Outside of _Reykjavik_, throughout the country the women do not sit down to eat with the men unless a woman is the guest. In all the homes where we stayed, we never had the hostess sit at the table with us but once, but the men often ate with us. This is an ancient custom of the race. When the meal is over the guest rises and shakes hands with the host or hostess and says “thanks for the meal” and the response is, “may it do you good.” CHAPTER X HEKLA “Irregularly huge, august, and high, Mass piled on mass, and rock on ponderous rock, In Alpine majesty,—its lofty brows Sometimes dark frowning, and anon serene, Wrapt now in clouds invisible and now Glowing with golden sunshine.” —_Anon._ Each day in Iceland brings new scenes. Each morning we found ourselves asking,—“What will be the excitement to-day?” The surprises of the landscape are innumerable. Though we were somewhat accustomed to the wild and strange scenery, each ascent of a ridge, each turning of a mountain angle presented surprising views. This is one of the charms of travel on horseback through a roadless country. The variety of scenes that unfold before the eye is as rich as the changes in New England weather. Day after day in the saddle does not produce monotony, the unexpected lures the traveller onward and when supper is over and he sits down upon some commanding hillside of the farm to record the events of the day he is prompted to write,—“This has been the best day of all.” We turned southward from _Hruni_, forded the _Laxá_ and climbed the sheep-pastured ridges that make a gridiron of the territory between the _Laxá_ and the _Thjórsá_, Bull-River. The farms are widely scattered but they have every appearance of rural prosperity. The grazing lands are extensive, the grass abundant and such masses of flowers in bloom as we trampled during these ten miles I have never seen beyond the influence of cultivation. These pastures are rich in nutritious grass and thousands of sheep and many ponies and cows are grazing on the hillsides. From these slopes we look down upon the busy haying scenes in the _tún_, strings of ponies laden with hay, a bundle on each side, guided by a child from field to haystack, maidens with rakes turning the fragrant grass, men and women swinging scythes to a merry tune which all are singing,—these are the elements of the Arcadian picture.