It would, however, be doing the Icelanders an injustice to regard them as generally intemperate; for though within the last twelve years the population has increased only ten per cent., and the importation of brandy thirty, yet the whole quantity of spirits consumed in the island amounts to less than three bottles per annum for each individual, and, of this allowance, the people of Reykjavik and of the other small sea-ports have more than their share, while many of the clergy and peasantry in the remoter districts hardly ever taste spirituous liquors. Dr. Hooker mentions the extraordinary effect which a small portion of rum produced on the good old incumbent of Middalr, whose stomach had been accustomed only to a milk-diet and a little coffee. “He begged me,” says the doctor,[4] “to give him some rum to bathe his wife’s breast; but having applied a portion of it to that purpose, he drank the rest without being at all aware of its strength, which, however, had no other effect than in causing this clerical blacksmith,[5] with his lame hip, to dance in the most ridiculous manner in front of the house. The scene afforded a great source of merriment to all his family except his old wife, who was very desirous of getting him to bed, while he was no less anxious that she should join him in the dance.” Dr. Hooker justly remarks that this very circumstance is a convincing proof how unaccustomed this priest was to spirituous liquors, as the quantity taken could not have exceeded a wine-glass full. After his visit to the fair, the peasant sets about hay-making, which is to him the great business of the year, for he is most anxious to secure winter fodder for his cattle, on which his whole prosperity depends. The few potatoes and turnips about the size of marbles, or the cabbage and parsley, which he may chance to cultivate, are not worth mentioning; grass is the chief, nay, the only produce of his farm, and that Heaven may grant clear sunshiny days for hay-making is now his daily prayer.