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Look at Hans. He moves
so little that it is impossible for him to become fatigued. Besides, if
he were to complain of weariness, he could have the loan of my horse. I
should have a violent attack of the cramp if I were not to have some
sort of exercise. My arms are right--but my legs are getting a little
stiff."

All this while we were advancing at a rapid pace. The country we had
reached was already nearly a desert. Here and there could be seen an
isolated farm, some solitary bur, or Icelandic house, built of wood,
earth, fragments of lava--looking like beggars on the highway of life.
These wretched and miserable huts excited in us such pity that we felt
half disposed to leave alms at every door. In this country there are no
roads, paths are nearly unknown, and vegetation, poor as it was, slowly
as it reached perfection, soon obliterated all traces of the few
travelers who passed from place to place.

Nevertheless, this division of the province, situated only a few miles
from the capital, is considered one of the best cultivated and most
thickly peopled in all Iceland. What, then, must be the state of the
less known and more distant parts of the island? After traveling fully
half a Danish mile, we had met neither a farmer at the door of his hut,
nor even a wandering shepherd with his wild and savage flock.

A few stray cows and sheep were only seen occasionally. What, then, must
we expect when we come to the upheaved regions--to the districts broken
and roughened from volcanic eruptions and subterraneous commotions?

We were to learn this all in good time. I saw, however, on consulting
the map, that we avoided a good deal of this rough country, by following
the winding and desolate shores of the sea. In reality, the great
volcanic movement of the island, and all its attendant phenomena, are
concentrated in the interior of the island; there, horizontal layers or
strata of rocks, piled one upon the other, eruptions of basaltic origin,
and streams of lava, have given this country a kind of supernatural
reputation.

Little did I expect, however, the spectacle which awaited us when we
reached the peninsula of Sneffels, where agglomerations of nature's
ruins form a kind of terrible chaos.

Some two hours or more after we had left the city of Reykjavik, we
reached the little town called Aoalkirkja, or the principal church. It
consists simply of a few houses--not what in England or Germany we
should call a hamlet.

Hans stopped here one half hour. He shared our frugal breakfast,
answered Yes, and No to my uncle's questions as to the nature of the
road, and at last when asked where we were to pass the night was as
laconic as usual.

"Gardar!" was his one-worded reply.

I took occasion to consult the map, to see where Gardar was to be found.
After looking keenly I found a small town of that name on the borders of
the Hvalfjord, about four miles from Reykjavik. I pointed this out to my

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