that, in our random dash at the wonders of
Iceland, we will encounter some perilous adventures by flood and
field; but if I don't carry him safely and satisfactorily through them
all, he must console himself by the reflection that many a good man
has been sacrificed in the pursuit of knowledge, and that he will
suffer in excellent company.

CHAPTER XLIII.

REYKJAVIK, THE CAPITAL OF ICELAND.

My first view of the capital of Iceland was through a chilling rain. A
more desolate-looking place I had rarely if ever seen, though, like
Don Quixote's market-woman on the ass, it was susceptible of
improvement under the influence of an ardent imagination. As a subject
for the pencil of an artist, it was at least peculiar, if not
picturesque. A tourist whose glowing fancies had not been nipped in
the bud by the vigors of an extended experience might have been able
to invest it with certain weird charms, but to me it was only the
fag-end of civilization, abounding in horrible odors of decayed polypi
and dried fish. A cutting wind from the distant Jokuls and a searching
rain did not tend to soften the natural asperities of its features. In
no point of view did it impress me as a cheerful place of residence
except for wild ducks and sea-gulls. The whole country for miles
around is a black desert of bogs and lava. Scarcely an arable spot is
to be seen save on the tops of the fishermen's huts, where the sod
produces an abundance of grass and weeds. A dark gravelly slope in
front of the town, dotted with boats, oars, nets, and piles of fish; a
long row of shambling old store-houses built of wood, and painted a
dismal black, varied by patches of dirty yellow; a general
hodge-podge of frame shanties behind, constructed of old boards and
patched up with drift-wood; a few straggling streets, paved with
broken lava and reeking with offal from the doors of the houses; some
dozens of idle citizens and drunken boatmen lounging around the
grog-shops; a gang of women, brawny and weather-beaten, carrying loads
of codfish down to the landing; a drove of shaggy little ponies, each
tied to the tail of the pony in front; a pack of mangy dogs prowling
about in dirty places looking for something to eat, and fighting when
they got it--this was all I could see of Reykjavik, the famous
Icelandic capital.

[Illustration: REYKJAVIK, THE CAPITAL OF ICELAND.]

The town lies on a strip of land between the harbor and a lagoon in
the rear. It is s