o much in matters
local and insular, as in matters universal. The gossiping tone does
proceed into the universal, does it not? The hilarity with which they
will range the far horizons of thought is so childlike (you know how
children are about that); a chatter that sparkles on the surface like
their own _divers_, and then, with an "Aw bless me sowl," or "Aye, man,
aye," down into the deepest soundings of the spirit....

* * * * *

A charming Hibernian called on me the other day. Portentous! alarming!
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
d----d fool or another behind a rock. But the sea is open, and you can
tell when you are alone, and the dear old chap is so confidential: I
will trust him with my secret.

How about Devon! was it good? Did you all bathe and "rux" yourselves
well about in the brine? I