He had been sent from Douglas by some evil-disposed friends of mine
there, to consult me as the supreme authority on matters Manx. Now of
this language I am, if not wholly, yet at least grammatically ignorant.
He was a tall, stalwart fellow; black-bearded, not handsome, but with a
tremendously Irish face, eyes of fire, nose of peremptory interrogation.
Flourishing a wretched grammar in one hand, he proceeded rapidly to
demonstrate its ineptness, and sternly to demand my explanation. As my
weak-kneedness grew more painfully evident--

So scented the grim feature, and upturned
His nostril wide into the murky air,
Sagacious of his quarry--

he almost shouted with exultation. All the Manx scholars had completely
failed--here was another. "Glory be to God! I'll smite him hip and
thigh." He was a splendid Irishman, and, of course, kind and generous.
He didn't spare me, _destructed_ me utterly; but speedily constructed me
upon new lines, and told me a lot about Celtic difficulties and how to
overcome them. He spoke Irish like a bird, and, after about
three-quarters of an hour, he rushed forth to catch the train, hairy,
immense, with some wild wirrasthru of farewell. Imagine a very learned
and linguistic Mulligan of Ballymulligan!...

* * * * *

O Wallaston, the delight of this leisure! I read, I write, I play. Good
gracious! I shouldn't wonder if my music came to something yet. I have
actually gone back to singing, a vice of my youth. Don't mention it at
Clifton! I always think the sea the great challenger and promoter of
song. Even the mountain is not the same thing. There may always be some