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FASCINATIONS OF ICELAND. 
Former Manchester Teacher Writes of Visit to 
“Land of Heroic Scenery" the last Summer. 
BY Was ose Goa RUSSELL: 
IV 
The Superior of Niagara. 
Grim, grand and glorious is the Foss, 
surpassing Niagara in scenic environ- 
ment. Under suitable conditions Nia- 
gara has its well known rainbow, but 
Gullfoss has several of them arching the 
waters one above the other in the dense 
volume of spray that is hurled 250 feet 
above the surface of the stream. If the 
fabled pot of gold at the foot of the rain- 
bow arch were to be obtained, here is 
the place to search, for within the walls 
of the upperacanyon the rainbows end 
and one may pass through them and even 
stand at their foot if he is willing to take 
the drenching of the down pouring floods 
of spray, larger than the sheets of water 
in a New England thunder shower. 
Grand as is the Gullfoss its setting is 
even more impressive. Above the plain 
Lang Jokull extends for 40 miles, lifting 
its unexplored surface of pristine ice high 
in air, a challenge to the seeker after the 
-unknown secrets of Nature, which chal- 
lenge the writer hopes some time to ac- 
cept. At its base and near at hand is 
Hvitavatn, White-water-lake, the source 
of the river. Inthe perpetual sunlight 
of Iceland’s summer months this vast 
icefield discharges constant floods down 
its cliffs. Hence the Hvita starts upon 
its turbulent course to the seaa full- 
grown river.” Toward the east the peaks 
of the Keriingafjall arrest the eye, around 
whose slopes hot springs are scattered 
sending up a mass of vapor. 
The thunders of Gullfoss diminished 
as we followed the brink of its canyon 
_ southward and descended into the stony 
waste of Biskupstunga, where the foam- 
ing of its silt-laden stream was the only 
evidence of the recent travail of it waters. 
Two hours gallop along the bank, cross- 
ing the canyon by a narrow suspension 
bridge erected in 1907 to accommodate 
the King of Denmark, brought us to 
Skipholt. This is the best-appointed 
farm in Iceland. The owner was pre- 
sented with a medal by the king for his 
thriftiness. The good-wife is a model 
hostess and entertained us in her sitting 
room with excellent biscuits, delicious 
pastry and an abundance of the rich milk 
so characteristic of Icelandic farms. 
Oasis in Desert of Lava. 
We now left the trail and picked our 
way over ridge after ridge of lava crags. 
In some places the descent was so steep 
that it was with difficulty that we retained 
our seats in the pommelless saddles. 
The surcingles were old and cracked and 
we put little trust in them. However, 
they held, else we would have experi- 
enced a very undignified descent. Climb- 
NORTH SHORE BREEZE. 
ing the last ridge we met a_bare-backed 
rider, a tall, sunbrowned shepherd car- 
rying a lost lamb in his bosom and the 
well known words of Elizabeth Clep- 
hane’s hymn came to our lips: — 
But all thro’ the mountains thunder riven, 
And up from the rocky steep, 
There arose a cry to the gate of heaven, 
** Rejoice! I have found my sheep.’’ 
It cost us an hour topick our way 
across a hassocky bog luxuriant with 
sedges, bullrushes and cotton-grass and 
dotted with jets of steam pufing from 
the numerous fumaroles. It was Sunday 
evening when we arrived at the parson- 
age of Hruni and received a cordial wel- 
come from the pastor and his family. 
His farm is a veritable oasis in a lava de- 
sert. Sunday ends at 6 p. m. The 
laborers were sharpening their scythes 
preparatory to a few hours mowing be- 
fore retiring. [he rosy-cheeked maids 
were filling the wooden buckets with 
foaming milk in the enclosure near the 
byre. Before the house an excellent 
patch of potatoes was in full bloom un- 
ravished by the Colorado beetle. A 
budding rosebush stood by the portal 
flanked with several old-fashioned flowers 
such as bloom around the dilapidated 
dwellings of New England’s abandoned 
farms. The church of Hruni close by 
resplendent with a new coat of paint ac- 
cented the peacefulness of the pastoral 
scene: 
The cottage was a thatched One, 
The outside old and mean, 
But all within this little cot 
Was wondrous neat and clean. 
We partook of an appetizing dinner most 
of which was cooked ina boiling spring. Af- 
ter an evening in the well-stocked library, 
(referred to in the previous paper, ) 
where in mingled English, Icelandic 
French and Latin the pastor told us of 
his labor, the condition of his flock, his 
ambitions and his botanical studies, we 
were shown to spotless rooms and invit- 
ing beds supplied with hand-made dainti- 
ly embroidered linen and coverlets of 
eider-down several inches in thickness. 
Continuing our way across the ridges, 
fording the Laka, (Salmon river) and 
many other torrents, we arrived at the 
Thijorsa, (Bull river.) A mishap to our 
pack saddles caused a long delay prior to 
crossing. All available straps and cords 
were brought into use and served us 
treacherously until that evening at Galta- 
lakur, where we found a farmer with a 
small forge as primitive as that of Tubal- 
Cain. The Thjorsa, nearly half a mile 
wide runs swiftly over its jagged bed of 
lava. ‘The ponies were stripped of every 
strap and the trappings placed ina rickety, 
leaking boat. We drove the ponies into 
the ice-cold water and rowed to the op- 
posite shore. Perched upon the top of 
the luggage in the little skiff, which 
lurched a good bit in the white rapids, 
we drifted with the current in a diagonal 
line, rather than rowed across the stream. 
13 
Hekla, “‘the hooded,’’ towered above 
us inthe dismal plain. This was the 
goal. Across black sands ankle deep we 
jogged along, winding around enormous 
masses of tufa, the outer guards of ser- 
ried columns that we were to attack on 
the morrow. Much of this lava was 
vesicular and it was all fragmentary, hav- 
ing been blown a distance of 15 miles 
during the first of the eruption. We 
entered a narrow tongue of grazing land 
with scanty herbage which lies between 
the two great lava streams of the last 
eruption. It is here that the awful de- 
solation of Hekla first appeals to the 
traveller. Thousands of acres of the 
best farming land in Iceland have been 
entirely ruined by the outpourings of this 
volcano. 
The Ascent of Hekla 
Irregularly huge, august and high, 
Mass piled on mass, and rock on ponderous 
rock, 
In Alpine majesty; its lofty brows 
Sometimes dark frowning, and anon serene; 
Wrapt now in clouds, invisible, and now 
Glowing with golden sunshine. 
It was 6 o’clock on the morning of 
July 20 when we mounted the best of 
our ponies and turned their heads toward 
the cloud-capped summit of Hekla. 
The day did not promise much in the 
way of clearness and a distant view; it 
even threatened to envelope us in clouds 
and sprinkle us with an abundance of 
snow. However, clouds could not pre- 
vent the ascent and we believed the view 
of Hekla’s wonderful mantle of varigated 
lava, varied in colors as that which Joseph 
wore, would well repay the toil. The 
night previous we had spent at Galtala- 
kur farm, the most primitive of all we 
visited in Iceland. We obtained the 
services of the farmer to guide us. No 
ascent had previously been made for four 
years, even to the lower edge of the 
snow field. Whatthe conditions might 
be no one could foretell. We forded 
the West Wrong river,—a very disagree- 
able crossing as the landing must be made 
upon a steep bank out of very deep and 
rapidly running water,—ascended the 
slope to the base of a high wall of lava 
which we followed till we came to a 
narrow gap where a ttorrential stream, 
flowing from Hekla’s melting snow, has 
broken through. 
(From the Springfield Republican. ) 
To be continued next week. 
Bessie A. Richardson. 
Miss Bessie A. Richardson, a former 
resident of Gloucester, but who for the 
past few years had been head nurse at 
the hospital at Lakeville, Conn., died 
suddenly at that place on Thursday of 
last week in the 42d year of- her age. 
She was a native of Manchester, being 
the daughter of Nathan and Caroline 
Allen Richardson. The body was 
brought to Manchester for burial Sunday. 
