An hour’s ride from the farm across the ancient lava bed brings the traveller to the bridge across the _Skjálfandafljót_, Trembling River, and to the _Goðafoss_, Falls-of-the-Gods, one of the most beautiful waterfalls in Iceland. It has not the grandeur of the _Gullfoss_ and the _Dettifoss_ but its symmetrical formation and the two even sheets of water that pour over its brink unbroken make it very attractive. In form it is like Niagara, and _like_ Niagara has its rocky island near the middle. The eastern fall is about seven feet lower than the western, due to the lava formation over which the water flows. The falls are between twenty-five and thirty feet in height according to the melting of the snows. The rocky islet is split asunder and a solid stream of water pours through the cleft forming a central fall. The spray and mist from the falls are visible for many miles around and to one accustomed to look for hot springs, whenever mists are seen rising in a column from the plain, this waterfall comes as a great surprise when one approaches the unexpected canyon. All the country side is historic land and is frequently mentioned in the _Sagas_. When we left the river valley and climbed to the summit of the tableland and were skirting the great bog, we recalled that it was related in the _Saga_ of _Hrafnkell_, _Frey’s Priest_, how _Sámr_ with three ponies rode from _Mývatn_ across _Fljótsheiði_, River-Heath, to _Ljósavatn_ Pass and on to the great fiord. We were taking the same journey but in the opposite direction. The great heath on the upland is typical of the highland heaths of Iceland and may be briefly described in this connection. It is a tongue of land some thirty miles long, reaching down from the inland plateau between two great river valleys. When the summit is gained it appears quite flat but a place where one would little expect to find extensive bogs and marshes, but such is the case. We followed the bog at its margin for nearly two hours in search of a place to cross and noted that patches of water glimmered here and there. Beautiful Arctic flowers fringed the margin of the pools, masses of _Eriophorum_, Cotton-Grass, spread their white sheets in the sun and the dwarf birch and Arctic willow tangled every foot of the way. Scores of ancient bridle trails cut into the ground so deeply that in places the ponies rubbed their sides against the turf in following them. Numerous sheep were scattered about the moorland singly and in groups of three to a dozen. Often a sheep would get into the trail and run in front of the ponies for half an hour bleating in a frightened manner. This custom of making a needless run until exhausted and driven far from their companions speaks strongly for the small intelligence of these domestic animals. The sheep run wild upon the mountain pastures and moors throughout the summer and are characteristic features of the landscape.