Slumber, sleep, and dreams--our old friend Morpheus.


_Sunday, September 10th._

In the morning we attended the English Episcopalian Church, and, after
service, which was rather of a high church character, we walked into the
country until we came in sight of the rough square tower of Scalloway
Castle, and on our return we inspected the ruins of a Pictish castle,
the first of the kind we had seen, although we were destined to see many
others in the course of our journey.

[Illustration: LERWICK. Commercial Street as it was in 1871.]

The Picts, we were informed, were a race of people who settled in the
north of Scotland in pre-Roman times, and who constructed their
dwellings either of earth or stone, but always in a circular form. This
old castle was built of stone, and the walls were five or six yards
thick; inside these walls rooms had been made for the protection of the
owners, while the circular, open space enclosed by the walls had
probably been for the safe housing of their cattle. An additional
protection had also been formed by the water with which the castle was
surrounded, and which gave it the appearance of a small island in the
middle of a lake. It was connected with the land by means of a narrow
road, across which we walked. The castle did not strike us as having
been a very desirable place of residence; the ruins had such a very
dismal and deserted appearance that we did not stay there long, but
returned to our lodgings for lunch. After this we rested awhile, and
then joined the townspeople, who were patrolling every available space
outside. The great majority of these were women, healthy and