10 FIELD AND FERN. 



The red line on the map knew no end. At last, we 

 savagely doubted that map altogether,, and longed for 

 the gipsy patran. Half a mile more, and we hear 

 voices three girls at the cross-roads in their plaid 

 gowns and crinoline complete. A house, a bay, and 

 a smack at anchor ! the long-desired Voe at last ! 



" The lighthouse top I see : 

 Is this the hill, is this the kirk- 

 Is this my ain countree ?" 



There was a kind welcome from Mr. Adey, and 

 abundance of fresh materials for a morning's ramble. 

 The kirkyard on the edge of the bay was a mass of 

 nettles and sea-faring graves, in which rest " Law- 

 rence Tait, mariner, and his spouse Lilceus" ; and the 

 list on the door disclosed the fact of only three voters 

 in the lordship. Thousands of carcases of dried cod 

 were piled in the Iceland smack, and a few dozen 

 were swimming merrily in her well. The store near 

 the landing-pier was boundless in its variety, and 

 descended from whisky, food, and raiment to com- 

 fits and castor-oil. The ponies in the park were 

 infinitely more sociable than their sisters on the muir, 

 and an old dun mare merely put her lip down and her 

 ears back, for conformity, while we wrote off our 

 thoughts quite comfortably on her loins. That 

 over, we strolled to the compound, and helping to 

 "twist" two or three cows out of a lot for the 

 South added a keen zest to breakfast. 



The cows of Shetland are pretty much a pocket edi- 

 tion of the old-fashioned Yorkshire milch cow, but 

 with more of the shorthorn head. They are prin- 



