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FOLK-LORE FROM UNST. 



CHAPTER I. 



Sitting on the sea- shore, with Atlantic billows tossing 

 fretfully at my feet, with the odour of brine in the air, 

 and salt-tang clothing the rocks on either side, my 

 thoughts naturally flew, like wild sea-mews, to the old 

 rock in Northland, where childhood and youth were 

 passed. The weird legends of Scandinavia, so familiar 

 in days gone by, came thronging back at the call of 

 memory, and hours went by, and I forgot that I was 

 not in Unst, listening to stories of eld rehearsed by 

 some "witchy wife." Then, as if in harmony with 

 such dreams, there fell upon my ear the accents of the 

 island tongue, and turning round, I discovered my 

 little son in animated conversation with a stranger. 

 It was a mere dilution of Shetlandic which the child 

 possessed, but the woman to whom he was talking 

 spoke with such a perfect Shetland accent that I had 

 no hesitation in saying to her, " You are a Shetlander ? " 



" Yes," she answered, with some surprise ; " bit am 

 no been nort for twenty year comes Yule." 



"Nevertheless, I cannot mistake the sound of our 



