e eyes--others had no eyes at all.
Seeing me look at them rather apprehensively, Zoega remarked,

"Oh, sir, you needn't be afraid. They are perfectly gentle!"

"Don't they bite?" said I.

"Oh no, sir, not at all."

"Nor kick?"

"No, sir, never."

"Nor lie down on the way?"

"No, sir, not at all."

"Answer me one more question, Zoega, and I'm done." [This I said with
great earnestness.] "Do these horses ever eat cats or porcupines, or
swallow heavy brooms with crooked handles?"

"Oh no, sir!" answered my guide, with a look of some surprise; "they
are too well trained for that."

"Then I suppose they subsist on train-oil as well as codfish?"

"Yes, sir, when they can get it. They are very fond of oil."

I thought to myself, No wonder they are so poor and small. Horses
addicted to the use of oil must expect to be of light construction.
But it was time to be off.

A cup of excellent coffee and a few biscuit were amply sufficient to
prepare me for the journey. Our pack-horse carried two boxes and a
small tent--all we required. Before starting Zoega performed the
Icelandic ceremony of tying the horses in a row, each one's head to
the tail of the horse in front. This, he said, was the general
practice. If it were not done they would scatter outside of town, and
it would probably take two hours to catch them again. I had some fear
that if one of the number should tumble over a precipice he would
carry several of his comrades with him, or their heads and tails.

CHAPTER XLVI.

THE ROAD TO THINGVALLA.

It was a gray, gloomy morning when we sallied forth from the silent
streets of Reykjavik. A chilly fog covered the country, and little
more was to be seen than the jagged outline of the lava-hills, and the
boggy sinks and morasses on either side of the trail. The weird,
fire-blasted, and flood-scourged wilderness on all sides was as silent
as death, save when we approached some dark lagoon, and startled up
the flocks of water-fowl that dwelt in its sedgy borders. Then the air
was pierced with wild screams and strange cries, and the rocks
resounded to the flapping of many wings. To me there was a peculiar
charm in all this. It was different from any thing I had recently
experienced. The roughness of the trail, the absence of cultivated
fields, the entire exemption from the restraints of civilization, were
perfectly delightful after a dreary residence of nearly a year in
Germany. Here, at least, there we