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"As to that, of course you are perfectly right," answered the captain. "Her name is the `Saint Cecilia, her commander Don Hernan de Escalante, and she carries, as you see, twenty guns. We sailed from Cadiz, and have touched at two or three French ports, and the British port of Plymouth; after visiting Lerwick, we are bound round the north of your island, into the Atlantic again.
They do not tempt to quotation, but it was the man's element, in which he lived, and delighted to live, and some specimen must be presented. On Friday, September 10th, 1830, the Regent lying in Lerwick Bay, we have this entry: "The gale increases, with continued rain."
The corvette was instantly got under weigh, and tide and wind suiting, she stood back towards Lunnasting Castle. The inhabitants of Lerwick saw her departure with no little astonishment, as not a word had been said to lead them to suppose she was going. Some had their misgivings on certain material points.
This afternoon he knew she had a last rehearsal at Searle House. Afterwards her custom was to come back from St. James's Park to High Street, Kensington, and walk up the hill to her own home. He knew it, for on two occasions after these rehearsals he had been at Lerwick Gardens, waiting for her, with Agnes and Mrs. Leyburn. Would she go this afternoon? A subtle instinct told him that she would.
At a word the sailors were seen swarming aloft; studding-sails came in as if by magic, royals and top-gallant sails were handed, topsails clewed up, and with her taunt tapering masts and square yards alone, surrounded by the intricate tracery of their rigging, the beautiful fabric glided up to an anchorage off the town of Lerwick.
"Yes, to Lerwick, though they may stop at Fair Island on the way. Boris says they could get many men there and Boris knows." "Art thou going to the pier to see them leave? I suppose every one goes. Shall we go together?" "Why, Sunna! They left this morning about four o'clock. Father went down to the pier with Boris. Boris sailed with them." "Thora! Thora!
In the early part of this century there lived at Lerwick, in the Shetland Islands, a man called Liot Borson. He was no ignoble man; through sea-fishers and sea-fighters he counted his forefathers in an unbroken line back to the great Norwegian Bor, while his own life was full of perilous labor and he was off to sea every day that a boat could swim.
Early in 1263 Magnus III of Orkney and Caithness, was in Bergen with King Hakon. For the Saga says, "with him from Bergen came Magnus, Jarl of Orkney, and the king gave him a good long-ship." Sailing from Norway in the end of July 1263, King Hakon found a fair wind, and crossed in two days to Shetland, where he lay for a fortnight assembling his fleet in Bressay Sound off Lerwick.
Then he set sail; but there was little space between two bad deeds, for no sooner was he home again than he took the money Paul Borson had put in the bank for his daughter, and when no one saw him in the night-time he slipped away with a sound skin, the devil knows where he went to." "Were there no men in Lerwick at that time?"
The result was that a certain brilliant young person was soon sharply conscious of a sudden drop in the pleasure of living. Mr. Flaxman had been the Leyburns' most constant and entertaining visitor. During the whole of May he paid one formal call in Lerwick Gardens, and was then entertained tête-
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