ves of his
gown and barking furiously. Covered with lather as I was, I had to
rush in to quiet the dogs, and in this state I had to receive the Very
Rev. the Dean, and explain to him the nature of the work that brought
me to Oxford. It was certainly awkward, but in spite of the disorder
of my room, in spite also of the tobacco smoke of which the Dean did
not approve, all went off well, though, I confess, I felt somewhat
ashamed. In the same interview the Dean asked me about an Icelandic
Dictionary which had been offered to the press by Cleasby and Dasent.
"Surely it is a small barbarous island," he said, "and how can they
have any literature?" I tried, as well as I could, to explain to the
Dean the extent and the value of Icelandic literature, and soon after
the press, which was then the Dean, accepted the Dictionary which was
brought out later by Dr. Vigfusson, in a most careful and scholarlike
manner. It might indeed safely be called his Dictionary, considering
how many dictionaries are called, not after the name of the compiler
or compilers, but after that of their editor.

This Dr. Vigfusson was quite a character. He was perfectly pale and
bloodless, and had but one wish, that of being left alone. He came to
Oxford first to assist Dr. Dasent, to whom Cleasby, when he died, had
handed over his collections; but afterwards he stayed, taking it for
granted that the University would give him the little he wanted. But
even that little was difficult to provide, as there were no funds that
could be used for that purpose, however uselessly other funds might
seem to be squandered. That led to constant grumbling on his part.
Ever so many expedients were tried to satisfy him, but none quite
succeeded. At last he fell ill and died, and when he was a patient at
the Acland Home, where the nurses did all they could for him, he
several times said to me when I sat with him, that he had never been
so happy in his life as in that Home. I sometimes blame myself for not
having seen more of him at Oxford. But he always seemed to me full of
suspicions and very easily offended, and that made any free
intercourse with him difficult and far from pleasant. Perhaps it was
my fault also. He may have felt that he might have claimed a
professorship of Icelandic quite as well as I, and he may have grudged
my settled position in Oxford, my independence and my freedom.
Whenever we did work together, I always found him pleasant at first,
but very soo