102 



THE POLAR WORLD. 



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 tur- 

 nips 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. 



Every person capable of wielding a scythe or rake is pressed into the work. 

 The best hay is cut from the " tun," a sort of paddock comprising the lands ad- 

 joining the farm-house, and the only part of his grounds on which the peasant 

 bestows any attention, for, in spite of the paramount importance of his pasture- 

 land, he does but little for its improvement, and a meadow is rarely seen, where 

 the useless or less nutritious herbs are not at least as abundant as those of a 

 better quality. The " tun " is encircled by a turf or stone wall, and is seldom 

 more than ten acres in extent, and generally not more than two or three. Its 

 surface is usually a series of closely-packed mounds, like graves, most unpleasant 

 to walk over, the gutter, in some places, being two feet in depth between the 

 mounds. After having finished with the "tun," the farmer subjects to a proc- 

 ess of cutting all the broken hillsides and boggy undrained swamps that lie 

 near his dwelling. The blades of the scythes are very short. It would be im- 

 possible to use a long-bladed scythe, owing to the unevenness of the ground. 



The cutting and making of hay is carried on, when the weather will permit, 

 through all the twenty-four hours of the day. When the hay is made it is tied 

 in bundles by cords and thongs, and carried away by ponies to the earthen 

 houses prepared for it, which are similar to and adjoin those in which the cattle 

 are stalled. " It is a very curious sight," says Mr. Shepherd, " to see a string 

 of hay-laden ponies returning home. Each pony's halter is made fast to the 

 tail of the preceding one, and the little animals are so enveloped in their bur- 

 dens that nothing but their hoofs and the connecting ropes are visible, and they 

 look as though a dozen huge haycocks, feeling themselves sufficiently made, 

 were crawling off to their resting-places.^' 



When the harvest is finished the farmer treats his family and laborers to a 

 substantial supper, consisting of mutton, and a soup of milk and flour ; and 

 although the serious and taciturn Icelander has perhaps of all men the least 

 taste for music and dancing, yet these simple feasts are distinguished by a plac- 

 id serenity, no less pleasing than the more boisterous mirth displayed at a 

 southern vintage. 



Almost all labor out-of-doors now ceases for the rest of the year. A thick 

 mantle of snow soon covers mountain and vale, meadow and moor ; with every 

 returning day, the sun pays the cold earth a decreasing visit, until, finally, he 

 hardly appears above the horizon at noon; the wintry storm howls over the 

 waste, and for months the life of the Icelander is confined to his hut, which 

 frequently is but a few degrees better than that of the filthy Lap. 



Its lower part is built of rude stones to about the height of four feet, and 

 between each row layers of turf are placed with great regularity, to serve in- 

 stead of mortar, and keep out the wind. A roof of such wood as can be pro- 



