82 
LETTERS FROM HIGH LATITUDES. 
pushed on as rapidly as we could, though the track across 
the lava was so uneven, that every moment I expected 
Snorro (for thus have I christened my pony) would 
he on his nose. In another hour we were among the 
hills. The scenery of this part of the journey was not 
very beautiful, the mountains not being remarkable 
either for their size or shape ; but here and there we 
came upon pretty bits, not unlike some of the barren 
parts of Scotland, with quiet blue lakes sleeping in the 
solitude. 
After wandering along for some time in a broad 
open valley, that gradually narrowed to a glen, we 
reached a grassy patch. As it was past three o’clock 
Sigurdr proposed a halt. 
Unbridling and unsaddling our steeds, we turned 
them loose upon the pasture, and sat ourselves down 
on a sunny knoll to lunch. For the first time since 
landing in Iceland I felt hungry; as for the first 
time, four successive hours had elapsed without our 
having been compelled to take a snack. The appetites 
of the ponies seemed equally good, though probably 
with them hunger was no such novelty. Wilson alone 
looked sad. He confided to me privately that he 
