The chief literary productions of mine in that modern Trinacria, whose heraldic emblem, like that of ancient Sicily, is the Three legs of Three promontories, are some antiquarian pieces, principally one on the sepulchral mound of Orry the Dane:-- "In fifty keels and five Rushed over the pirate swarm, Hornets out of the northern hive, Hawks on the wings of the storm; Blood upon talons and beak, Blood from their helms to their heels, Blood on the hand and blood on the cheek,-- In five and fifty keels! "O fierce and terrible horde That shout about Orry the Dane, Clanging the shield and clashing the sword To the roar of the storm-tost main! And hard on the shore they drive Ploughing through shingle and sand,-- And high and dry those fifty and five Are haul'd in line upon land.
"And ho! for the torch straightway, In honour of Odin and Thor,-- And the blazing night is as bright as the day As a gift to the gods of war; For down to the melting sand And over each flaring mast Those fifty and five they have burnt as they stand To the tune of the surf and the blast! "A ruthless, desperate crowd, They trample the shingle at Lhane, And hungry for slaughter they clamour aloud For the Viking, for Orry the Dane! And swift has he flown at the foe-- For the clustering clans are here,-- But light is the club and weak is the bow To the Norseman sword and spear: "And--woe to the patriot Manx, The right overthrown by the wrong,-- For the sword hews hard at the staggering ranks, And the spear drives deep and strong: And Orry the Dane stands proud King of the bloodstained field, Lifted on high by the shouldering crowd On the battered boss of his shield! "Yet, though such a man of blood, So terribly fierce and fell, King Orry the Dane had come hither for good, And governed the clans right well; Freedom and laws and right, He sowed the good seed all round-- And built up high in the people's sight Their famous Tynwald Mound; "And elders twenty and four He set for the House of Keys, And all was order from shore to shore In the fairest Isle of the Seas: Though he came a destroyer, I wist He remained as a ruler to save, And yonder he sleeps in the roadside kist They call King Orry's Grave." It was at Castle Mona that I first met Walter Montgomery, who read these very lines to great effect at one of his Recitations, and thereafter produced at Manchester my play of "Alfred." He was, amongst other accomplishments, a capital horseman, and when he galloped over the sands on his white horse, he would jump benches with their sitters, calling out "Don't stir, we shall clear you!" It would have required no small coolness and courage to have abided his charge, and though I saw him do this once, I question if he was allowed to repeat the exploit.
In Douglas was also my artist-friend Corbould, visiting at the romantic place of his relatives the Wilsons, who had to show numerous paintings and relics of John Martin, with whom in old days I had pleasant acquaintance at Chelsea and elsewhere.

I remember that on one occasion when I asked him which picture of his own he considered his _chef-d'oeuvre_ I was astonished at his reply, "Sardanapalus's death,--and therein his jewels." Martin's Chelsea garden had its walls frescoed by him to look like views and avenues,--certainly effective, but rather in the style of Grimaldi's garden made gay by artificial flowers and Aladdin's gems, _a la mode_ Cockayne.

At Bishop's Court too we had a very friendly reception from Bishop Powys, and in fact everywhere as usual your confessor found a cordial author's welcome in Mona..