[1] From Thjóð old High Germ. Diot, a people, a nation; often found in composition, as Thjóð-fundr =constituent assembly, Thjóð-rekr = Germ. Diet-rich, and Thjóð-marr = Germ. Dit-mar (Cleasby).

[2] Akureyri had another paper, the Gángleri, which ceased publication in 1872. It contained some valuable articles, especially one headed “What am I to pay to the Thing?” and the answer was apparently not easy, as it occupied seven issues, beginning with February 7, 1871.

[3] It was here in Henderson’s time, and it was disliked because charged with “a tendency to introduce the illumination of the German school.” At present, besides the presses of Reykjavik and Akureyri, there is a third at the Elliðavatn, one hour’s ride from the capital. It belongs to a certain Hr Benedikt, ex-assessor of the High Court of Justice, who was removed for the best of reasons. He has no licence to print.

[4] And even England lacks the foundations which encourage specialties in Germany. What we want is a number of students who are able to devote their time to pursuits never likely to pay in a publishing sense. Some day, perhaps, one of those philanthropists who give half-a-million sterling to an hospital or to a church, will provide the necessary accommodation in the “Temple of Science”—£15,000 per annum, divided into incomes ranging from £200 to £300, would supply a great desideratum.

[5] The principal are the red-breasted merganser (Mergus merganser); the rare lap-wing (Vanellus cristatus); the water-rail (Rallus aquaticus), also uncommon; the thrush (Turdus eleacus); the willow wren (Motacilla trochilus); and the little regulus with big feet and bill (Troglodytes borealis), the Pjetur Nonsmad, or Peter Dinner of Norway, because he is not seen after noon, and the Fugle Kongr, because he rides the eagle. Curious stories are also told about the wren at Trieste; he appears and disappears with the thrushes, avoiding the heats of summer: the same is said about the Abú Hin (the father of Henna) at Damascus. The black-bird (Turdus merula) is sometimes driven to Iceland by southern gales.

[6] Of local specimens we were shown varieties of the Mó-berg (Palagonite tuff), especially from the Seljadalr, which feels soft, between chalk and steatite, some white or dull yellow, acted upon by acids; others brown and black. Palagonite conglomerate with large pieces of felspar. Blue compact basalt from Kjallarnes, with and without drusic cavities; hexagonal basalt; reniform pebbles of the same material. Jaspers, red, yellow, and green, from the north, the latter containing copper. Dolerite or greenstone. A collection of Hekla lavas, passing from the porous to the highly compact. Micaceous “glimmer schiefer” studded with garnets. Zeolite and Iceland spar; silicates of lime. Quartz needles from the Geysir, and other quartzes, uncrystallised and crystallised into fine hexagons, large and small, often contained in bolides. Aluminous clays and oxide of iron, some with regular angles and metallic revetments. Concretions from Laugarnes and the Geysir, the stalks of plants resembling petrified bones. The Cyprina Gaimardi and Byssomea arctica from the north. Other shells: Balanus, Mya truncata, Venus Islandica, Lepas, Bulla, and Turbinus. True cannel coal from Suderoe, to the west; lignites, old and new; pieces of Surtar-brand, flat, and showing impressions of leaves; large fragments of true pitch-stone resembling, and others in transition to, obsidian. Hrafntinna (Raven-flint, Gagates Islandicus), obsidian or Iceland agate, black and liver-brown, like Jews’ pitch or asphalt, from Mý-vatn and the Hrafnatinnuhraun of Hekla. Henderson (i. 178) mistranslates Hrafnutinna, “Piedra de Galinazzo, or raven-stone” (for buzzard-stone). Agates, chalcedonies, and transitional opals, from Múla Sýsla, Tindastoll, and Heimaklettur, in the Vestmannaeyjar: according to Professor Abel, the south-eastern coast affords the noble stone, and the islanders believe that about 1821 a Mr Methley (?) carried home a valuable collection. Professor Árnason kindly gave me a little box of chalcedonies which looked like onyxes.

[7] The Skýrsla (Report) of the Library gives a total of 387 works, distributed amongst eight stands of sixteen shelves—they are by no means well filled. Classical authors occupy two cases on the left of the entrance; on the right are translations of the Testament, and some elementary works in Arabic and Armenian, Hindostani, Maharati, and Bengali, all “dead letters” here. At the further end are modern books printed in Reykjavik. The small collection of Icelandic manuscripts is all on paper, the more valuable vellum has left the island for “foreign parts.” There are bundles of ecclesiastical archives, tattered and unbound copies of the defunct “Islendingur,” which is more quoted in England than in Iceland; and finally, there is a small set of novelists, Walter Scott (in German), Dickens, and Bulwer, lent to the reading public.

[8] The only remarkabilities are the Bibles and the manuscripts. Among the first we find the large folio Biblia of 1584—the first entire work—translated from the German version of Martin Luther by Guðbrand Thorlaksson, Bishop of Hólar, and there printed. This admirable work, which rivals our “established version,” is not divided into verses, and is chiefly curious because the mechanical dignitary, who in 1574 imported new types, made his own capitals, plates, and woodcuts. He was assisted by the Icelander Jón Jónsson, and preceded by John Mathieson, a Swede, who brought the first printing press about 1520, and who published the “Breviarium Nidarosiense” in 1521; an ecclesiastical handbook, Luther’s Catechism, and others of the same kind. These works, especially the Breviarium, are so rare as to be practically unprocurable. According to my informants, no “Elucidarius” has ever been published in Iceland. The Rev. Thorwaldr Bjarnason assured me that the oldest Icelandic manuscript is one of these catechisms, translated, as they all were, from Latin, and dating from the thirteenth century. The second Biblia (1644), after the Danish version of Bishop Resinius, is the work of Bishop Thorlak Skurlason of Hólar, who divided it into verses. The type is black letter, ultra-Gothic Gothic, and the two folios are in the best condition. There is a copy of the New Testament (1540, Henderson, ii. 265) translated by Oddr Gottskálksson, with the distinguishing mark [image of figure not available.] (G. T. and cross), a large and thick duodecimo, with the beginning and the end restored by manuscript—Icelanders, as a rule, are very skilful in supplying lost pages. Of this book only three copies are known, the two others are at the deanery of Hruni and in Glasgow. Another New Testament (1609), reprinted at Hólar by Bishop Guðbrand, whose high-nosed and fork-bearded face remind us of his kinsman Rustam in far Iran, is a small stout octavo, with an old binding and metal clasps.

[9] The valuable printed books are the fourth volume of Finn Jónsson’s “Historia Monastica,” of which only three copies exist in the island; the “Scriptores Rerum Danicarum” (Jacobus Longebek, 8 vols. folio, Hafniæ, 1772); and the “Crymogea” of Arngrimr Jónsson, 4 vols. octavo: the latter is so unhappily divided that it is most difficult to find a passage required. Some of the shelves are filled with presents made by patriotic Icelanders and liberal publishers, such as The Gentleman’s Magazine till 1771; a few Smithsonian and Patent Office Reports; “Le Plutarch Français;” “Conversations Lexicons;” the “Allgemeine Deutsch Bibliotek;” the “Bibliothêque des Romans;” “Chambers’s Information for the People;” “Dictionnaire de Bayle,” and the “Chronique des Religieux de Saint Denis,” by L. Bellaguet—a curious mixture by the side of Thackeray, Dickens, and Marryat. The list of local works, so much wanted by travellers and so rarely found, is eminently defective. Neither the first nor the second volume of Cleasby was among the number, and although the Latin translation of the Njála exists, Mr Dasent’s “Burnt Njál” did not appear. Of Englishmen in Iceland, I found Hooker and Mackenzie, Lord Dufferin, and Symington. Gaimard’s sumptuous and expensive work, including the folio illustrations, is there: its fate has been general abuse and unlimited “cribbing.” I was shown in London some photographs of exploration in the Vatnajökull, which were mere reproductions of the “Sommet du Snæfells Jökull;” and many a book of travels has similarly enriched itself.

[10] The oldest form is Frauva, and the later Frú is probably a contracted form of Fruvu, or of Freyja (Venus), according to the Prose Edda (c. 24), but in the glossary to the Poetical Edda, it is from Friðr, handsome, whence Friðla, a concubine, corresponding with the German Frau, but put after as well as before the name. It was little used before the thirteenth century, and in the fourteenth it was applied to abbesses and the wives of knights, not of priests. At present, it is given without distinction. Húsfreyja is = Germ. Hausfrau = Eng. Housewife, always a married woman. Junfrú is = Germ. Jungfrau, a princess in the thirteenth century, now simply Mademoiselle. Víf (Weib, a wife) is purely poetical in Icel.: it is supposed to be originally a weaver (Vefa, vífiðr). Hence the Anglo-Saxon Wîf-mann = woman, not womb-(Icel. Vömb) man. Herra (= Germ. Herr) was a title given in A.D. 1277 to the new Norwegian creation of barons (Hersar) and knights: bishops and abbots were also so styled. After the Reformation it became an integral part of the address of bishops, as Síra of priests, but only applied like the Latin Don (dominus) to Christian names. Now it is our Mister or Esquire in writing: in conversation Icelanders have no equivalent for these words; the person, if not a clerk, is simply addressed by his Christian name. The old scale of precedence was Konungr, Jarl, Hersir (the baron of Normandy and Norman England), Höldr (yeoman), and Búandi or Bóndi, = Germ. Bauer, a tiller of the ground (Cleasby).

[11] From Falda, to fold, hence the Ital. Falda and Faldetta, head-dress. As women vied in the size of this “stately national head-gear,” it obtained the sarcastic name Stiku-faldr, “yard-long fald.” In modern poetry, Iceland, with her glaciers, is represented as a woman with her fald on. Skaut is the “sheet” or veil, which hung down behind (Cleasby).

[12] Forbes’ sketch of “Helda’s buttons” gives an excellent idea of the article.

[13] M. Gaimard deduces this word from the Germ. Bauer, peasant; evidently an error. The North of England names, of which twenty to thirty end in -by, e.g., Kirk-by, derived the suffix from the Danish and Swedish -by, which is = Icel. Bær (Cleasby).

[14] The instrument occurs in the proverb, “Svá eru Flosa ráð sem fari Kefli.” Flosa plans are a rolling cylinder (Gr. Οἱ δὲ κυλίνδροις ἄλλοτ’ ἐπ’ ἀλλὰ φέρονται), the metaphor being taken from a mangle (Cleasby).

[15] The latter also has introduced the rude Scotch Posh or fiddle, strung with “Torren,” the small gut of the sheep (Edmonston).

[16] Thorpe (Edda, preface, part ii., pp. iv., v.) suggests that the name of this adaptation of Vedic and Iranic artificer-gods, this northern Vulcan and Dædalus, may be merely an adaptation from the German Wieland, or the Anglo-Saxon Weland, and notices Sir Walter Scott’s woeful perversion, in “Kenilworth,” of the venerable legend travestied from the Berkshire tradition. Blackwall tells us that a labyrinth was called Völundarhús—a wayland house; and Cleasby that Völundr survives in the Fr. Galant, and the Eng. Gallant.

[17] The day, however, has not come when these weapons can be ranged strictly according to date, and when a narrow comparison of differences, not of superficial resemblance, can be made between those discovered in different parts of the world.

[18] It is nothing but the “cross cramponné” of heraldry, and is generally identified with the mythic “thunderbolt;” hence, probably, the pre-Christian crosses of Scandinavian inscriptions. Of the sacred cross in the Huaca at Cuzco, we learn that the Incas did not worship it, beyond holding it in veneration on account of the beauty of its form, or for some other reason which they could scarcely give expression to (Garcilasso de la Vega, translated, etc., by Clements R. Markham, C.B., for the Hakluyt Society, London, 1869). It may be remarked that the pre-Christian cross, shaped as an ordinary Greek cross, when not connected with the sacred Tan of Egypt, was the symbol of the four quarters; when surrounded by a circle, it denoted the solar path from left to right round the world. A later symbol of the same order was the Hindu Swastika (mystical mark, meeting of four roads, etc.), whose arms, according to Mr Beal, should always be drawn from left to right, and not, as is sometimes done, “widdershins,” or in the reverse way. Finally, the crocheted cross (Cruz ansata at four ends) is the Aryan symbol of the sacred fire lit by Pramatha (Prometheus).

[19] The trip of eight days thus costs £14, but the travellers had potted provisions, liquor, and other comforts, which may have brought the expense up to £20—£10 each. Allowing £3 for the six days of delay, in or about Reykjavik, till the fortnightly steamer starts; £6 for coming from and returning to Granton; and £3 for extras; the total of £22 easily “does” the Geysirs. Of course, those who are not hurried will pay much less.

[20] The figures have been treated in the Introduction, Sect. VII.

[21] Hross in Icelandic (Germ. Ross, Fr. Rosse) is singular and plural. So Chaucer makes “hors” plural, and we still say, a troop of horse, like a flock of sheep. So in Shetland Russa-bairn (stallion, male) is opposed to Hesta-bairn (mare) child. The Hengist and Horsa of our innocent childhood were derived from the same words.

[22] Nothing easier than to teach the horse meat-eating and fish-eating. Where little and highly nutritious food is forced by the necessity of saving weight, the habit is acquired in youth.

[23] In this matter the last few years have seen a wonderful improvement amongst us; still, I have visited wealthy stables in England where the thermometer stood at 72° (F.), equal to Boston Hotel, or to an Anglo-Indian London Club. It is difficult to reform the evil where grooms sleep above these ovens, where hot air saves grooming coats, and where the vet. requires to make a livelihood. The perfection of horse-stabling appears to me a modification of the Afghan system—protecting the chest and body with felts, thick or thin as the season demands, and allowing the head and throat to be hardened by cold, pure air.

[24] This is a general rule: 65 for an ass, 100 for a pony, and 120-150 for an ox. The latter are not trained to carry luggage in Iceland, and it is hard to tell the reason why.

[25] Astraddle was doubtless the earliest form of feminine seat, yet Mr Newton found at Budrum a statue of Diana sitting her horse sideways.

[26] Information concerning them may be met with in Gosselin (Historia Fucorum): travellers have paid scant attention to this branch of botany. The wracks feed man and beast, and serve for fuel, bed stuffing, and other domestic purposes: consequently some forty-four kinds have been described, especially that impostor, the Zostera marina, which lies in loose heaps. The most common are the Fucus palmatus, Sacchurinus esculentus, edulis, fœniculaceus, and digitatus. The first-mentioned is the Sol, eaten in Ireland and in Scotland, where it is called Dulce: at Oreback (Eyrarbakka), it sells for 70 fishes per voet (= 80 lbs.). The second, F. saccharinus (Alga saccharifera), is the Welsh Laver, whose spirally-twisted leaves, six feet long by one broad, become straight when dry. In the Shetlands the larger fuci in general are called Tangle, Tang, and Ware, and are extensively used as manure.

[27] Dr Cowie (Shetland, 1st edit., chap. ix., pp. 165-167) gives an excellent account of “peat-casting.”

[28] Varða, in the plural Vörður, is a beacon, more generally an “homme de pierre,” a pile of stones to act as landmark or way sign; it is derived from að varða, to ward, to guard, monere (quod hîc vicus est). Our travellers generally write the word in the Danish form “Varde.” These piles, like the “‘a’úr” (Kakúr) of Syria and Palestine, are often put up by the shepherd lads, apparently for want of something else to do.

[29] Kona, of old Kwina and Kuna, is evidently the English Quean (but not Queen). It is a congener of γυνή;(Sansk. Jani), which the Rev. Wm. Ridley (p. 390, Anthrop. Journal, July and Oct. 1872) traces through Guni, Gun, Gyn, and Gin, to the Australian “Jin:” why not take it at once from the Arab. Jinn (Genie), a manner of devil? For many years, Konungr (A.S., Cynig, our King) was composed of Konr, man of gentle birth, and Ungr, young; but the Dictionary pronounces this to be a mere poetical fancy.

[30] The pint was found to contain 3·51 grains of solid matter. The specific gravity (at 60° F.) was 1000·21, and the components were:

[31] We have Lax rivers in England. Some books translate Lax “trout” as well as salmon. This is a mistake, the former is always known as Sílungr or Forelle (Dan.): as may be expected, there are numerous terms for the fish at different ages and in several conditions.

[32] This suffixed article, which has died out of so many northern tongues, appears to be comparatively modern, only once showing in the Voluspa (e.g., Goðin, v. 117). It is found in Coptic, e.g., Mau-t, the mother, for Ti-mau; and in Wallach (Daco-Roman): the latter, for instance, says Frate-le (in Italian, Il fratello), and Dinte-le for Il Dente (dens).

[33] Skarð, common in local names, is the English Shard, a notch, chink, an open place in a bank, a mountain-pass, the Cumbrian Scarf-gap (Cleasby). Henderson gives Kampe as the popular name of a col; he probably means Kambi, a comb or ridge.

[34] Meaning a mane, hair, and still preserved in such names as Fairfax.

[35] The word often occurs in Iceland; it is applied to a lady’s bower or a dungeon, both being secluded chambers, to a heap of refuse (Cleasby), and to conspicuous warts and peaks of rock.

[36] At sea-level the compensated aneroid (Casella, 1182) showed 30·05, the thermometer (F.) 66°. Here it was 27·10 in the open air, with the thermometer at 40° (F.), and in the pocket 26·90, with the thermometer at 80° (F.). The instrument, despite compensation, must always be cooled in the shade before use.

[37] “The whole formation of the mountain (Büdös) and the surrounding cones, the sharp-edged blocks and masses of rock, heaped up one on the other, of which these consist, the apparently molten surface of the trachyte—all seems plainly to prove that it was only after the formation of these masses, and when they were in a rigid state, that a grand upheaval took place here; during which, the powerful gases from below, raising, and straining, and tearing the masses, piled them up in mighty domes and mountain-tops, tossing them about till, here and there, they had found permanent canals leading to the surface of the earth.” (Frederic Fronius, quoted by Mr Bonar).

[38] It is noticed in the “Mémoires de la S. R. des Antiquaires du Nord” (p. 9, vol. of 1845-49). The writer assigns it to A.D. 1143, in the days of “Are Frode” (Ari hinn Fróði).

[39] Múli (pron. mule) is the Germ. Maul, a muzzle, and the Scotch Mull (e.g., of Galloway), the Shetland and Orkney “Mule.” It means a buttress, with bluff head, a tongue of high land, bounded on three sides by slopes or precipices, and the word should be adopted into general geography. The Arabs would call this favourite site for old towns, “Zahr et Taur”—the bull’s back.

[40] The late Mr Piddington tells us that the Hvalfjörð district is “called by the neighbouring inhabitants Veðra-Kista, that is, box or chest of winds, which implies that this inlet is, as it were, the abode of violent storms.” He gives cyclones to Iceland, where there are none, and he corrects Uno Von Troil (p. 41) who rightly makes the name “Storm-coast (Veðra-kista) to be given to some places in Iceland.”

[41] The Sel, which often occurs in Icelandic names, is the German Senn-hütte, a shed, or little farm-house, in a mountain-pasture. The A.S. Sele probably reappears in our north-country “Shiel,” a small shooting farm. In Norway such huts are called Setr, or Sætr, the A.S. Sætar: hence Sumur Sætas (dwellers in summer huts) became our Somerset. Iceland wants the cold arbour (Ceald here-berga = Kaltern herberg of old Germany), the bare-walled lodge, or “Traveller’s bungalow.”

[42] The North Atlantic Telegraph viâ the Færoe Islands, Iceland, and Greenland. London: Stanford, 1861.

[43] At the farm-house the mean of three observations taken before setting out, and after return, gave 29·60, th. (F.) 71°; summit of first ridge, 27·65, th. 87°; top of mountain, 26·60, th. 77°.

[44] From að stilla, to fix a position.

[45] In the Shetlands called Smora, from Dan. Smör, butter, because it gives an abundance of cream.

[46] Hooker, ii. 325.

[47] The Mexicans also had a “Fair God,” Quetzel, beautiful as Baldur, and, better still, averse to human sacrifices. The popular tradition, that some day he would return from the east and rule the land, made Montezuma recognise him in the blond-haired Cortez: the great explorer and conqueror, however, did not prove a satisfactory Quetzel. Of these white gods and foreigners from the east, even in South America, I have treated fully in my notes to Hans Stade (Hakluyt Soc.), part ii., chap. xv.

[48] The word was taken from Chamounix by De Saussure. It is not, as Petermann says, the detritus or rubbish heaps from the bottom and sides of the glacier or ice-fall, but the débris of the rock above it.

[49] This is the popular form of Or-usta, battle.

[50] Melr, a sandy hill, and especially a bare bank of sand and stone, familiar to Iceland travellers, has been explained in the Introduction (Sect. VII.). Baring-Gould (p. 284) would derive it from a root signifying to grind; Holmboe from Myldja, to dig, or from Mold, loose earth. Bakki is a bank or ridge, opposed to Brekka (brink), a slope, a hill.

[51] This stone, like the diamond, threatens to lose more than half its value, if it be true that the State of Queretaro in Mexico has lately (1874) yielded “opals of the first quality, and of all varieties; the milk-opals, fire-opals, girasols or ‘harlequins,’ and the richest Hungarian or precious opals.”

[52] The word Áss, pl. Asar and Æsir, is explained by Jornandes, “Gothi proceres suos quasi qui fortunâ vincebant non pares homines sed semideos, i.e. Anses (Ans in Mæso-Gothic) vocavere.” Suetonius makes Æsar an Etruscan word which meant God (probably a plural of Kelt. Es). We find forms of it in the Mongolian dialects, and in the Aryan, Sanskrit (Asura), Keltic, Teutonic (Æsir), German (Anshelm, p. n.), and even in the English Osborn and Oswald. As appears to correspond with the Semitic Al, but the word is still involved in mystery.

[53] The Hebrew Esh and the Chaldee Esha (fire) are synonymous with the Aryan Is, whence Isti, an offering on the hearth, and Estika the place of offering. Hence the Greek Hestía, fire, hearth, stove, and, with digamma, the Latin Vesta when worshipped as Genius or Lar familiaris.

[54] Blót (or Forn), a sacrifice of men and beasts, horses and oxen, swine and sheep, must not be confounded with Blóð, blood. The Blót-steinn or sacrificial stone, which acted as our gallows, is described as of “oval form and a little pointed at the top,” which suggests the Moab-god Chemosh, it stood in every Thing-field, a place adjoining the Hof. I did not remark that the site of the temples always faced south, as Mallet says. The Öndvegi, or high-seat of the hall, was “on the side of the sun,” i.e., south.

[55] He specifies the ruined castle near Videdal (Viðidalr), some 200 perches in circumference and 20 fathoms (?) high on the north side; another castle near the parsonage Skaggestad at Laugarnaes; remains of heathen temples at Midfjörð, Godale, Viðvik, etc.; the ancient place of execution at Hegranaes; pagan burial-places, like that of Thorleif Jarlaskáld’s in the Oxerá island, which yielded old swords and helmets; two Bauta-steinn, great standing stones (Menhirs?), on the heaths of Thingman’s and Threkyllis, “which probably, according to Odin’s regulations, were monuments to the memory of deceased persons;” the grass-grown mound of Reykholt, “said to be raised from the ruins of Sturluson’s house;” the Sturlunga Reitr, or burial-place of his family, and forty small figures of brass representing animals and other objects found near Flatey: “unfortunately they fell into the hands of people who did not know their value, consequently they have all been lost” (p. 189).

[56] This popular German expression is evidently the Scandinavian Besse, for Berr or Bersi = Bär, a bear. Besse, again, has a suspicious likeness to the Yakut “Ese,” the most respectful term in the language, = grandfather or monseigneur, applied by those Siberian Mongols to the great white bear, their most formidable foe. Bruin in Gothland being the “king of the beasts,” to do a thing with Besse’s leave is equivalent to doing it without leave. The quaint quadruped is much noticed in folk-lore; “Mishka” is his pet name in Russia; “Berengarius” is derived from the French Dan Beringer; and Ephraim and Ole Cuffey are well known in the U.S. Persia abounds in tales about his wearing a turband and riding asses.

[57] It supplied the Hafnafiordite of Forchhammer, leek-green, light, porous, and friable pumice-tuff, containing the following proportions:

Dr W. Lauder Lindsay remarks, “The sp. gr. is usually 2·729; it appears to be a lime-oligoclase, belonging, therefore, to the Felspathic family of minerals.”

[58] Passengers to Hafnafjörð paid only 2 marks (7d.). The nine days to the north and back were the cheapest known to me—$9 (=£1) each way, and for living £4, a total of 13s. per diem, including steward’s fees, and excellent Norwegian ale and Geneva ad lib. Breakfast of fish and meat at eight to ten A.M.; dinner of ditto and coffee at two to four P.M.; and supper, a repetition of the two, at eight to nine P.M. Port, sherry, and Château Yquem = $1 specie (4s. 6d.); champagne, $2; porter, $0·48; and Norwegian beer, 12sk. (3½d.) per bottle. The cooking was excellent, and plate and linen equally spotless; the table was laid à la Russe with pleasant little hors d’œuvres of sardines and smoked salmon, salt meat, ham, and sausage, in fact what Italians facetiously call “Porcheria.” We mentally re-echo Mr Thackeray’s hope that Great Britain, who is supposed to rule the waves, will some day devote a little more attention to her cuisine.

[59] Borg, a castle, a city, or a small dome-shaped height, is a common local term. “It may be questioned whether these names (Borgarholt, Eld-borg, etc.) are derived simply from the hill on which they stand (berg, bjarg), or whether such hills took their names from old fortifications built upon them: the latter is more likely, but no information is on record, and at present ‘borg’ only conveys the notion of a hill” (Cleasby). In Chap. I., I have shown that “borg” and “broch” are sons of the same family.

[60] Captain Graah (loc. cit.) looks upon this as a mere fable: I do not.

[61] Hít is a scrip made of skin, and, metaphorically, a big belly. With a short vowel, Hitár-dalr means the Vale of the Hot (i.e., volcanic) River, opposed to Kaldá or Cold Stream. According to Cleasby, the derivation from the Giantess Hít is a modern fiction not older than the Bárðar Saga: he also, contrary to other authorities, makes Dominus Bárð a giantess.

[62] The Dictionary gives Göltr, a hog, and Kolla, a deer without horns, a humble deer, a hind.

[63] Both translations are somewhat too literal: Enni, a forehead, secondarily means the “brow of a hill,” a steep crag, a fronting precipice.

[64] As the “Berserkir” is becoming a power in novelistic literature, it may be advisable to give the correct form. The singular nominative is Ber-serkr, the plural Ber-serkir, and the oblique form Berserkja, e.g., Berserkja-dis, cairn of the Berserkir. Cleasby (sub voce) shows that the common derivation, taken from Snorri, “berr” (bare) and “Serkr” (sark or shirt) is inadmissible, and greatly prefers “Berr” (a bear), whose skins were worn by athletes and champions; perhaps also here we find traces of that physical metamorphosis in which all the older world believed. The “Berserksgangr” (furor bersercicus seu athleticus), when these “champions” howled like wild beasts, gnawed their iron shields, and were proof against fire and steel, may be compared with the “running amok” of the Malays, and the “bhanging up” of the Hindu hero—invariably the effect of stimulants. This fact considerably abates our interest in Eastern tales of “derring-do,” for instance, in the account of the two sentinels at Delhi, whose calm gallantry, probably produced by opium or hemp, is noticed in pitying terms by Sir Hope Grant.

[65] For the observations at Stykkishólm, see Introduction, Sect. II.

[66] Henderson (ii. 67) places “Hofstad” on the western side of the peninsula.

[67] Réttir are the big public pens, Dilkar the small folds round the former, and the Stekkjarvegr is the spring-fold; all are dry stone walls, as on the Libanus.

[68] As the word is written, it can only signify “Lithe (slope) of the panegyric;” Drápa being a poem in honour of gods, saints, kings, princes, and so forth, as opposed to the short panegyric “Plockr,” and to the longer “Hroðr,” or “Lof.” The boatman, however, explained it to mean Slope of Death, i.e., where some battle took place, and this would be derived from Dráp, slaughter. Both words (says Cleasby) come from Drepa, to strike. There is also a dispute concerning the formation of certain beds in this mountain, some holding that they issued from the same crater successively, and others, simultaneously, from different mouths.

[69] Henderson (ii. 68) places the stone in the swamp, not on the hill-side; Forbes (219) adds that it was in the centre of the Doom-ring. If so, we did not see it: moreover, Mr R. M. Smith heard from Hr Thorlacius that we were misled. I cannot help believing in the shepherd-boy; and there was no mistaking the Doom-ring. For the most part, the instruments of death stood in the fens where certain classes of criminals were drowned. On the other hand, the Landnámabók (chap. xii.) says, that after the profanation of Helgafell (Monticulus Sacer), Thórðr Gellir “forum (Thing) in superiora linguæ loca ubi nunc est, transportavere ... ibique adhuc conspiciendus est lapis Thorinus (Thórsteinn), supra quem homines sacrificio destinati, frangebantur; ibi etiam circulus judicialis existit in quo homines ad victimas condemnabant.”

[70] Compare this Northern effort with the poetical Greek curse at the Akropolis of Athens: “I entrust the guardianship of this temple to the infernal gods, to Pluto, and to Ceres, and to Proserpine, and to all the Furies, and to all the gods below. If any one shall deface this temple, or mutilate it, or remove anything from it, either of himself, or by means of another, to him may not the land be passable, nor the sea navigable, but may he be utterly uprooted! May he experience all evils, fever, and ague, and quartan, and leprosy! And as many ills as man is liable to, may they befall that man who dares to move anything from this temple!” Perhaps the most picturesque composition of the kind is the inscription upon the sarcophagus of Eshmunazar, king of Sidon—at least in the translation of the late Duc de Luynes.

[71] This form of “lynching” is popularly and erroneously supposed to have been invented upon the Atlantic seaboard of the United States. The Brazilian “Indians” practised it by way of ceremonial toilette.