AN ICELANDIC DINNER. 
63 
tended not to observe that my glass had been refilled; 
and, like the sea-captain, who, slipping from between 
his two opponents, left them to blaze away at each other 
the long night through,—withdrew from the combat. But 
it would not do ; with untasted bumpers, and dejected 
faces, they politely waited until I should give the signal 
for a renewal of /ius^ilities, as they well deserved to be 
called. Then there came over me a horrid wicked 
feeling. What if I should endeavour to floor the 
Governor, and so literally turn the tables on him! It 
is true I had lived for five-and-twenty years without 
touching wine,—but was not I my great-grandfather’s 
great-grandson, and an Irish peer to boot? Were there 
not traditions, too, on the other side of the house, of 
casks of claret brought up into the dining-room, the door 
locked, and the key thrown out of the window ? With 
such antecedents to sustain me, I ought to be able to 
hold my own against the staunchest toper in Iceland! 
So, with a devil glittering in my left eye, I winked 
defiance right and left, and away we went at it again 
for another five-and-forty minutes. At last their fire 
slackened: I had partially quelled both the Governor 
and the Rector, and still survived. It is true I did not 
