pe of "Beowulf," with its _windy
walls_, _shadow-helms_, _broad nesses_, and _glimmering sea-cliffs_.

As seen from the sea, Lerwick looks trim and picturesque, but when the
visitor lands, he is apt to lose his bearings among its tortuous lanes.
I followed a porter who was tottering under the weight of trunks, and
asked him, as we treaded a flag-paved vennel: "Is it far to the main
street?" He grimly replied: "This _is_ the main street, sir." The
response unnerved me, shaky as I was with seventeen hours' tossing on
the North Sea. Once in the hotel, my spirits rose. A most welcome and
savoury breakfast--consumed near an open window commanding a view over a
sun-lit sound--is well able to hearten the most downcast.

LERWICK.

The town of Lerwick is indeed one of the finest of our island capitals,
and is constantly becoming finer. No visitor can fail to be impressed by
its unique natural harbour, gloriously screened by the God-given shelter
of the island of Bressay. Commercial Street, which runs along the
water's edge, is at the foot of a hill, and is so narrow in parts that
two vehicles can hardly get past each other. If I stayed in Lerwick, I
should not like to have any resident enemies, for it would be difficult
to keep from brushing clothes with them in the main street. Up from this
main street to the newer town, on a plateau at the top, run numerous
quaint wynds, sinuous, and not always well-scavenged. This new and
well-built part contains the far-seen and notable Town Hall, the
architecture of which would have pleased Ruskin, especially as its fine
windows are all appositely illustrative of Shetlandic annals. By
climbing the dusty clock-tower, one has a splendid view of all
surrounding slopes and seas.

Here is a hint to prospective tourists. Take to the left when you quit
the hall, get down the lane leading to the sea-crags, and walk for two
miles in the direction of the rifle-range. It is a glorious and solitary
walk--not altogether solitary, for the sea is invariably good company.
Don't be so foolish as to keep on your hat: off with it, and let the
air-borne sea-spume wet your brow. It is also a good thing to recite
Byron's vigorous "Address to the Ocean,"--the odd cows you may pass will
not stop their grazing for that. There is no finer air in King Edward's
dominions than that which blows in this region, for the hill air meets
the sea air that has come all the way from Norway, and the two coalesce
to give th