The snow-capped peaks of _Esja_ stand out in bold relief, directly in front rises the dome of _Skálafell_, Hall-Mountain, to the right in the distance, we catch glimpses of the mountain summits at the southern end of _Thingvallavatn_, Lake-in-the-Valley-of-the-Parliament, which loom higher and higher as we climb the ridge. While in the midst of our contemplation of the scenery, the packs on one of the ponies loosened, the swinging boxes startled him into a frightened gallop which he maintained across the heath till he had freed himself of all the burden. After some time the debris was collected and there being a patch of good grass here, we stopped to rest the ponies, repair the damage and take our first lunch in the open. Saddles and bridles were thrown off, the cases opened and we sat down to a canned lunch with hunger for the sauce. The opened lid of the packing box makes an excellent table. “Is this not glorious?” questioned Mrs. Russell. “Yes,” I replied as I shied my first sardine tin at a whimbrel. “This is living, true enjoyment. Rain or shine, we are out for one long holiday and it will be a glorious one.” It was a picture that I should have photographed, that first lunch upon the mountain slope,—the ponies feeding around us untethered, the whimbrels circling closely above our heads, the plover calling from the heather, mountains upon mountains all around, blue with the distance or white with their perpetual snow mantles, the fleecy clouds drifting softly across the blue sky,—and then those things the camera can not catch,—the comfort of the sprawl upon the blooming heather, the respite from the galling saddles, the chocolate for those who do not enjoy the pipe and the pipe for those who do. We began to get acquainted with Johannes. As he filled his pipe with real American tobacco he told us of the many parties he had guided, how the English differed from the Danes, and the Germans from either of them in their likes and dislikes of the country, which required the most waiting upon and those who seemed the most grateful for the attentions he paid. “Did you ever act as guide for Americans before?” I asked. “Before? Are you from America, the United States?” We assured him that we had that pleasure, whereupon Johannes continued, “Do you know Mr. ⸺ and Mr. ⸺? No? Well, they were likely lads and lively and we had a grand time upon our trip. See this whip?” Whereupon he displayed the peculiar riding whip of Iceland. It consists of a stock about fourteen inches long heavily mounted with silver ferules and with a large silver knob oval in shape at the end. To the end of this stock is attached a strap of good leather three feet long. It is not so much used to whip the pony one is riding as to snap at the ponies that are tempted from their straight and narrow way by a choice bit of grass. “When those boys got back to _Reykjavik_ they presented me with this fine whip and I have carried it ever since.”