yard; no cherry-cheeked milk-maids singing love-ditties as they tripped the green with their pails upon their heads. All was grim, silent, and death-like. And yet surely, for all that, the delicate tints of the snow-capped mountains, the peaks of which were now steeped in the rays of the rising sun, the broad valley slumbering in the shade, the clear, sparkling atmosphere, and the exquisite coloring of the Langarfjal-the mighty crag that towers over the Geysers-were beauties enough to redeem the solitude and imbue the deserts with a celestial glory.

There are various theories concerning the cause of these eruptions of water in Iceland. That of Lyell, the geologist, seems the most reasonable. The earth, as it is well known, increases in heat at a certain ratio corresponding with the depth from the surface. There are cavities in many parts of it, arising from subterranean disturbances, into which the water percolates from the upper strata. In Iceland the probability is that these cavities are both numerous and extensive, owing to volcanic causes, and form large receivers for the water of the surrounding neighborhood. Wherever there is a natural outlet, as at the Geysers, this water, which is boiled by the heat of the earth, is forced to the surface by compression of steam, and remains at the mouth of the pipe, or shaft, until an accumulation of compressed steam drives it up in the form of a fountain. The periodical occurrence of these eruptions in some of the hot-springs and not in others may arise from a difference in the depth of the receiver, or more probably from the existence of several outlets for the escape of steam in some, and only one in others. A good illustration of this theory is presented in the boiling of an ordinary tea-kettle. When the compression of steam is great, the cover is lifted up and the water shoots from the spout, by which means the pressure is relieved and the water subsides. The same thing is repeated until the space within the kettle becomes sufficiently large to admit of a more rapid condensation of the steam. The action of the Strokhr, which,

as I have shown, differs from that of the Great Geyser, may be accounted for on the same general principle.

The foreign substances thrown in on top of the boiling water stops the escape of steam, which, under ordinary circumstances, is sufficiently great not to require the pe

riodical relief of an eruption. An accumulation of compressed steam takes place in the reservoir below, and this continues until the obstruction is ejected.

This, I believe, is substantially Lyell's theory; though, having no books by me at present, I quote entirely from memory, and it is possible I may be mistaken in some of the details. The preceding diagrams will enable the reader to understand more clearly the whole process by which these eruptions are produced.

Six long hours remained till ordinary breakfast-time. What was to be done? It was getting terribly lonesome. I felt like one who had been to a theatre and seen all the performances. Zöega had promised to be back by eight o'clock; but eight o'clock in Iceland, on the 21st of June, is a late hour of the day. A treatise on trigonometry might be written between sunrise and that unapproachable hour. The only thing I could do was to make some more tea and eat a preliminary breakfast. When that was done nothing remained but to go to work in front of my little tent and finish up my rough sketches. This is a very absorbing business, as every body knows who has tried it, and I was deeply into it when Zöega made his appearance.

"Well, sir," said he, "what success? Did he erupt ?” "Of course he erupted, Zöega. You didn't suppose a Great Geyser would keep a gentleman all the way from California waiting here an entire night without showing him what he could do?"

"No, sir; but he sometimes disappoints travelers. How do you like it? Does he compare with your California Geysers ?"

'

"Well, Zoega, he throws up more hot water, to be sure, because our Geysers don't erupt at all; but here is the grand difference. We Californians are a moral people; we don't live so near to (I pointed down below) as you do in Iceland."

"I don't understand you, sir," said Zöega, with a puzzled expression.

I called him over and whispered in his ear, "Zöega, I you say your prayers reg

hope you're a good man.

ularly ?"

"Yes, sir."

Do

"Then you are all right. Let us be going. I don't like this neighborhood."

"Whenever you wish, sir.

The horses are all ready." And Zöega proceeded to strike the tent and pack the animals, muttering to himself and shaking his head gravely, as if he thought the Californians were a very peculiar race of men, to say the least of them.

Another cup of tea and a few biscuits served to brace us up for the journey, and we mounted our horses and turned their heads homeward. Brusa was so delighted at the idea of being en route once more that he signalized our departure by giving chase to a flock of sheep, which he dispersed in a most miraculous manner, and then, of course, received the customary punishment.

CHAPTER LI.

THE ENGLISH SPORTS IN TROUBLE.

OUR ride back to Thingvalla was over the same trail which we had traveled on the preceding day, with the exception of a short cut to the right of the Tintron rock. We made very good speed, and reached the Parsonage early in the afternoon.

During our absence a young Englishman had arrived from the North, where he had been living for a year. I found him in the travelers' room, surrounded by a confused medley of boxes, bags, books, and Icelandic curiosities, which he was endeavoring to reduce to some kind of order. Had I not been told he was an Englishman I should never have suspected it, either from his appearance or manner. When I entered the room he stood up and looked at me, and I must say, without intending him the slightest disrespect, that he was the most extraordi

nary looking man I ever saw in all my life, not excepting a tattooed African chief that I once met at Zanzibar. Whether he was young or old it was impossible to say -he might be twenty-five or just as likely fifty. Dirty and discolored with travel, his face was generally dark, though it was somewhat relieved by spots of yellow. His features were regular, and of almost feminine softness; his eyes were dark brown; and his hair, which was nearly black, hung down over his shoulders in lank straight locks, sunburnt or frostbitten at the ends. On his head he wore a tall, conical green wool hat, with a broad brim, and a brown band tied in a true lover's knot at one side. The remainder of his costume consisted of a black cloth roundabout, threadbare and dirty; a pair of black casimere pantaloons, very tight about the legs and burst open in several places; and a pair of moccasins on his feet, adorned with beads and patches of red flannel. If he wore a shirt it was not conspicuous for whiteness, for I failed to discover it. When he saw that a stranger stood before him, he looked quite overwhelmed with astonishment, and gasped out some inarticulate. words, consisting principally of Icelandic interjections.

"How do you do, sir ?" said I, in the usual California style. "I'm glad to meet an Englishman in this wild country!"

"Ye'ow-w-w!" (a prolonged exclamation.) "Just arrived, sir ?"

66

Nay-y-y!" (a prolonged negative.)

"You speak English, I believe, sir ?”

"Oh-h-h! Ya-a-a-s. Are-you-an-Englishman ?" "No, sir. An American, from California."

"De-e-e-a-r-r m-e-e!"

Here there was a pause, for I really did not know what to make of the man. He looked at the ceiling, and at the floor, and out of the window, and started a remark several times, but always stopped before he got under way, or lost it in a prolonged "Oh-o-o-a!" Again and again he attempted to speak, never getting beyond a