a forest of masts; beyond, the blue waters of the Öresund.

The remaining houses are of all dates and styles: that of Governor Tröill is Renaissance and architectural; the Rådhus a horror of that unhappy period when buildings were supposed to consist of four walls, an aperture to go in by called a door, and sundry slits, conventionally styled windows; then, amongst humbleminded tenements of ancient "cage-work," very much out of the perpendicular, rise lofty edifices of innumerable stories, late importations from the Paris faubourg, visé and approuvé at Hamburg on their voyage northwards. Such is our hotel, with steepest of staircases within, all window, arch, and ornament without.

With an air of pride and dignity does my ancient gabled devotee (a gray sister or black friar once), in her whitewash and brickdust paint, look down on these modern atrocities. She has known the day when Skåne was Denmark's own; has mourned its cession to the Swedish Crown; has witnessed the long and fearful siege, when Malmö to the very last resisted the usurper Frederik, and later the third Christian. In the opposite house lived Corfitz Ulfeld in his days of splendour-now 'tis a burgher school. So she turns up her nose at the nineteenth century, and wonders "what the world will end by coming to."

It will be a work of time before I can look on Malmö as a Swedish possession; her name and history are so mixed up with the records of the sister kingdom-her Frederiks and her Christians; and here, in the Rådhus, you will find them all, from Waldemar and his daughter Margaret downwards (somewhat apocryphal) till we reach the second Frederik of straightlaced memory ;

Christian IV., his brother Ulrik, and their wives; lastly, Frederik III. and his vindictive queen Sophia Amalia. Then Skåne passed away, and loyalty went out of fashion; for few more portraits appear save those of Charles XII. and Gustaf III. in the splendid ball-room of Saint Knud's Gille-"Knud the Holy" of Odense.*

There was nothing holy about these guilds, so popular in the north of Europe from the earliest ages, and of which upwards of one hundred existed in Sweden alone.† If their rites commenced by the singing of psalms and a grace, they ended in much riotous conviviality. Here are preserved the splendid drinking-cups of the order: one of silver gilt, bearing the shield and cipher of Frederik II., is an exquisite specimen of the gold

* The most ancient Gille of St. Knud was founded about the year 1100. The branch Gille of Malmö dates from 1360; the regulations of the brotherhood appear to have been framed with the stern contempt for murder so general in those uproarious ages. A brother who should aid in the murder of a fellow-member was fined 18 lbs. of honey, which said honey was used towards the fabrication of hydromel. Should a brother murder a person not a member, the brethren were bound by law to aid him in his flight, provide him with a horse, and accompany him to the nearest forest. If summoned before the bishop or king, twelve of his fellows were bound to accompany him armed, and never quit him by day or night until he was safe out of the clutches of the law. Greatly the clergy abominated these "Brödraskabs." "Monemus vos, domine rex,"-don't encourage them-they are sinks of inebriety, perjury, &c. &c., writes an angry archbishop of Lund; but sovereigns liked the fun of them, and all, as well as the queen and princesses, became members of the fraternities. Frederik II. greatly patronised the Gille of St. Knud, and granted the members sundry tuns of Rostock beer per annum, duty free. In this, the 19th century, the Gilles dance, and occasionally drink-nothing more.

Among the numerous guilds of the city of Lund was one termed the "Kalende gille," consisting of priests and monks, who assembled once a month to compose the ecclesiastical almanacs for the ensuing year. The gille still exists in the persons of the three clergymen of the city, who are partly paid by farms the property of the fraternity.

smith's art. In those wine-bibbing days each newlyelected candidate was compelled to empty the cup at a draught, previous to his admission as a member of the fraternity.

At five o'clock of a winter's eve the bell of St. Knud rang, and the brethren proceeded to the hall to talk over and elect the members (anybody but a baker was eligible). Suspended by a chain from the ceiling hangs a silver dove, the badge of the guild, a miniature copy of which, with a knot of ribbon, is borne on the breasts of the brethren.

Fast embedded in the rugged pavement of this deserted Place lies a huge millstone, and there it has lain for centuries. Observe that aged peasant, with his short-cut jacket and rows of silver buttons: he leads a little girl-his grandchild—by the hand, and, standing on the well-worn flag, relates to her the tradition, as he himself received it from his forefathers:

"How in days of yore on this very spot stood a mill in which dwelt a fair and lowly maiden, beloved by a Swedish king. In vain he proffered her his love, in vain the silver buckles and silken serk' coveted by each damsel of her day: she rejected his offers with disdain, and scorned to sell her honour, even to her sovereign. But kings were all powerful: in his rage and indignation at her slight he caused her to suffer a cruel death-crushed by that very millstone on which the aged peasant now scrapes his feet, pointing out to his child the scarlet stains of the maiden's life-blood still visible on the hardened granite.

"From that day the mill became deserted, and fell into decay; and when, in the thirteenth century, a town gradually rose on the site of the accursed build

ing, it was called Malen Mö, or the 'Ground Maiden,' and has borne that name for ever after. So says tradition, not history."*

As you stroll through the streets of Malmö there is little to attract the eye. Between the double windows the sills are still carpeted with flakes of snow-white cotton, a protection against draughts, and this cotton is daintily dotted over with flowers, shells, or seaweed.

There are two churches in the city, both fine examples of northern brickwork; the tapering spire of St. Peter's was blown down in a former century, and replaced by a black slate nightcap too frightful to gaze at. The church is at present in process of restoration; and though to those well versed in epitaphia and carvings there is nothing of peculiar interest, the most blasé of ecclesiologists will be struck with admiration at the exquisite proportions of its transepts and choir, élancé and airy as a dream. You'll wonder at the size of the poor-box, an iron-bound oak chest with four holes, each one allotted in earlier days to almsgivers of different ranks. Beneath lies a gravestone, worn with age, upon which two skeletons may still

This grinding between two millstones was not a customary punishment—the "Spiketunna" was far more in vogue. In the ballad of "Lille Karin," a king causes a maiden, for the same offence, to be plunged into a barrel set with penknives and spikes; he then rolls her over with his own royal hands until she is dead.

The church of St. Peter was built 1319; the spire fell down 1442. "Quæ pessime fuit constructa, propter negligentiam et inertiam muratorum, sicut patet omni homini intuenti," writes an angry chronicler. In the German church is a full-length portrait of Luther with a swan by his side, and the following vicious hexameter:

"Pestis eram vivens, moriens ero mors tua, papa."

In this church the meeting took place between Frederik I. of Denmark and Gustaf Wasa, May 1st, A.D. 1524: they adjourned to the Rådhus, and settled together the affairs of Skåne.

be traced, with excrescences projecting from their ribs. In Roman Catholic times there dwelt in Malmö two maiden ladies, high-born and miserly, who left directions in their will to place the wealth they had amassed in their coffins. The heirs objected, but the Church overruled. After a lapse of years, a later generation, hearing that the ladies walked, to appease the ghosts caused the coffins to be opened. On the lids being raised no gold was found; but on the breast of each skeleton sat three huge toads, who spat forth venom at the intruders, and forthwith died. The heirs, feeling they had done a bad deed, were now vastly penitent. To pacify the spirits of their relatives, they erected to their memory this stone, with two skeletons carved thereon, and the six toads upon their breasts, of which you may still distinguish the traces beneath the colossal poor-box.

When you stand on the rampart heights, and scan with your eye the outline of its ancient fortifications, you imagine the city to have collapsed, as man himself becomes shrunken from old age, so wide is the extent of waste ground. There is however vitality in Malmö still; on every side new buildings are rising, walks are planted, and squares laid out in gardens; the population has increased from 12,000 to 18,000; and forming a suitable outlet to Sweden's great granary, folks prophesy how, in some years' time, she will become a maritime port of vast importance, the merchant capital of the ancient province of Skåne.

In the fifteenth century was Malmö first surrounded by walls; then also she adopted as her arms a griffin's head crowned, with red ears and neck, on a field argent. From that time she became vastly aristo