In the rural districts, if such a phrase can properly be applied to any part of Iceland, the church is scarcely distinguishable from any other building, except by the cross planted on its roof. It measures, generally, from eight to ten feet in width, and from eighteen to twenty-four feet in length; but of this space about eight feet are devoted to the altar, which is divided off by a wooden partition stretching across the church, just behind the pulpit. The communion-table is nothing more than a small wooden chest or cupboard, placed at the end of the building, between two small square windows, each formed by a single common-sized pane of glass. Over the table is suspended a sorry daub, on wood, intended to represent the Last Supper. The walls, which are wainscotted, are about six feet high; and stout beams of wood stretch from side to side. On these are carelessly scattered a number of old Bibles, psalters, and loose leaves of soiled and antiquated manuscripts. The interior of the roof, the rafters of which rest on the walls, is also lined with wood. Accommodation, in the shape of a few rough benches, is provided for a congregation of thirty or forty souls. Poor as are the churches, the pastors are still poorer. The best benefice in the island is worth not much more than £40 per annum; the average value is £10. The bishop himself does not receive more than £200. The principal support of the clergy, therefore, is derived from their glebe-land, eked out by the small fees charged for baptisms, marriages, and funerals. Such being the case, the reader will not be surprised to learn that the Icelandic clergy live miserably and work hard. They assist in the haymaking; they hire themselves out as herdsmen; they act as the leaders of the caravans of pack-horses which carry the produce of the island to the ports, and return loaded with domestic necessaries; and they distinguish themselves as blacksmiths, as veterinarians, and shoers of horses. Dr. Henderson gives an interesting and graphic account of a visit he paid to one of these “poor parsons,” John Thorlukson, who, while supporting himself by drudgery of this painful kind, translated Milton’s “Paradise Lost” and Pope’s “Essay on Man” into Icelandic.