Ward & Lock's descriptive and pictorial guide to the Isle of Man ...

;Tromode—The Stnng, d-c. 77or throe white cottages are passed, at the side of which isthe road leading to the unpreteudiug and sheltered village ofTromode.The residents here arc the workpeople employed at theadjacent celebrated sail-cloth works. The smiling gardenallotments, the comfortable cottages, and the pretty schoolhouse,from whence comes the hum of children's voices,combine to make the village as pleasant as it is healthyindeed, the salubrity of the spot is such as to cause it to beknown as the Moutpellier of the Island. Higher up the roadto the right is Castle Ward; and in the valley, on the banksof the river Glass, are the well-preserved remains of a Norwegianencampment, and immediately below is the BifleBange of the Douglas volunteers, the scene of many a closecontest. The wood is very fine here, and the scenery beautiful; it is just the spot for a picnic. The ferns are splendid—the Osmund'i regalls and many others grow to attainastonishing proportions, such as would dehght the hearts ofconnoisseurs. But that is not a peculiarity of this spot ; theyare to be found all over the island in such quantities as tolead a local writer to suggest that their fronds should beadopted as the emblem of Moua, as the rose has been thatof England, the shamrock of Ireland, the thistle of Scotland,the fleur de lis of France, and so on." Down in tho bosom of a mossy dale.Through which a narrow streamlet winds its way.There towers abrupt a rugged, rocky mound,By Nature's sportive hand grotesquely rear'd,And quaintly clad with shrubs and stunted trees.'Tis said that native chiefs, in olden time,Have oft assembled there their chosen bands,And, as in tower impregnable, sustain'dThe furious shock and fell assault of foes.And still the place retains tho name and traceOf war's rude art ; and here the labouring hind,Whilst, cheerful, singing at his peaceful toU,Has oft upturn'd the relics of the past,Old, rusty, time-worn implements of war.And oft, in such a spot, so lone and stiU,At the dim dubious hour of parting day,The spell-hound poet sees, or thinks he sees,Far in the shadows of the gloomy boughs,The fairy band come forth to tread the maze.And weave their circlets in the dewy grasi',To dulcet sound of mirthful minstrelsy."Leaving Tromode, we follow a road up the hill, and soreachThe Stang,p, landmark for many excursions, whence roads lead to the