43 How we Rode Back from the Geysers. Geysers, but Thingvalla and the Briiara had been very charming to me. It was strange to me that there should be a place in Iceland so beautiful and so soft as Thingvalla with its lake. One little incident must be told to the honour of Admiral Farquhar, than whom no “Mastiff” could possibly be more gallant. The Admiral is a great fisher- man,—and there were two other fishermen both great, our future Northum- brian Member of Parliament, and our Australian “ Mastiff.” They had heard much of a certain river, running out of the lake many miles away, so filled with fishes that nothing of the like is known among all the waters best loved by fishermen. But------! Our friends were told that there was a drawback. The fishes were not to be doubted;—but neither were the flies ! Zoega believed that no Briton could stand there, even for the catching of a single fish. So instigated, our fishermen were determined to try. Were they not provided with mosquito nets ? It may as well be mentioned here that there is not such a thing as a mosquito in Iceland. Our fishermen went forth in happy spirits. “ Flies !” said the Admiral with scorn as he arranged a salmon rod about as big as a bedpost; and prepared himself in his impenetrable breeches, in his boots and his huge covering net. They left us at a point on the road, aware that they were about to add eight hours of additional riding to their already heavy work. But for such fishing as that what will not a fisherman endure? They went. They caught a fish;—one among them. And then they were driven,—not ignominiously indeed,—but, ah, too certainly from their ground. In five minutes they became fly-enveloped, so as to be able neither to do, nor to see, nor to speak. The one fish was flung to the ground, and they escaped from the fatal field as fast as their ponies could carry them. There is a picture of our Admiral as he caught that fish,—a marvellous portrait. But I fear that it is in private hands and cannot be obtained for the use and delight of our readers. As we rode back to Reykjavik we had our tents pitched, and slept for three hours on the way. Then, at six in the morning, we streamed into the little town, and were at once photographed on our ponies as we sat. There, O reader, is the G 2

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