WHETHER Americans will ever have the opportunity of returning any of the hospitality that the Icelanders extended to one of their countrymen, is uncertain. At any rate, their guest was made welcome. Mr. Stefan Thorarensen insisted on presenting me with a fine copy of the poems of Jonas Hallgrimson, one of the modern poets of Iceland. Perhaps, some day I’ll translate it into English verse! The pleasantest meetings must have an end; and, after the sun had passed the meridian, we had our horses caught, and bade adieu to Hraungerthi. Two hours’ riding brought us to the ferry of LaugardÆlir, on the HvitÁ, too formidable a stream to ford at this place, and far larger than I found it above Skalholt, where it came so near carrying me away. Here we found our clerical-looking friend who helped make the brandy-toddy disappear at the sysselman’s. He was the ferryman, his house standing near the bank of the river. Like some other sanctimonious-looking fellows, he was evidently a pretty hard case—something of a sinner. No hospitalities in his house; not even a glass of brandy and water. He was agent for an Iceland newspaper, and seeing copies of the last number, I offered to purchase one. I took a copy of the paper, and then held a handful of money towards him, for him to help himself to the price. There were all sizes and values of Danish coin down to a skilling, to select from; and, though the price of a paper was just about one penny sterling, he took a third of a dollar! At the ferry, he “tried it on” again, but there it didn’t fit. He asked me a dollar, double the uniform price, for rowing me across, but I gave him only the customary rate. This was the first little variety that I had seen in Iceland character; but there are few flocks composed of all white sheep. When we arrived at the bank of the river, we saw the boat in the center of the stream, apparently coming towards us, but on the opposite bank were two or three travelers, vociferating violently to be taken across. We halloo’d to the boatman furiously, and seeing his clerical-looking master, he came to us first. A hook was set near the landing, and honest black-coat drew it up, and found he had hooked a small trout. A comely, handsome girl came down to the water-side; and our honest ferry-master told me, a number of times, that she was his “dottir.” He seemed very proud of her; and well he might, for she was a strong contrast to himself. If he ever gets to heaven, it will probably be on her account. The prettiest girl I have seen since leaving England, was selling flowers in the market, at Hamburg; and the next prettiest stood bare-headed and bare-footed, in an old brown petticoat, on the bank of the HvitÁ, with a fish in her hand, and her long hair streaming in the wind.

We had the usual variety in crossing the river. Several of the horses got loose, and then tried to get into the boat, or overturn it; and some of them went swimming and floating far down the stream before they landed. The boat was rowed by the boatman, and the ferry-master in his “suit of sables.” The master was a regular “lazy;” and I thought the boatman would, though on the down-stream side, turn the boat round in a circle. This boatman was the wildest-looking man I ever saw in my life. He had no hat, coat, nor vest, and his long hair, hanging down on all sides of his head, made him look like a wild man. He was a picture, and would have made a subject fit for a Wilkie. He was not a man, though, to be afraid of; and, in fact, I should rather trust him than his master.

Our journey, to-day, led through a country mostly level meadows and bogs, with a constant range of hills and mountains on our right. The same continued evidences of a volcanic region presented themselves, that we see more or less, all over Iceland.

There was not as much lava, except on the hills, as we found in some other places; but a constant succession of hot springs. Since crossing the ThiorsÁ river, yesterday, we have passed at least six different localities where the smoke arises from hot and warm springs. We were now approaching some springs far more celebrated than any we had seen lately, and perhaps the third in point of interest of any to be found in Iceland. These springs are known as the Reykir springs, and are visited by most everybody that comes to Iceland, being but one day’s journey from Reykjavik, and far easier of access than the Geysers. The Reykir springs, to be enjoyed, must be seen before visiting the Geysers, as they are far inferior to their more celebrated spouting brethren in the north. I was told I should come to these springs after winding round a range of hills on my right; but we kept “winding round,” and I thought the springs never would appear. The weather was rainy, and the roads bad, and though we had but a short journey to-day, I was glad when the wreaths of smoke announced the day’s travel nearly over. I had here a hotel of the usual dimensions, and the ordinary sacred character—a small church, and the poorest I had seen in Iceland. “Frouzly” haired men, and fat, red-cheeked girls, with large pails of milk, were, as usual, seen about the farm-house. A bed of down—what all the Icelanders have—and one of those small and prettily-checked coverlets, the manufacture of the family, were brought out to the church, and with some dry clothes, hot water for my tea, and a large bowl of milk, Nero and I were soon fast by the altar, and enjoying ourselves as much as any two sinners in the world. Oh! if a man wants to enjoy his loaf, whether it is white bread or black, and if he wishes sound sleep, either in a church or on the ground, let him mount a pony every day, and ride in storm and calm, through bush and bog, brake and brier, and over fields of Iceland lava.

The Reykir springs are nearly a hundred in number, and cover some fifty acres—a tract nearly as large as the Geysers occupy. These springs also comprise every variety of hot, warm, spouting, and mud springs. The springs here that spout, are more regular than the Geysers, but do not perform on so extensive a scale. They don’t bore with so big an auger; haven’t the caliber, nor the capital to do business on. They are very beautiful; but, to be appreciated fully, should be seen before going to the Geysers. The spouting ones are intermittent, giving their eruptions at regular periods. I found, by consulting my watch, that the largest one commenced an eruption once in three hours and sixteen minutes. Each eruption continues about half an hour. This spring, or Geyser, is like a well, about five feet in diameter. It has been nearly filled up, by persons throwing large stones into it. When I arrived, it was not in an eruption, and down among the stones I could see the hot water, boiling violently. It was on the top of a rise or knoll of ground, and I could see that the water had made an aperture, and escaped through the petrified wall of the well, and appeared on the surface of the ground, a little way down the knoll, making a fair-sized brook. No water ran over the top of the well, only when in action.

At the time of an eruption, it rushed suddenly, without any warning, up through the stones, separating into a great many streams. There it continued playing beautifully, much like an artificial fountain, for nearly half an hour. The noise could be heard for half a mile, or more. The first time it played, after my arrival, was near midnight, after I had got to sleep. Hearing the roar and rush of water, I was instantly awakened, and ran to the church window, and looked out. There it was, throwing up its broad, white, foamy jets, about a quarter of a mile from me. There being no darkness here, at this season, sights and shows appear to about as good advantage in the Iceland twilight as in the noonday sun. I watched it from my window, till it settled down, and gradually sunk into the earth. I saw it in eruption twice the next morning, before I left. Its height was scarcely forty feet, but it would be a grand addition to the artificial fountains and warm baths in one of our cities. Wonder if the Icelanders would sell it? Guess not; it is one of the “lions” of the country; and, if their curiosities were gone, there would be nothing to attract the foreigners here. If a stretch of the imagination could make a spring movable property, one would hardly think of carrying off Mount Hekla or Skaptar Jokull. This Geyser is near the foot of a range of hills, the same as the Geysers in the north. The brook of hot water from this, ran near half a mile before it emptied into a cold stream that flowed past. One of the prettiest fountain-springs in the world is near the bank of this cold brook, at the foot of a very steep ridge, near half a mile from the larger Geyser. The basin itself was ten or fifteen feet across, and shaped some like the half of an oyster, or rather a clam-shell. The side next the hill was far the deepest, sinking into a kind of well three or four feet in diameter, where the water came out. The direction of the well was slanting or diagonal, the opening coming outward from the hill. The brow of the hill hung partly over the spring, so that in an eruption the water could not rise perpendicularly, but was forced out at an angle of thirty or forty degrees with the ground. It did not throw the water more than ten or twelve feet high, and fifteen or twenty feet outwardly. This spring makes up for its lack of size and grandeur, in the frequency of its eruptions, and the beauty of the incrustations and petrifactions in and around it. All the bottom of the spring is a mass of petrifaction, and nearly as white as the purest marble. After an eruption, the water would gradually recede from the basin, and sink down into the earth, nearly all disappearing, so that the water could just be seen down the aperture of the spring. Then it would at once commence rising gradually; and in three or four minutes it would get to spouting, and continue going till the basin was full, and run over considerably. After three or four minutes it would gradually stop, and sink back again. A whole round of performance, rising up, blowing off, and sinking down again, occupied about fifteen minutes.

With a hammer that the guide brought me, I broke up some beautiful incrustations to bring home. The samples of these petrifactions are not unlike some found in the limestone caves of Virginia and Kentucky. The mud-springs here are very curious. Some of them are like large and sputtering cauldrons of black pudding. Again, some of them are seen gurgling away down in the earth; and, attracted by the noise and the steam, I would go and look down a hole, and see it sputtering and boiling, apparently pure clay in a semi-liquid state. The clays here are very beautiful, and a great variety of colors, as I had found them at the Geysers. In many places near the springs—particularly near the mud-springs—the clay is soft and hot, often dangerously so. Visitors sometimes get into a soft place, and sink into it, getting their feet and legs dreadfully scalded. In these places it is boiling hot. What a terrible fate for a man to sink down here out of sight! Nero accompanied me from the house up to the Geyser, and when he came to the brook of hot water that ran from it, he stopped, and gave a howl. Poor Nero! he knew it was hot, and would scald his feet, and it was too wide for him to jump it. So I took him up in my arms, and carried him across. He seemed to appreciate the favor perfectly. The poor dog did not know but he had escaped being drowned in the rivers, or roasted in Mount Hekla, to come here and be boiled in the Reykir springs. Good old Nero! many a long league we’ve traveled together, and you have got so you scarcely know whether you like your Iceland or your Yankee master best. I rather think you like the one best for the time being, who gives you the most boiled bacon, and fresh milk.