the porter's office, and asked breathlessly for the key. "Mr. Falck took it ten minutes ago," said the man. and a little shiver, and began very slowly to mount the stone stairs. "Oh! what will he say to me?" she thought, as she clasped Blanche's note fast And Swanhild turned away with a sigh in her little cold hand. THE SAILOR. BY ROBERT RICHARDSON, B.A. H, the lark sang loud an' sweet, as he rose abune the wheat, Oh, the lark sang sweet an' loud frae the white edge o' a cloud, A' the valley mile on mile rippled owre wi' a smile, But my heart fell wae and chill as we dropped below the hill; As we crossed the harbour-bar, 'neath the lonely morning star, For I was leaving there a lass was never one more fair, But when I come hame again o'er the wild and fickle faem, Oh, the lass sae sweet and meek! it's wet, wet was her cheek, And the tears were on my ain, for my heart 'maist brak' in twain Oh, the night fell chill an' mirk as we lost sight o' the kirk, But I'll think when winds are loud in halyard and in shroud, One is thinking o' the ship, in the watches o' her sleep, And, oh, but I'll be fain when the ship is hame again, A' my cares I shall tyne, and a blithe heart will be mine, Wi' a purse o' siller fine for my Mary. She'll hae tears, but no' for care, and they'll make her still mair fair, And she'll loe me a' the mair for my roaming; And the joy will dance my ee at the kisses she'll gie me THE UNDER THE PEAK. BY FLORA L. SHAW, AUTHOR OF "CASTLE BLAIR," &c. With Illustrations from Drawings by W. M. BAILLIE. HE sea was rolling up in mountains of blue against a rosy coast, dotted with white houses and plumed with tufts of palm, when we woke one morning on board a big ocean steamer to find that we had reached the Canary Islands in the night. Grand Canary lay at a little distance, dark purple under golden mist, and looked like some great plum or rich and strange tropical fruit floating on the water. We were nearer to Teneriffe, where we intended to land. The peak was hidden in clouds, but the island appeared to be all one sunny mountain. Red lava cliffs, sparsely dotted with greenery, and broken by deep wooded gorges which ran to the sea, rose sheer up from the white rim of the waves, and were piled one upon another in volcanic confusion. Villages nestled here and there on the ledges, and hanging gardens of vine and cactus clung to the face of the rock. Santa Cruz, the capital of the islands, spread itself in a blaze of light round the harbour, and only three dark-red church spires, rising from the midst of its houses and gardens, reminded us that the town was older than the pretty colours of its fresh paint might suggest. Steamers could not approach the pier, and landing was no easy matter. Little boats I. danced like nut-shells on the great Atlantic rollers, and seemed to be always balancing themselves on the extreme edge of a wave, in peril of capsizing; but somehow or other the passengers and their luggage were transferred from the ship to the tiny flotilla that clustered round it, and before mid-day we had landed on the pier on which Nelson lost his arm. A good-humoured group gathered to see us land, and some little brown children, dressed in rags of yellow and pink, ran alongside of us to the hotel; but it was a holiday, one of the many saints' days of the year, the shops were shut, there were few people in the street, and the first impression was of the hush of one of those enchanted spots in which it is "always afternoon." We visited the cathedral, and saw there the colours taken from Nelson at the time of the invasion, an event of which the islanders speak much as we in England speak of the dispersion of the Spanish Armada; and we also visited the museum, where there was matter of historic interest of a very different kind in the collection of Guanche skulls and mummies and implements of daily use, which have descended from the Homeric age of the islands. Unfortunately we were none of us antiquarians, to reconstruct, as we might have done from what lay before us, the life of a people who were already spoken of in the "Odyssey" as the inhabitants of the Fields of the Blessed. But even to us the plough made of a goat horn attached to a stick, the rough stone knives, the fish-hooks of bone, spoke of the occupation of a pastoral race; and to me personally as housekeeping woman a big jar of what was called petrified butter was eloquent with a story of home. Who made it? Who saved it? one wondered. And what catastrophe intervened to prevent it from being consumed by the mouths for which it was intended? gardens, where roses, and oranges, and ibiscus were hustling each other in a web of manycoloured creepers; the sun shone for us; the blue sky was ours if we chose to make it so. There was no air of exclusiveness, and every one appeared willing to help us if we wanted help. We made several acquaintances in the course of the afternoon-acquaintances of the pavement-and by the advice of one of them pushed our exploration of the town out to the cochineal gardens which fringed it. There was no difficulty in obtaining leave to enter, and we examined the little plumcoloured grubs which look like a blight on the Between the museum and the market prickly pear. This ugly plant is to them as every paving-stone might have been a cen- the mulberry to the silkworm, and as they are tury, and the contrast was vivid which was a valuable crop the plantations of it which surpresented by the undisturbed dust and still-round Santa Cruz are extensive enough to ness of the one and the bubble of noise in the other. Guavas and garlic, and roses and dates were piled with fresh salads on stalls, where cut pumpkins and tomatoes gave colour, and oranges and bananas added their various yellows to each rich combination. The sunshine, the colour, and the heaped-up plenty charmed our northern eyes, and it was delightful to see people who looked like beggars come and carry away for a penny or two baskets full of what would have been in London the exclusive luxuries of the rich. We continued our walk, caring more to see the town than its sights, and found it just what it had looked from the sea-an old town repainted, with its history seemingly forgotten in commerce. All the largest buildings had names on them which ended in Co., or its equivalent, and the houses which had no names evidently belonged to the company's partners. They were rectangular, spacious, and of continental appearance, painted mostly in white, or yellow, or pink, with sun-shutters closed to keep out the sun, and balconies from which on the shady side of the street ladies dressed in black looked down on the passers-by. It was only in the poorer quarters that the fine carving of old doors and window-shutters was left without the new coat of paint; and here, where the bronzed faces did not fear the sun, and because of the holiday there was no work to do, the swinging panels of shutters were pushed freely out, and the dark woodwork served as a frame to charming pictures. We did not feel ourselves to be strangers. Every one was ready to salute us as we passed. There was general good-humour and an atmosphere of easy hospitality, which put us at once at our ease. The band played for us, we felt, in the square; the flowers bloomed for us in the make a very disfiguring feature in the landscape, all the more that at certain seasons the cultivation of the cochineal grub demands that every leaf shall be wrapped in cotton rags. Here and there in the dampest corners banana-trees pushed their untidy heads together, and heavy bunches of their green fruit hung in the deep shade they formed. There were no big trees, and the country looked so barren that there was nothing but the magnificent colour and outline of the rocks and the sea to create the impression of beauty which we received. To us all was new, but nothing seemed strange. It is the special charm of the island that from the moment you set foot upon it you feel at home. No one stays in Santa Cruz except natives who have business there. It is the capital of the province formed by the seven Canary Islands, and the seat of local government, besides being the principal port. To islanders it has therefore a certain importance, but to foreigners it is only the ante-room of an old house which they wish to explore. They take no interest in its modern restorations, its well-mended streets, and well-planted squares. It is, on a very small scale, what they have seen a thousand times before, and all that remains with them when they look back on it is a grateful remembrance of the courtesy and kindness with which they were welcomed here to the island. Teneriffe with all its strange traditions lies behind. They are anxious to escape and to see it. There is but one road for wheeled traffic in the island, and it leads over the rocky face seen from the sea to Laguna, which stands in a cleft of the hills at an elevation of something less than two thousand feet above Santa Cruz. Laguna is the |