and irretrievable decay.