n which I stood the effect was peculiar.
The course of the river, which lies behind the Jau, on the opposite
side, is entirely hidden by the great wall in front, and nothing of it
is visible till the whole river bursts over the dark precipice, and
tumbles, foaming and roaring, into the tremendous depths below, where
it dashes down wildly among the shattered fragments of lava till it
reaches the outlet into the main valley. A mist rises up from the
falling water, and whirls around the base of the cataract in clouds,
forming in the rays of the sun a series of beautiful rainbows. The
grim, jagged rocks, blackened and rifted with fire, make a strange
contrast with the delicate prismatic colors of the rainbows, and their
sharp and rugged outline with the soft, ever-changing clouds of spray.

[Illustration: FALL OF THE ALMANNAJAU.]

The flocks of the good pastor of Thingvalla were quietly browsing
among the rugged declivities where I stood. Here were violence and
peace in striking contrast; the tremendous concussion of the falling
water; the fearful marks of convulsion on the one hand, and on the
other

"The gentle flocks that play upon the green."

As I put away my imperfect sketch, and sauntered back toward the
hospitable cabin of the pastor, a figure emerged from the rocks, and I
stood face to face with an Icelandic shepherdess.

[Illustration: ICELANDIC SHEPHERD-GIRL.]

Well, it is no use to grow poetical over this matter. To be sure, we
were alone in a great wilderness, and she was very pretty, and looked
uncommonly coquettish with her tasseled cap, neat blue bodice, and
short petticoats, to say nothing of a well-turned pair of ankles; but
then, you see, I couldn't speak a word of Icelandic, and if I could,
what had I, a responsible man, to say to a pretty young shepherdess?
At most I could only tell her she was extremely captivating, and
looked for all the world like a flower in the desert, born to blush
unseen, etc. As she skipped shyly away from me over the rocks I was
struck with admiration at the graceful sprightliness of her movements,
and wondered why so much beauty should be wasted upon silly sheep,
when the world is so full of stout, brave young fellows who would fall
dead in love with her at the first sight. But I had better drop the
subject. There is a young man of my acquaintance already gone up to
Norway to look for the post-girl that drove me over the road to
Trondhjem, and at least two of my