SKALHOLT. 
153 
the bishops, and the capital of Iceland, was, if 
possible, still worse, being an extremely wet and 
boggy soil, interspersed with large pieces of rock. 
One good turf house, and three or four smaller 
ones are, besides the church, all that now re¬ 
mains of the town. The adjacent country is by 
no means pleasant, though grass is tolerably 
abundant. Immediately surrounding Skalhoit 
we remarked the ground formed into a number 
of little hills, among which was to be seen here 
and there the steam arising from some hot 
springs, and on the opposite shores of the river 
Hvitaa, which is here of considerable width, is 
situated a small and rather grassy mountain. In 
the south-east, over a low range of hills, Hecla 
reared its head full in our view, covered with snow 
more than half way down from the summit. We 
had scarcely pitched our tents, when a handsome 
young widow, of the name of Joneson , richly 
dressed in the Icelandic fashion, came down and 
invited us to her house, where she set before us 
some Ren, or rye pottage, in a turenne, and a 
basin of cream and sugar. It was one of the 
best Icelandic houses I had ever entered, and 
was, moreover, in every part remarkable for 
its extreme cleanliness, in which respect our 
hostess was no less conspicuous. The rooms were 
wainscotted and painted with blue and red, and 
there was a good library, belonging, however, to 
