tales. His knowledge of Manx lore is simply unique ; and as a man who can tackle a fish, or knows the ins and outs of the coastline and its creeks and its caves, he is, I believe, unmatched. He speaks, of course, both Manx and English, and is considered to be one of the beat vernacular conversationalists extant in the Island. He is of a poetical temperament, and was always able to make some verse, but his muse brought him little thanks, and the consequential jeers and derision of his uncultured companions and the buxom village belles, brought him more wormwood than golden opinions. He never kept a copy until he was about 26 years old, and then began to write on many subjects—lyrical, contemplative, sacred and legendary.
For a short time he went to Liverpool to become a safe-maker, working amongst Welshmen, who were worse English speakers than himself, and he learnt but little English there. His longing, however, for the sea and his heather-clad hills was too over-powering, and he returned again to Cregneish, and fished for[illegible] mackerel at Kinsale and on the West coast of Ireland for twenty-five spring seasons. He has been shipwrecked and narrowly saved, and weathered great storms in his rough voyages. In middle age he married, and has a family, but has been a widower for many years. The earnings were good at first, but the last ten years, have passed so poor that it is not worth while going fishing at all, and the men
