ars
established in Man, and the swashbuckler Court of fine gentlemen was
in full swing. In that costume drama of soiled lace and uproarious
pleasures, what part did the Church play? Was it that of the man clad
in camel's skin, living on locusts and wild honey, and calling on the
generation of revellers to flee from the wrath to come? No; but that
of the lover of cakes and ale. The records of this period are few and
scanty, but they are full enough to show that some of the clergy of the
Athols knew more of backgammon than of theology. While they pandered to
the dissolute Court they lived under, going the errands of their masters
in the State, fetching and carrying for them, and licking their shoes,
they tyrannised over the poor ignorant Manx people and fleeced them
unmercifully. Perhaps this was in a way only natural. Corruption was in
the air throughout Europe. Dr. Youngs were grovelling for preferments
at the feet of kings' mistresses, and Dr. Warners were kissing the
shoebuckles of great ladies for sheer love of their faces, plastered red
and white, The parasites of the Manx clergy were not far behind some
of their English brethren. There is a story told of their life among
themselves which casts lurid light on their character and ways of life.
It is said that two of the Vicars-general summoned a large number of the
Manx people to Bishop's Court on some business of the spiritual court,
Many of the people had come long distances, chiefly a-foot, without
food, and probably without money. After a short sitting the court was
adjourned for dinner. The people had no dinner, and they starved. The
Vicars-general went into the palace to dine with the Bishop. Some hours
passed. The night was gathering. Then a message came out to say that no
more business could be done that day. Some of the poor people were old,
and had to travel fifteen miles to their homes. The record tells us that
the Bishop gave his guests "most excellent wine." What of a scene like
that? Outside, a sharp day in Spring, two score famished folks tramping
the glen and the gravel-path, the gravel-path and the glen, to and
fro, to and fro, minute after minute, hour after hour. Inside, my
lord Bishop, drenched in debt, dining with his clergy, drinking
"most excellent wine" with them, unbending his mighty mind with them,
exchanging boisterous stories with them, jesting with them, laughing
with them, until his face grows as red as the glowing turf on his
hearth. Pre