ice; at other times, they pushed it through rifts in the icefloes, which were too narrow to admit of their rowing.

They suffered severely from thirst. On one occasion, Starkathr asked leave of Thorgils to wring into a quiver the shirts drenched with perspiration, from the toil of continual rowing. The bonder would neither forbid nor give consent, and the poor fellows succeeded in extracting, by this means, a scanty supply. But before tasting it, they offered the few drops to Thorgils.

He took the quiver from their hands and rose up in the boat. The men watched him, expecting that he would propose a toast, as he held the arrow-case before him, looking into it thoughtfully. Then, stepping to the bows, he poured it out, exclaiming

"Foul fiend! thou hast plagued us too long! Now, in the name of God, I bid thee depart, and molest us no more!"

As he said the words, there was a rustling in the bows, and a large bird, strange and hideous, something like an auk, rose from among the tackle, and, spreading its wings, flew north, hoarsely croaking.

"Thanks be to God!" said Thorgils. "We are delivered from the hands of our enemy; our privations are over and we shall now meet with success."

A glistening heap of ice was at no great distance from the boat; the men pulled towards it, and found that the hollows were full of the purest water, which had trickled from the sides of the iceberg, as the sun melted its glittering spires.

Shortly after this they made for land, and ran the boat up on the shore of a small island. Here they found a tent, and, on entering it, discovered one of the runaway thralls in the last stage of sickness. He told them that he had been forced by the others to join them; that he had secured nothing of the stolen property, except the tent; and that he was guiltless of the blood of Thorey, who had been murdered by the thrall Snækollr.

Before Thorgils and the others left the island, the unhappy man died, and they buried him in the sands by the shore.

Autumn approached, and Thorgils looked out for a sheltered spot where they might winter. Finding a bay facing the south, he ran the boat in, and his heart danced at the sight of a boat-house near the water's edge, and a line of blue smoke curling from a birch-grown dell, hard by.

You may well imagine that the poor battered smack was soon run ashore, and that the travel-worn men hastened in the direction of the smoke, with all the speed that hope could give.

They found a snug farm pitched on a grassy slope, with the cows gathered around the door for milking. A red-faced, good-tempered man came forward and greeted the strangers. On hearing their story, he begged them to winter with him, and they were only too thankful to accept his offer.

Thorfin was given into women's keeping to be properly weaned.

A pleasant winter slipped by, and in spring, Rolf, as the farmer was called, offered his guests a ship if they wished to depart. Thorgils accepted the vessel, but before leaving Greenland, he visited Eric the Red, at whose invitation he had come. Eric received him very coldly, as he had calculated on Thorgils arriving in a well-laden ship, and was not prepared to receive him when he was destitute of everything.

Thorgils accordingly returned to Rolf. From him he learned that Snækoll and the other thralls were in the country; so he went after them, captured them, recovered his stolen property, and then sold the wretches into bondage in Greenland. Thorgils, his sons, Starkathr and Kolr, then left Greenland on their return to Iceland.

They again encountered storms, and, on nearing their native isle, were beaten about for twelve days, after which they sighted Iceland. The wind now changed, and rolled up from the south laden with rain; it blew a gale for two days, so that they could not venture to run the vessel ashore. For these two days, Thorgils had been labouring almost incessantly in baling, up to his middle in water, as eight enormous waves had rolled over the ship.

Starkathr came up, and begged him to leave the hold, and let him take his place. Thorgils did so, and seated himself near the opening to the hold, with Thorfin on his knee. At that moment, a huge green billow rolled over the vessel, threw Thorgils from his seat, and washed the little boy overboard.

Then Thorgils exclaimed: "Such a surge has swept over us that baling avails us no more!

At the recoil of the wave, the child was brought back into the ship alive. The little fellow cried out

"That is well over, papa!"

Up sprang Thorgils, shouting, "Bale he who can now!" The men worked with might and main, and cleared the ship of water.

Thorgils took the boy to bed as he had been completely drenched in the brine. He spat blood that evening, and, after lingering two days, died on a golden morning as the vessel sighted Hjörleif's Head.

"

The vessel ran into harbour and dropped anchor at Arnarbali, the Eagles' haunt." The men wished to remove the body and bury it, but Thorgils would not suffer it to be taken from his lap. "We have been constant companions in hardship, night and day," said he; "and now we shall not be parted."

His friends consulted together what should be done, and at last hit upon a plan.

They went ashore and picked up a quarrel with a farmer named Sigmundr. Kolr then hastened to the vessel, and told Thorgils that there was a fight ashore, and that his son, Thorleif, wanted help.

The bonder started up, girded cn his sword, laid the dead child gently on a bed, slung himself over the ship's side, and hastened to the scene of conflict.

He soon succeeded in patching up the quarrel, which was only a fictitious one; and then he returned to the vessel.

In the meantime Kolr had taken the corpse to a church and buried it. Thorgils was furious at what had been done,

and was hardly restrained from slaying the faithful Kolr on the spot. When, however, the first burst of passion was over, the poor father regretted his violence, and going up to Kolr, he shook hands with him. For four days and nights he lay without eating or sleeping, and said that he could not blame women for so dearly loving the bairns which they have suckled themselves.

Thorgils then went home to Tratharholt, and wondered how he could ever have left it, so rich and fertile did the farm look after the icy terraces of Greenland.

He married a young wife soon after his return, and before his death saw seven children growing up around his knees. From him is descended the blessed Thorlack-Iceland's greatest saint. This is what was signified by the golden flower in the bonder's dream.

I may inform those who are curious about the discovery of Greenland and America by the Icelanders, that there is a very accessible account of it in Mr. Blackwell's edition of Mallet's Northern Antiquities, published by Bohn, price five shillings.

Mallet's book is valueless, but the additions and notes of the editor are excellent.

For those who understand Danish, there is the work, Grönlands Historiske Mindesmærker, 3 vols. 8vo. 1838-45, containing extracts of the Sagas relating to Greenland, and consisting of 2,538 pages,

385

CHAPTER XXIII.

CONCLUSION.

Leave Geysir-Last View of Heckla-The rumoured Eruption of SkaptaReturn to Thingvöllum-Latin Conversation-Seljadalr-The Plague of Flies-Halt at a Farm-A fair Haymaker-The Spell broken-Return to Reykjavík-Sale of Horses-Icelandic Ponies-Their strong and weak Points-Leave Iceland-The Captain's Joke-Reach EnglandAdvice to Travellers.

WE were sorry enough to leave Geysir where we had spent some joyous days, but the steamer waits for no man, and we were obliged to be back in Reykjavík some days before she sailed, so as to dispose of our horses by a public auction.

Farewell, Geysir! We took one last look into the calm steaming basin, tossed one final load of turf into Strokr and galloped off. We stopped at Uthlith to shake hands with the farmer and his wife. Really, their clean cheerful faces did one good!

We took a panorama of Heckla was

They seemed to be quite pleased to see us again, and offered us bowls of milk which we emptied thirstily. In Iceland one learns to live and fatten upon milk. parting glance over the tún wall at the glorious snow peaks beyond the plain of green morass. snow-clad still, its ridge starting into three teeth, one of which is perfectly black. Far away to the south were the twin peaks of Tindfjalla, the tops sunlit, and the bases lost in swimming blue. More distant still rose Eyjafjalla, like a golden cloud on the horizon. Heckla is distant from Uthlith, as the crow