of
the name. No, our social history gives no idea of Merry Man.

Our civil history is not glorious. We are compelled to allow that it
has no heroism in it. There has been no fight for principle, no brave
endurance of wrong. Since the days of Orry, we have had nothing to tell
in Saga, if the Sagaman were here. We have played no part in the work of
the world. The great world has been going on for ten centuries without
taking much note of us. We are a little nation, but even little nations
have held their own. We have not.

One great king we have had, King Orry. He gave us our patriarchal
Constitution, and it is a fine thing. It combines most of the best
qualities of representative government. Its freedom is more free than
that of some republics. The people seem to be more seen, and their voice
more heard, than in any other form of government whose operation I have
witnessed. Yet there is nothing noisy about our Home Rule. And this
Constitution we have kept alive for a thousand years, while it has died
out of every other Norse kingdom. That is, perhaps, our highest national
honour. We may have played a timid part; we may have accepted rulers
from anywhere; we may never have made a struggle for independence; and
no Manxman may ever have been strong enough to stand up alone for his
people. It is like our character that we have taken things easily, and
instead of resisting our enemies, or throwing them from our rocky
island into the sea, we have been law abiding under lawless masters
and peaceful under oppression. But this one thing we have done: we
have clung to our patriarchal Constitution, not caring a ha'p'orth
who administered our laws so long as the laws were our own. That is
something; I think it is a good deal. It means that through many changes
undergone by the greater peoples of the world, we are King Orry's men
still. Let me in a last word tell you a story which shows what that
description implies.

ORRY'S SONS

On the west coast of the Isle of Man stands the town of Peel. It is a
little fishing port, looking out on the Irish Sea. To the north of
it there is a broad shore, to the south lies the harbour with a rocky
headland called Contrary Head; in front--until lately divided from the
mainland by a narrow strait--is a rugged island rock. On this rock stand
the broken ruins of a castle, Peel Castle, and never did castle stand
on a grander spot. The sea flows round it, beating on the jagged cliffs
beneath, and b