THE FEROE ISLANDS.

In the midst of a stormy sea, and under a sky rarely enlivened by sun-shine, are situated the Feroe Islands. They are two-and-twenty in number, lying between the latitudes of 61° 15′ and 62° 21′, and extending altogether 61 miles in length from north to south, and 45 in breadth from east to west. Nothing can well be more rugged and desolate than their appearance. They consist of a crowded group of harsh steep rocks, the bases of which are separated by narrow and shallow channels of the sea, and whose sides, for the most part, are tremendous precipices, from two to three hundred fathoms high—complete walls of rock that strike the mariner with terror. Within these iron-bound coasts there are no valleys of any extent; but a few narrow dales, broken and craggy, are found between their summits, where the energies of man are hardly taxed to win a scanty supply from the soil which never exceeds four feet, and is frequently not more than eight inches in depth. This soil, moreover, is often swept away by the winds of the north, that in a moment can destroy the labour and improvement of years. These winds are indeed tremendous; they descend from the lofty hills to the shore, impelling large stones, and rolling them forward like balls; at times even tearing the turf from the sides of the hills, rolling it together like a sheet of lead, and precipitating it into the valleys. To hinder the roofs of their houses from being blown away, the poor Feroese are obliged to place boards upon them, and to throw ropes over them, the ends of which are fastened to heavy stones. Another dreadful enemy they have to contend with, is the voracious rat. These animals are so numerous, that they will sometimes destroy half a corn-field in a single night, and when they get at the sea-fowl in the crannies of the rocks, they commit such havoc that the bold fowler, who pursues his avocation at the risk of his neck, finds little left to reward his pains and perils. In one island, the church-path, which is the best and often the only road, is so steep and narrow that at funerals the corpse is fastened to a board and carried upon men’s shoulders. At another island, when the clergyman comes to visit them, which he does on Sundays as often as the weather and the sea will allow, they hoist him up the lofty steep cliffs, from his boat, by a rope, there being no other possible means of landing.

Yet in spite of these manifold difficulties and horrors, (according to Landt, a Danish pastor, who resided among them many years and who wrote an admirable account of these islands,) the Feroese are a virtuous, a civilized, and a happy people. Though obliged to struggle hard for their subsistence, which is mainly procured by the perilous occupations of fishing in their dark and stormy northern seas, and fowling among their giddy precipices, they all find time to acquire reading, writing, and arithmetic. There is not a school or a school-master in the whole group of islands; but parents instruct their own children. The worthy pastor says he found his parishioners remarkably fond of reading, well instructed in the Christian religion, and often thoroughly acquainted with the Bible. They make difficult calculations by head with facility, are good practical astronomers, and delight in the scientific game of chess, which many of them play admirably well. They are a sober people. In their long and dreary winter nights, instead of giving themselves up to the expensive and every-way pernicious excitement of drinking, they gather round their decent hearth with a book, which they read aloud by turns; or they play their favourite game, which by exercising their intellect also tends to their improvement. Whilst thus occupied, the storm may rage without—the furious ocean shake their rocky islets to the base—the night extend its long dark hours—the poor Feroese are happy in the comforts which their industry procures, and in the leisure they can so rationally employ.