aid to contain a population of two thousand, and if
the dogs and fleas be taken into consideration, I have no doubt it
does. Where two thousand human beings can stow themselves in a place
containing but one hotel, and that a very poor one, is a matter of
wonder to the stranger. The houses generally are but one story high,
and seldom contain more than two or three rooms. Some half a dozen
stores, it is true, of better appearance than the average, have been
built by the Danish merchants within the past few years; and the
residence of the governor and the public University are not without
some pretensions to style.

The only stone building in Reykjavik of any importance is the
"Cathedral;" so called, perhaps, more in honor of its great antiquity
than any thing imposing about its style or dimensions. At present it
shows no indications of age, having been patched, plastered, and
painted into quite a neat little church of modern appearance.

[Illustration: GOVERNOR'S RESIDENCE, REYKJAVIK.]

[Illustration: ICELANDIC HOUSES.]

At each end of the town is a small gathering of sod-covered huts,
where the fishermen and their families live like rabbits in a burrow.
That these poor people are not all devoured by snails or crippled with
rheumatism is a marvel to any stranger who takes a peep into their
filthy and cheerless little cabins. The oozy slime of fish and smoke
mingles with the green mould of the rocks; barnacles cover the walls,
and puddles make a soft carpeting for the floors. The earth is
overhead, and their heads are under the earth, and the light of day
has no light job of it to get in edgewise, through the windows. The
beaver-huts and badger-holes of California, taking into consideration
the difference of climate, are palatial residences compared with the
dismal hovels of these Icelandic fishermen. At a short distance they
look for all the world like mounds in a grave-yard. The inhabitants,
worse off than the dead, are buried alive. No gardens, no cultivated
patches, no attempt at any thing ornamental relieves the dreary
monotony of the premises. Dark patches of lava, all littered with the
heads and entrails of fish; a pile of turf from some neighboring bog;
a rickety shed in which the fish are hung up to dry; a gang of
wolfish-looking curs, horribly lean and voracious; a few prowling
cats, and possibly a chicken deeply depressed in spirits--these are
the most prominent objects visible in the vicinity. Sloth and