APPEARANCE OF THE COAST. 
33 
the light more vivid, the air more bracing, the hills 
steeper, loftier, more tormented, as the French say, and 
more gaunt; while, between their base and the sea, 
stretches a dirty greenish slope, patched with houses 
which, themselves both roof and walls, are of a mouldy 
green, as if some long-since inhabited country had 
been fished up out of the bottom of the sea. 
The effects of light and shadow are the purest I 
ever saw, the contrasts of colour most astonishing,—one 
square front of a mountain jutting out in a blaze of 
gold against the flank of another, dyed of the darkest 
purple, while up against the azure sky beyond, rise peaks 
of glittering snow and ice. The snow, however, beyond, 
serving as an ornamental fringe to the distance, plays but 
a very poor part at this season of the year in Iceland. 
While I write, the thermometer is above 70°. Last night 
we remained playing at chess on deck till bedtime, with¬ 
out thinking of calling for coats, and my people live in 
their shirt sleeves, and—astonishment at the climate. 
And now, good-bye. I cannot tell you how I am 
enjoying myself, body, and soul. Already I feel much 
stronger, and before I return I trust to have laid in a stock of 
health sufficient to last the family for several generations. 
D 
