The descent of the mountain was quickly made and without incident. The slide down the semi-glacial cone was a matter of pure enjoyment. We passed out of the snowstorm and the cloud at the base of the cinder pile into perfect sunshine with all the loveliness of the western section to gladden the eye. Johannes rested by his nap in the snow cradle joined us in the sport of rolling lava blocks down the declivity. To roll stones down a mountain slope, pitting one against another with equal chances for winning the race, is a delightful pastime, but when the racecourse is a bed of ice and the goal a distant lava ridge against which the contestants dash themselves into powder one is apt to linger till the last desirable stone has been turned. Many a slip and tumble added zest to the descent, for each slide was so much gained and no ground could be lost and we laughed at the brevity of the steps in the upward trail. We were happy, having done one of the things which we had gone to Iceland to attempt. We found the ponies shivering in the circle of sand where we had left them. In their desire to turn their heavy tails towards the wind for a protection, each pony of the pair had walked around his tethered neighbor till a well trodden path had been produced, a narrow circle out of which they had not stepped. We ate a hasty lunch and mounted. Once down the steep rubble hill, away they went at a gallop, literally at a break-neck speed, for they were cold and hungry and longed for the grass by the brook of the harlequin ducks. I came near to having my neck broken. When we entered the amphitheater above described, I dismounted to take a photograph. The ponies always travel in single file, nose to tail, no matter how fast the pace. If one of them is held back he will whinner and do his utmost to overtake the leaders. Under these conditions of photographing I always thrust my left arm through the bridle rein. If the ponies are together the rein may be thrown upon the ground, the ponies will not stray but allow the riders to approach and remount without their stirring. Sunlocks walked rapidly around me, a somewhat disturbing element in photographing. When I remounted, the other ponies had passed out of the amphitheater and beyond vision. Sunlocks was all impatience to overtake them and I gave him a free rein for the wildest gallop I ever experienced. He followed the trail of the others, tossing the lichens from the resounding shell of lava at every leap. It happened in an instant, a flash. I just remember of thinking, while I was in the air, “Will he hit me with his hoofs?” Then all was a blank. I knew no more till I felt his velvet nose rubbing over my face and his warm breath. How long I lay there I do not know. The crust had broken under the plunging blow of his fore-feet and as he went into the hole I shot over his head down the slope. I landed on the side of my head, straining the cords of