16 How the ‘1 Mastiffs ’ ’ went to Iceland. When we descended from the hill we were carried to other parts of the town,—especially to see the church. It was now considerably past midnight, and yet there seemed to be no difficulty in finding the key. The church was spacious,—not at all unlike one of our own ugly churches, with pews, and a gallery, and an organ. It seemed to me to be larger than would be wanted in England for a population of 900; but it is probably the case that a larger proportion of the population attends Divine service than is the case with our- selves. It was evident that they were proud of their church, and that they who accompanied us were anxious that we should see it. Some of the shops were open,—whether for our special benefit, or because it is the custom of the Faroeites to carry on their trade at midnight, we did not know. But cigars were bought there, not made I believe of the very best Havana tobacco, and sugar plums. One of our ladies, Miss Stuart, at about one o’clock in the morning, having observed, examined, and admired the shoes which the young ladies of the island wore, expressed a wish to purchase a pair. She was immediately supplied from some ready-made shoe warehouse. But as the concomitant long red strings with which the Faroe ladies tie them up their legs were wanting, and as the shoes were imperfect without them, one of the girls immediately stripped off her red strings and presented them to our young “ Mastiff.” I hope she may wear them for many years in honour of her far away friend in Thorshavn. When the affair of the shoes had been transacted, we were summoned on board by J. B. It may be as well understood by all readers that J. B. is the name by which our host has been known, I was going to say familiarly, but I may add generally, in all social, fashionable, and nautical circles. J. B., with the mariners, had made their calculations as to reaching Reykjavik, the capital of Iceland, at a certain hour, and would allow us no further time. A little we were delayed by parting embraces in the postmaster’s house, and by the desire which the presence of a post-office not unnaturally created in the bosoms of some of us to write letters to our friends from so remote a shore. The letters

(1) Band
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(7) Blaðsíða [1]
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(9) Mynd
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(11) Blaðsíða [3]
(12) Blaðsíða [4]
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(99) Kjölur
(100) Framsnið
(101) Kvarði
(102) Litaspjald