4

lew York City

CONTENTSContents for May

A Trip to the Center of the Earth

Mesmeric Revelation

By Edgar Allan Poe

The Crystal EggBy H. G. Wells

The Infinite VisionBy Charles C. Winn -

The Man From the Atom {Sequel)By G. Peyton Wertenbaker

Off On a Comet (Conclusion)By Jules Verne .,

Illustrates this month's stoi

Wells. This is a, supposed vi

by Mr. Cave through the Cry'of t! plan

Egg, from the eart

COPYRIGHT ACKNOWLEDGMENTmet", and "A Trip to the Center of thecopyright 1911, by Vincent Parke & Ci

In Our Next Issue:"DOCTOR HACKENSAWS SECRETS", by ClementFezandie, by popular requests. A new and hitherto un-published story of the great and illustrious Dr. Hacken-

saw, which can not fail to hold your interest from start

to finish.

"THE RUNAWAY SKYSCRAPER", by Murray Lcin-ster, a story of the Fourth Dimension, in which the greatMetropolitan Life skyscraper in New York vanishes intothe Fourth Dimension. One of the most surprising taleswe have ever read. (This story was scheduled for theMay issue, but had to make room for the Jules Verne

"THE SCIENTIFIC ADVENTURES OF MR. FOS-DICK", by Jack Morgan. Perhaps you did not know it,but there can be excellent humor in scieotifiction. One,

of the most excruciatingly funny stories, which at

same lime is an excellent piece of scientifiction, is

[i:!td "Mr. Fosdick Invents the Seidl immobile."

"A TRIP TO THE CENTER OF THE EARTH"-', .Jules Verne, (second installment), wherein our heroes

have now penetrated to subterranean depths and find atremendous number of surprises.

"WHISPERING ETHER" by Charles S. Wolfe, a radiostory that holds your interest and injects iiuite a fewnew thoughts into a well-known subject. One of thegreatest short stories we have ever seen. (This storyalso was due for publication in May, and was crowdedout by the conclusion of the Jules Verne story, "Off On aComef).

Another weird story by Edgar Allan Poe, which we1 like.

.> i vrrfiiNAi'iov-u,. si-ii-

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MAGAZINEOF

SCIENTIFICTION

HUGO GERNSBACK, F.R.S., EditorDR. T. O'CONOR SLOANE, M. A., Ph.D. ; Aaodau Editor

Editorial and General Offices 53 Park Place. New York, N. Y.

Extravagant Fiction Today ------- Cold Fact TonTHANK YOU!

By HUGO GERNSBACK, F.R.S.

HE Ifirst issue of AMAZING STORIES4 been on the newsstands only about

i week, as we go to press with this, thesecond issue of the magazine; yet, evenduring this short time, we have beendeluged with an avalanche of letters of

approval and constructive criticism fruni practicallyevery section of the country, except the West—aswe have not yet had time to hear from it.We hereby take this medium to thank all our

friends for their kind wishes and willingness to co-operate with us. We sincerely regret that we cannotanswer each and every letter individually. There aresimply too many letters—and we feel that our read-ers would rather we utilize our efforts in the im-provement of the magazine.

After all, it is your paper, and we are strivinghard to please you. Judging from the various com-ments, the first issue of AMAZING STORIES wasjust about right—the stories pleased and the lengthof the shorter stories and the division of the longones seemed satisfactory.And it was with a feeling of gratification that we

noted the almost unanimous condemnation of theso-called "sex-appeal" type of story that seems somuch in vogue in this country now. Most of burcorrespondents seemed to heave a great sigh of re-lief in at last finding a literature that appeals to theimagination, rather than carrying a sensational ap-peal to the emotions. It is that which justifies ournew venture—our expenditure of time and money.The letters, extracts from which are printed be-

low, seem to best express the general trend ofopinion.

Mr. George W. Anderson, of Fairmount, W. Va.,in addition to giving us a good suggestion, saya:

"Print all scientific facts its related in the stories,in italics. This will serve to more forcefully drivehome the idea upon which you have established yourmagazine. Personally, wrhen I have some such sys-tem blazing forth before my eyes I am inclined tostop and consider what I have learned, for futurereference."

A. Lee Gladwin, of Ames, Iowa, writes: ". . . .Amazing Stories is entertaining and has food forthought that no other fiction work eould begin tocompete with."Raymond E. Dickens, Air Mail Radio Station,

Iowa City, Iowa, says:"I can read these stories over several times

and each time get something new from them."Michael II. Kay, Brooklyn, N, Y., says : "You will

g"e!"ua'u(ly find that when one has read your magazinehe will become so enthusiastic, so elated over hisdiscovery, that he will deem it a pleasure to extol itsvirtues to his friends. Even now my wife isanxiously waiting for me to finish this first issue, sothat she may read it herself."

Lack of space precludes adding to the list in-definitely.

As to the future: Some very valuable suggestionswere made—upon which we have acted. There wasquite a demand for "Dr. Hackensaw's Secrets." Act-ing upon this demand, we will, beginning with ournext issue, print new and hitherto unpublished Dr.llackeusaw st-ocies. We have a good many of thesefamous stories by Clement Fezandie. Again, a goodmany of our readers want some of the stories ofEdgar Rice Burroughs. Accordingly, we have con-tracted for some, to be published in the future.Among the newer works of which we have acquiredthe publication rights are: "Die Macht der Drei"(The Might of the Three), one of the greatest—andperhaps the greatest—recent scientific!, ion story;and "Feuer am Nordpol" (The North Pole Fire).Both these works were published in Germany.We also obtained the rights to an excellent radio

story—one of the finest that has ever been written—"Station X", by G. MacLeod Winsor."The Messiah of the Cylinder", by Victor Rous-

seau is another tremendous story, and then, ofcourse, there is H. G. Wells, with his "The War inthe Air."

There is only one thing that troubles us now: wehave more good stories to publish than we have spacein which to publish them. And here is where youcan help. During the next three or four months itis our intention to enlarge the magazine, but only anincreased circulation can make this possible. Youcan do your share by making the magazine knownamong your friends. If you like AMAZINGSTORIES, your friends will probably' like it too.

If each one of you who reads this could get onefriend to buy the next issue of AMAZINGSTORIES, we would immediately be able to in-crease the size of the magazine fifty per cent, andthereby give vou more material.The success of AMAZING STORIES is entirely

in your hands. We shall do our part—we pledgeourselves to do everything to merit your confidence.

p/imvtothedmmoftheMmE3 if- Jules Verne

half eaten away by the corrosive action of time, th«do you begin to have faith?" cried my uncle. It Was

Introduction to the Story

T TA VING won the attention of the -public withJ^J_ "Five Weeks in a Balloon," Jides Verne wrote

in rapid success ion several- truly masterly tales.

Of these remarkable- inventions of the human mind,"A Trip to the Center of the Earth" was the firstto be completed in its present form. It was -publishedin 1864, in a series of books bij Verne-, denominated

"Voyages Extraordinaires." This series, started inthat year by the publisher Hetzel, has been continued

to recent times.

This particular "Voyage" has sometimes been de-

clared our author's masterpiece. In it he for the

first time gives free rein to that bold yet scientifical-

ly exact imagination, whereby he. lias constructed forus in fancy the entire universe. There is nothing

in all the daring visions of this tale which, even

today ovr scientists would declare impossible. Theinterior of the earth is still unknown; and theremay well be rifts, passages, descending from ex-tinct volcanoes and. penetrating far within. Theremay well be huge cavities, bubbles left in the coolingmass, vast enough to harbor inland, seas, and sheltermany of the ancient forms of life now extinct uponearth's surface.

The main scientific objection to this, as indeed tomost of the more fanciful of Verne's tales, lies inthe extravagant means he employs to bring his ex-plorers home again from their reckless ventures.But, es romance obviously demands their returnsomehow, science discreetly accents in silence theastonishing accidents and coincidencesthey escape the doom they have invited.

A TRIP TO THE CENTER OF THE EARTH 101

MY UNCLE MAKES A GREAT DISCOVERY

OOKING back to all that has occurred tome since that eventful day, I am scarce-ly able to believe in the reality of myadventures. They were truly so won-derful that even now I am bewildered

when I think of them.My uncle was a German, though I am English,

he having married my mother's sister. Being verymuch attached to his fatherless nephew, he invitedme to study under him in his home in the father-land. This home was in a large town, and myuncle was a professor of philosophy, chemistry,geology, mineralogy, and many other ologies.One day, after passing some hours in the labora-

tory—my uncle being absent at the time—I sud-denly felt the necessity of renovating the tissues—i. e., I was hungry, and was about to rouse up ourold French cook, when my uncle, Professor VonHardwigg, suddenly opened the street door and

came rushing upstairs.Now Professor Hardwigg, my worthy uncle, is

by no means a bad sort of man; he is, however,

choleric and original. To _hear with him means to ^^SHHSH^^^BSobey; and scarcely hadhis heavy feet resounded

within our joint domicilethan he shouted for meto attend upon him."Harry—Harry—Hjarry"I hastened to obey, but

before I could reach his

room, jumping three stepsat a time, he was stamp-ing his right foot upon thelanding. "Harry I" hecried, in a frantic tone,

"are you coining up?"To tell the truth, at that

moment I was far moreinterested in the question

as to what was to con-stitute our dinner than in

any problem of science;to me soup was more inter-esting than sodium, an

omelette more temptingthan arithmetic, and anartichoke of ten time3

more value than anyamount of asbestos. Butmy uncle was not a manto he kept waiting; so ad-

journing all minor ques-tions, I presented myself

before him.

He was a very learned HgH^HMBIE^MN^^fflman. Now, most personsin this category supply themselves with informa-

tion, as peddlers do with goods, for the benefit of

others, and lay up stores in order to diffuse them

abroad for the benefit of society in general. Not

so my excellent uncle, Professor Hardwigg; hestudied, he consumed the midnight oil, he pored over

heavy tomes, and digested huge quartos and folios,

and kept the knowledge he acquired to himself.There was a reason, and it may be regarded as agood one, why my uncle objected to display hislearning more than was absolutely necessary; hestammered, and whten intent upon explaining thephenomena of the heavens, was apt to find himselfat fault, and allude in such a vague way to sun,moon, and stars, that few were able to comprehend

his meaning. To tell the honest truth, when theright word would not come, it was generally re-placed by a very powerful adjective.

In connection with the sciences there are manyalmost unpronounceable names—names very muchresembling those of Welsh villages; and my unclebeing very fond of using them, his habit of stam-

mering was not thereby improved. In fact, there

were periods in his discourse when he would finallygive up and swallow his discomfiture—in a glass of

water.

As I said, my uncle, Professor Hardwigg, was avery learned man; and I now add, a most kindrelative. I was bound to him by the double ties ofaffection and interest. I took deep interest in all

his doings, and hoped some day to be almost as

__^^____^^____ learned myself. It was arare thing for me to be

JiV his immortal story, "A Trip to the Center of theEarth", Jules Verne has quite outdone himself. Not

only was Jules Verne a waster of the imaginative tyPe

of fiction, hut he was a scientist of high calibre. Besidesthis, his intimate knowledge of geography, the customs

and peculiarities of the various races, made it possible for

Mm to write with authority on any of these subjects. Sowhen, he takes -us to the center of the earth, via the route-

through Iceland, we get the feeling that, somehow, thestory is real, and this, after all, is the test of any good

Instead of boring a hole into the bowels of the earth,

Jules Verne ivas probably the first to think of taking the

reader to unexplored depths through the orifice of an ex-

tinct volcano. He argues, correctly, that a dead craterwould prove not on!v the safest, but perhaps Ike best rmite

for such exploration. No one has as yet explored thevery center of the earth; for at no time have we descend-ed deeper than about a mile below the surface of the

planet. Who knows, therefore, but that there may betremendous discoveries ahead of the Iranian race, once wepenetrate into the area', depths of the globe?

We have no right to assume that life in the interior ofthe earth is an impossibility. When our deep sea expedi-tions come home with specimens of fish that live at the

bottom of the ocean, and under what appear to be unen-

durable pressures, where logic would assume there could

be no life, we should not i-ndoe harshly that there can beno life in the depths of the earth. If there is an entrance

to a great unexplored cavit\ within our planet, you are

free to believe that some form of life exists ihere.^ Living

beings can get along without light, and it is possible that

some sort of light of Hie phosphorescent order can be

found there. And, besides, nature has a trick all its own

of circumvent-in a impossibilities, as is well witnessed in

vtany deep sea "fish, in depths where no light ever pene-

trates, where many of them are equipped with luminous

eyes and other light-giving organs.

absent from his lectures.Like him, I preferred

mineralogy to all theother sciences. My anxietywas to gain real knowl-edge of the earth. Geologyand mineralogy were tous the main objects oflife, and in connectionwith these studies manya fair specimen ofstone, chalk, or ore did

we break with our ham-mers.

But before I state thesubject on which my unclewished to confer with me,I must say a word abouthis personal appearance,

Alas ! my readers will seea very different portraitof him at a future time—

'

after he has gone throughthe fearful adventures yet

to be related.

My uncle was fifty yearsold; tall, thin, and wiry.Large spectacles hid, to acertain extent, his vast,

round and goggle eyes,while his nose was ir-reverently compared to

..a thin file. So much in-

~ deed did it resemble thatuseful article, that a compass was said in his pres-

ence to have made considerable deviation. Thetruth being told, however, the only article really

attracted to my uncle's nose was tobacco.Another peculiarity of his wa3, that he always

stepped a yard at a time, clenched his fists as if he

yrere going to hit you, and was, when in one of his

102 AMAZING STORIESpeculiar humors, very far from a pleasant com-panion.

It is further necessary to observe, that he livedin a very nice house, in that very nice street, theKSnigstrasse in Hamburg. Though lying in thecenter of a town, it was perfectly rural in its aspect—half wood, half bricks, with old-fashioned gables—one of the few old houses spared by the great fireof 1842. When I say a nice house, I mean a hand-some house—old,, tottering, and not exactly conform-able to English notions: a house a little off theperpendicular and inclined to fall into the neighbor-ing canal ; exactly the house for a wandering artistto depict; all the more that you could scarcely seeit for ivy and a magnificent old tree which grewover the door.My uncle was rich; his house was his own prop-

erty, and he had a considerable private income. Tomy notion the best part of his possessions was hisgod-daughter, Gretchen, who unfortunately wasaway upon a visit on that momentous day. Theold cook, the young lady, the Professor and I werethe only inmates of his home.

I loved mineralogy, I loved geology. To me therewas nothing better than pebbles—and if my unclehad been in a little less of a fury, we should havebeen the happiest of families. To prove the ex-cellent Hardwigg's impatience, I solemnly declarethat when the flowers in the drawing-room potsbegan to grow, he rose every morning at fouro'clock to make them grow quicker by pulling theleaves

!

Having described my uncle, I will now give anaccount of our interview. He received me in hisstudy ; a perfect museum, containing every naturalcuriosity that can well be imagined—minerals, how-ever, predominating. Every one was familiar tome, having catalogued each by my own hand. Myunele, apparently oblivious of the fact that he hadsummoned me to his presence, was absorbed in abook. He was particularly fond of early editions,tall copies, and unique works.

"Wonderful!" he cried, tapping his forehead."Wonderful—wonderful!" It was one of those yel-low-leaved volumes now rarely found on stalls, andto me it appeared to possess but little value. Myuncle, however, was in raptures. He admired itsbinding, the clearness of its characters, the easewith which it opened in his hand, and repeatedaloud, half-a-dozen times, that it was very, veryold.

To my fancy he was making a great fuss aboutnothing, but it was not my province to say so. Onthe contrary, I professed considerable interest inthe subject, and asked him what it was about."It is the Heims-Kringla of Snorre SturJasson," he

said, "the celebrated Icelandic author of the twelfthcentury—it is a true and correct account of the Nor-wegian princes who reigned in Iceland."My next question related to the language in

which it was written. I hoped at all events it wastranslated into German. My uncle was indignant atthe very thought, and declared he wouldn't ghte apenny for a translation. His delight was to havefound the original work in the Icelandic tongue,which he declared to be one of the most magnificentand yet simple idioms in the world—while at thesame time its grammatical combinations were themost varied known to students.

"About as easy as German?" was my insidiousremark.

My uncle shrugged his shoulders."The Runic letters at all events," I said," "are

rather difficult of comprehension."

"It is a Runic manuscript, the language of theoriginal population of Iceland, invented by Odinhimself," cried my uncle, angry at my ignorance.

I was about to venture upon some misplaced jokeon the subject, when a small scrap of parchment fellout of the leaves. Like a hungry man snatching ata morsel of bread the Professor seized it. It wasabout five inches by three and was scrawled overin the most extraordinary fashion.The lines opening the next chapter are an exact

facsimile of what was written on the venerable pieceof parchment—and have wonderful importance, asthey induced my uncle to undertake the most won-derful series of adventures which ever fell to thelot of human beings.My unele looked keenly at the document for

some moments then declared that it was Runic. Theletters were similar to those in the book, but thenwhat did they mean? This was exactly what Iwanted to know.Now, as I had a strong conviction that the Runic

alphabet and dialect were simply an invention tomystify poor human nature, I was delighted to Andthat my unele knew as much about the matter asI did—which was nothing. At all events, thetremulous motion of his fingers made me think so."And yet," he muttered to himself, "it is old

Icelandic, I am sure of it."My uncle ought to have known, for he was a

perfect polyglot dictionary in himself. He did notpretend, like a certain learned pundit, to speakthe two thousand languages and four thousandidioms made use of in different parts of the globe,but he did know all the more important ones.

It is a matter of great doubt to me now, to whatviolent measures my uncle's impetuosity might haveled him, had not the clock struck two, and our oldFrench cook called out to let us know that dinnerwas on the table.

"Bother the dinner!" cried my uncle. But I washungry, so I sallied forth to the dining-room, whereI took up my usual quarters. Out of politeness Iwaited three minutes, but no sign of my uncle, theProfessor. I was surprised. He was not usually soblind to the pleasure of a good dinner. It was theacme of German luxury—parsley soup, a hamomelette with sorrel trimmings, veal stewed withprunes, delicious fruit, and sparkling Moselle. Forthe sake of poring over that musty old piece ofparchment, my uncle forhore to share our meal. Tosatisfy my conscience, I ate for both.The old cook and housekeeper was nearly out of

her mind. After taking so much trouble, to findthat her master did not appear at dinner was a saddisappointment—which as she watched the havoc Iwas making on the viands, became also alarm. Ifmy uncle were to come to table after all?

Suddenly, just as I had consumed the last appleand drunk the last glass of wine, a terrible voicewas heard at no great distance. It was my uncleroaring for me to come to him. I made it in verynearly one leap—so loud, so fierce was his tone.

•A TRIP TO THE CENTER OF THE EARTH 103CHAPTES II

THE MYSTERIOUS PARCHMENT

MTHHYFri\11Yk

•foh11ArrbAYibt-. ii r

11-/K1T+T*Kh-1 + K^

tl+IBfe

H-M-rlbi^

•id &b,UK.Aihl (-hiI+11BHFA-IK-Th

«T declare," cried my uncle, striking the tableI fiercely with his fist, "I deelare to you it is

J_ Runic—and contains some wonderful secret,which I must get at, at any price."

I was about to reply, when he stopped me. "Sitdown," he said, quite fiercely, "and write to mydictation."

I obeyed. "I will substitute," he said, "a letter of

our alphabet for that of the Runic: we will thensee what that will produce. Now, begin and makeno mistakes."The dictation commenced with the following in-

comprehensible result :—m.rnlls esruel seecJdesgtssmf imteief niedrhekt,samw atrateS Saodmiemtnael n-uaect rrilSa,

Atvaar .nscTo ieaabsccdrmi eeittut frantwdt,iac oseibo Kediil

Scarcely giving me time to finish, my uncleSnatched the document from my hands and ex-amined it with the most rapt and deep attention.

"I should like to know what it means," he said,after a long period.

I certainly could not tell him, nor did he expectine to—his conversation being uniformly answeredby himself.

"I declare it puts me in mind of a cryptograph,"he cried, "unless, indeed, the letters have beenwritten without any real meaning; and yet whytake so much trouble? Who knows but I may beon the verge of some great discovery?"My candid opinion was that it was all rubbish!

But this opinion I kept carefully to myself, as myuncle's eholer was not pleasant to bear. All thistime he was comparing the book with the parch-ment.

"The manuscript volume and the smaller docu-ment are written in different hands," he said, "thecryptograph is of much later date than the book;there is an undoubted proof of the correctness ofmy surmise. The first letter is a double M, whichwas only added to the Icelandic language in thetwelfth century—this makes the parchment twohundred years posterior to the volume."The circumstances appeared very probable and

very logical, but it was all surmise to me."To me it appears probable that this sentence

was written by some owner of the book. Now whowas the owner, is the next important question. Per-haps by great good luck it may be .written some-where in the volume."With these words Professor Hardwigg took off

his spectacles, and, taking a powerful magnifyingglass, examined the book carefully. On the fly leafwas what appeared at first to be a blot of ink, buton examination proved to be a line of writing almosteffaced by time. This was what he sought. Afterconsiderable time, he made out these letters:

livkt WkhhW"Arne Saknussem!" he cried in a joyous and

triumphant tone, "that is not only an Icelandicname, but the name of a learned professor of thesixteenth century, a celebrated alchemist."

I bowed as a sign of respect."These alchemists," he continued, "Avicena,

Bacon, Lully, Paracelsus, were the true, the onlylearned men of the day. They made surprising dis-coveries. May not this Saknussem, nephew mine,have hidden on this bit of parchment some astound-ing invention? I believe the cryptograph to havea profound meaning—which I must make out."My uncle walked about the room in a state of

excitement almost impossible to describe."It may be so, sir," I timidly observed, "but why

conceal it from posterity, if it be a useful, a worthydiscovery?"

"Why—how should I know? Did not Galileo makea secret of his discoveries in connection withSaturn? But we shall see. Until I discover themeaning of this sentence I will neither eat nor,sleep."

"My dear uncle " I began."Nor you either," he added. It was lucky I had

taken double allowance that day."In the first place," he continued, "there must be

a clue to the meaning. If we eould find that, therest would be easy enough."

I began seriously to reflect. The prospect ofgoing without food and sleep was not a promisingone, so I determined to do my best to solve themystery. My uncle, meanwhile, went on with hissoliloquy.

"The way to discover it is easy enough. In thisdocument there are one hundred and thirty-two let-ters, giving seventy-nine consonants to fifty-threevowels. This is about the proportion found in mostsouthern languages, the idioms of the north beingmuch more rich in consonants. We may confidentlypredict, therefore, that we have to deal with asouthern dialect."Nothing could be more logical."Now," said Professor Hardwigg, "to trace the

particular language."

"As Shakespeare says, 'that is the question,"*was my rather satirical reply.

"This man Saknussem," he continued, "was avery learned man: now as he did not write in thelanguage of his birth-place, he probably, like mostlearned men of the sixteenth century, wrote inLatin. If, however, I prove wrong in this guess,we must try Spanish, French, Italian, Greek, andeven Hebrew. My own opinion, though, is decidedlyin favor of Latin."

This proposition startled me. Latin ' was myfavorite study, and it seemed sacrilege to believethis gibberish to belong to the country of Virgil.

"Barbarous Latin, in all probability," continued

my uncle, "but still Latin."

104 AMAZING STORIES"Very probably," I replied, not to contradict him."Let ua see into the matter," continued my uncle;

"here you see we have a series of one hundred andthirty-two letters, apparently thrown pell-mell uponpaper, without method or organization. There arewords which are composed wholly of consonants,such as m.rnlls, others which are nearly all vowels,the fifth, for instance, which ia unteief, and one ofthe last oseibo. This appears an extraordinary com-bination. Probably we shall find that the phrase isarranged according to some mathematical plan. Nodoubt a certain sentence has been written out andthen jumbled up—some plan to which some figureis the clue. Now, Harry, to show your Englishwit—what is that figure?"

I could give him no hint. My thoughts wereindeed far away. While he was speaking I hadcaught sight of a portrait of my cousin Gretchen,and was wondering when she would return. We wereaffianced, and loved one another very sincerely. Butmy uncle, who never thought of such sublunary mat-ters, knew nothing of this. Without noticing myabstraction, the Professor began reading the puz-zling cryptograph all sorts of ways, according tosome theory of his own. Presently, rousing mywandering attention, he dictated one precious at-tempt to me.

I mildly handed it over to him. It read asfollows :

—

messunkaSenrA.icefdoK.segnittamurtnecertSMTetU/f'jl-aivutxliia.r-hwcsedsadne

lacartniiil vJmratracSarbmutabiledmekmeretarcsilucolsleffenSnl.

I could scarcely keep from laughing while myuncle, on the contrary, got into a towering passion,struck the table with his fist, darted out of the room,out of the house and then taking to his heels waspresently lost to sight.

"W*

CHAPTER III

AN ASTOUNDING DISCOVERY

THAT is the matter?" cried the cook, en-tering the room; "when will master havehis dinner?"

"Never.""And, his supper ?"

"I don't know. He says he will eat no more,neither shall I. My uncle has determined to fastand make me fast until he reads this abominableinscription," I replied.

"You will be starved to death," she said.I was very much of the same opinion, but not

liking to say so, sent her away, and began some ofmy usual work of classification. But busy as I mademyself, nothing could keep me from thinking al-ternately of the stupid manuscript and of the prettyGretchen.

Several times I was tempted to go out, but myuncle would have been angry at my absence. At theend of an hour, my allotted task was done. Howto pass the time? I began by lighting my pipe. Likeall other students, I delighted in tobacco; and,seating myself in the great armchair, I began tomeditate.

Where was my uncle? I could easily imaginehim tearing along some solitary road, gesticulating,talking to himself, cutting the air with his cane,

and still thinking of the absurd bit of hieroglyphics.Would he hit upon some clue? Would he comehome in better humor? While these thoughts werepassing through my brain, I mechanically took upthe execrable puzzle and tried every imaginableway of grouping the letters. I put them together bytwos, by threes, fours, and fives—in vain. Nothingintelligible came out, except that the fourteenth,fifteenth and sixteenth made ice in English; theeighty-fourth, eighty-fifth and eighty-sixth, theword sir; then at last I seemed to find the Latinwords rota, mutabile, ira, nee, atra."Ha ! there seems to be some truth in my uncle's

notion," thought I.Then again I seemed to find the word luco, which

means saered grove. Then in the third line I ap-peared to make out labiled, a perfect Hebrew word,and at last the syllables mere, art, mer, which wereFrench. It was enough to drive one mad. Fourdifferent idioms in this absurd phrase. What con-nection could there be between ice, sir, anger, cruel,sacred grove, changing, mother, art and sea? Thefirst and the last might, in a sentence connectedwith Iceland, mean sea of ice. But what of the restof this monstrous cryptograph?

I was, in fact, fighting against an insurmountabledifficulty; my brain was almost on fire; my eyeswere strained with staring at the parchment; thewhole absurd collection of letters appeared to dancebefore my vision in a number of black little groups.My mind was possessed with temporary hallucina-tion—I was stifling. I wanted air. MechanicallyI fanned myself with the document, of which I sawfirst the back and then the front.

Imagine my surprise, when glancing at the backof the wearisome puzzle, the ink having gonethrough, I clearly made out Latin words, and amongothers craterem and terrestre.

I had discovered the secret! It came upon roelike a flash of lightning. I had got the clue. Allyou had to do to understand the document^was toread it backwards. All the ingenious ideas of theProfessor were realized; he had dictated it rightlyto me ; by a mere accident I had discovered what heso much desired.My delight, my emotion may be imagined. My

eyes were dazzled and I trembled so that at first Icould make nothing of it. One look, however, wouldtell me all I wished to know.

"Let me read," I said to myself, after drawing along breath. I spread it before me on the table, Ipassed my finger over each letter, I spelt it through;in my excitement I read it out.What horror and stupefaction took possession of

my soul. I was like a man who had received aknock-down blow. Was it possible that I reallyread the terrible secret, and it had really been ac-complished! A man had dared to do—what?No living being should ever know "Never!" cried

I, jumping up; "Never shall my uncle be madeaware of the dread secret. He would be quitecapable of undertaking the terrible journey. Noth-ing would check him, nothing stop him. Worse, hewould compel me to accompany him, and we shouldbe lost forever. No ; such folly and madness cannotbe allowed."

I was almost beside myself with rage and fury."My worthy uncle is already nearly mad," I criedaloud. "This would finish him. By some accident

A TRIP TOTHE CENTER OF THE EARTH 105he may make the discovery, in which case, we areboth lost. Perish the fearful secret—let the flames

forever bury it in oblivion.

I snatched up book and parchment, and was about

to cast them into the fire, when the door opened and

my uncle entered. I had scarcely time to put downthe wretched documents before my uncle was by myside. He was profoundly absorbed. His thoughtswere evidently bent on the terrible parchment.

Some new combination had probably struck him

while taking his walk. He seated himself in hisarm-chair, and with a pen began to make an alge-

braical calculation. I watched him with anxious

eyes. My flesh crawled as his discovery of the se-cret became probable. I having discovered the only

clue, I knew his combinations were useless. For

three mortal hours he continued without speaking

a word, without, raising his head, scratching, re-

writing, calculating over and over again. I knew

that in time he must hit upon the right phrase. The

letters of every alphabet have only a certain number

of combinations. But then years might elapse be-

fore he would arrive at the correct solution.

Still time went on ; night came, the sounds in the

streets ceased—and still my uncle went on, not evenanswering our worthy cook when she called us to

supper. I did not dare to leave him, so waved her

away, and at last fell asleep on the sofa.

When I awoke, my uncle was still at work. Hisred eyes, his paliid countenance, his matted hair,

his feverish hands, his hecticly flushed cheeks,

showed how terrible had been his struggle with theimpossible, and what fearful fatigue he had under-

gone during that long sleepless night. It made mequite ill to look at him. Though he was rather se-

vere with me, I loved him, and my heart ached athis sufferings. He was so overcome by one idea thathe could not even get into a passion 1 All his ener-

gies were focussed on one point. And I knew thatby speaking one little word all this suffering would

cease. I could not speak it.

My heart was, nevertheless, inclining towardshim. Why, then, did I remain silent? In the in-

terest of my uncle himself. "Nothing shall makeme speak," I muttered. "He will want to follow inthe footsteps of the other! I know him well. His

imagination is a perfect volcano, and to make dis-

coveries in the interests of geology he would sacri-

fice his life. I will therefore be silent and strictly

keep the secret I have discovered. To reveal it would

be suicidal. He would not only himself rush to de-struction, hut drag me with him." I crossed myarms, looked another way and smoked—resolvednever to speak.

When our cook wanted to go out to market, oron any other errand, she found the front door locked

and the key taken away. Was this done purposelyor not? Surely Professor Hardwigg did not in-

tend the old woman and myself to become martyrsto his obstinate will. Were we to he starved todeath? A frightful recollection came to my mind.Once we had fed on bits and scraps for a week while

he sorted some curiosities. It gave me the crampeven to think of it!

I wanted my breakfast, and I saw no way ofgetting it. Still my resolution held good. I wouldstarve rather than yield. But the cook began to

take me seriously to task. What was to he done?She could not go out; and I dared not.

My uncle continued counting aud writing; hisimagination seemed to have transported him to theskies. He thought neither of eating nor drinking.In this way twelve o'clock came around. I washungry, and there was nothing in the house. The

cook had eaten the last hit of bread. This could not

go on. At two o'clock my sensations were terrible.After all I began to think the document is very ab-

surd. Perhaps it is only a gigantic hoax. Besides,

some means could surely be found to keep my uncleback from attempting any such absurd expedition.

On the other hand, if he should attempt anything soquixotic, I could not be compelled to accompany him.

Another line of reasoning partially decided me.

Very likely he would make the discovery himselfwhen I should have suffered starvation for nothing.Under the influence of hunger this reasoning ap-peared admirable. I determined to tell all.

The question now arose as to how it was to bedone. I was still dwelling on the thought when berose and put on his hat. What I go out and lock usin? Never!

"Uncle," I began.

He did not appear even to hear me."Professor Hardwigg," I cried."What," he retorted, "did you speak?"

"How about the key?""What key—the key of the door?""No—of these horrible hieroglyphics."He looked at me from under his spectacles, and

started at the odd expression of my face. Rushingforward, he clutched me by the arm and keenly ex-amined my countenance. His very look was an in-terrogation. I simply nodded.

With an incredulous shrug of the shoulders, heturned upon his heel. Undoubtedly he thought Ihad gone mad.

"I have made a very important discovery."Hia eyes flashed with excitement. His hand was

lifted in a menacing attitude. Tor a momentneither of us spoke. It is hard to say which wasmost excited."You don't mean to say that you have any idea of

the meaning of the scrawl?""I do," was my desperate reply. "Look at the

sentence as dictated by you.""Well, but it means nothing," was the angry

"Nothing if you read from left to right, but mark,if from right to left "

"Backwards!" cried my uncle, in wild amazement."Oh most cunning Saknussem; and I to be such ablockhead." He snatched up the document, gazed atit with haggard eye, and read it out as I had

done. It read as follows:

—

In Sneffels Iocv.Ur craterem kem delebatUmbra Sear'aris Jvlii intra calendas cAudas viator, et terrestre centrum attinges.Kod feci. Arne Saknussem.Which dog-Latin being translated, read as fol-

lows : "Descend into the crater of Yokul of Sneffels,

which the shade of Scartaris covers, before the

kalends of July, audacious traveler, and you will

reach the center of the earth. I did it.

"Arne Saknussem."

My uncle leaped three feet from the ground withjoy. He looked radiant and handsome. He rushedabout the room wild with delight and satisfaction.

He knocked over tables and chairs. He threw his

106 AMAZING STORIESbooks about until at last utterly exhausted, he fellinto his arm-chair. "What's o'clock?" he asked."About three.""My dinner does not seem to have done me much

good," he observed, "Let me have something to eat.We can then start at once. Get my portmanteauready."

"What for?". "And your own," he continued. "We start atonce."

My horror may be conceived. I resolved how-ever to show no fear. Scientific reasons were theonly ones likely to influence my uncle. And therewere many against this terrible journey. The veryidea of going down to the center of the earth wassimply absurd. I determined therefore to argue thepoint after dinner.

My uncle's rage was now directed against thecook for having no dinner ready. My explanation,however, satisfied him, and giving her the key shesoon managed to get sufficient to satisfy our vora-cious appetites.

During the repast my uncle was rather gay thanotherwise. He made some of those peculiar jokeswhich belong exclusively to the learned. As soon,however, as dessert was over, he called me to hisstudy. We each took a chair on opposite sides ofthe table.

"Henry," he said, in a soft and winning voice;"I have always believed you ingenious, and you haverendered me a service never to be forgotten. Withoutyou, this great, this wondrous discovery wouldnever have been made. It is my duty, therefore,to insist on your sharing the glory.""He is in a good humor," thought I; "I'll soon

let him know my opinion of glory.""In the first place," he continued, "you must

keep the whole affair a profound secret. There isno more envious race of men than scientific dis-coverers. Many would start on the same journey.At all events, we will be the first in the field."

"I doubt your having many competitors," was myreply.

"A man of real scientific acquirements would bedelighted at the chance. We should find a perfectstream of pilgrims on the traces of Arne Sak-nussem, if this document were once made public."

"But my dear sir, is not this paper very likelyto be a hoax?" I urged.

"The book in which we find it is sufficient proofof its authenticity," he replied.

"I thoroughly allow that the celebrated Professor

wrote the line, but only, I believe, as a kind ofmystification," was my answer.

Scarcely were the words out of my mouth, whenI was sorry I had uttered them. My uncle lookedat me with a dark and gloomy scowl, and I beganto be alarmed for the results of our conversation.

His mood soon changed, however, and a smile tookthe place of a frown. "We shall see," he remarked,with a decisive emphasis.

"But see, what is all this about yokul, andSneffels, and this Scartaris? I have never heardanything about them."

"The very point to which I am coming. I latelyreceived from my friend, Augustus Peterman, ofLeipzig, a map. Take down the third atlas fromthe second shelf, series Z, plate 4."

X al

I rose, went to the shelf, and presently returnedwith the volume indicated.

"This," said my uncle, "is one of the best mapsof Iceland, I believe it will settle all your doubts,difficulties and objections."With a grim hope to the contrary, I stooped over,

the map.

CHAPTER IV

WE START ON THE JOURNEY

"OU see, the whole island is made up of volca-noes,"said the Professor, "and note that theyall bear the name of yokul. The word is Ice-

landic, and means glacier. In most of the lofty moun-tains of that region the volcanic eruptions come-forth from ice-bound caverns. Hence the name ap-plied to every volcano on this extraordinary island."

"But what does this word Sneffels mean?"To this question I expected no rational answer.

I was mistaken. "Follow my finger to the westerncoast of Iceland, there you see Reykjawik, itscapital. Follow the direction of one of its innumer-able fjords or arms of the sea, and what do yousee below the sixty-fifth degree of latitude?"

"A peninsula—very like a thigh-bone in shape

"

"And in the center of it—=?""A mountain.""Well, that's Sneffels."

I had nothing to say."That is Sneffels—a mountain about five thou-

sand feet in height, one of the most remarkablein the whole island, and certainly doomed to bethe most celebrated in the world, for through itscrater we shall reach the Center of the Earth."

"Impossible!" cried I, startled and shocked atthe thought.

"Why impossible?" said Professor Hardwigg inhis severest tones.

"Because its crater is choked with lava, by burn*ing rocks—by infinite dangers.""But if it be extinct?""That would make a difference.""Of course it would. There are about three hun-

dred volcanoes on the whole surface of the globe

—

but the greater number are extinct. Of theseSneffels is one. No eruption has occurred since1219—in fact it has ceased to be a volcano at all."After this what more could I say? Yes—I thought

of another objection. "But what is all this aboutScartaris and the kalends of July ?"

My uncle reflected deeply. Presently he gaveforth the result of his reflections in a sententioustone. "What appears obscure to you, to me is light.This very phrase shows how particular Saknussemis in his directions. The Sneffels' mountain hasmany craters. He is careful therefore to pointout the exact one which is the highway into theInterior of the Earth. He lets us know, for thispurpose, that about the end of the month of June,the shadow of Mount Scartaris falls upon theone crater. There can be no doubt about the matter."My uncle had an answer for everything. "I ac-

cept all your explanations," I said, "and Saknussemis right. He found out the entrance to the bowelsof the earth, he has indicated correctly, but that heor anyone else ever followed up the discovery, is

to

"Why so, young man?"

A TRIP TO THE CENTER OF THE EARTH 107"All scientific teaching, theoretical and practical,

shows it to be impossible.""I care nothing for theories," retorted my uncle."But is it not well-known that heat increases

one degree for every seventy feet you descend intothe earth? which gives a fine idea of the centralheat. All the matters which compose the globe arein a state of incandescence ; even gold, platinum, andthe hardest rocks are in a state oi fusion. Whatwould become of us?"

"Don't be alarmed at the heat, my boy.""How so?""Neither you nor anybody else knows anything

about the real state of the earth's interior. Allmodern experiments tend to explode the oldertheories. Were any such heat to exist, the uppercrust of the earth would be shattered to atoms,and the world would be at an end."A long, learned and not uninteresting discussion

followed, which ended in this: "I do not believe in.the dangers and difficulties which you, Harry, seemto multiply ; and the only way to learn, is like ArneSaknussem, to go and see."

"Well," cried I, overcome at last, "let us go andsee. Though how we can do that in the dark isanother mystery."

"Fear nothing. We shall overcome these, andmany other difficulties. Besides, as we approach theCenter, I expect to find it luminous "

"Nothing is impossible.""And now that we have come to a thorough under-

Standing, not a word to any living soul. Our suc-cess depends on secrecy and despatch."Thus ended our memorable conference, which

roused a perfect fever in me. Leaving ray uncle, Iwent forth like one possessed. Reaching the banksof the Elbe, I began to think. Was all I had heardreally and truly possible? Was my uncle in hissober senses, and could the interior of the earthbe reached? Was I the victim of a madman, orwas he a discoverer of rare courage and grandeurof conception?

To a certain extent I was anxious to be off. Iwas afraid my enthusiasm would cool. I determinedto pack up at once. At the end of an hour, how-ever, on my way home, I found that my feelingshad very much changed. "I'm all abroad," I cried;"it's a nightmare—I must have dreamt it."At this moment I came face to face with

Gretchen, whom I warmly embraced. "So you havecome to meet me," she said; "how good of you,But what is wrong with you?"

Well, it was no use mincing the matter. I .toldher all. She listened with awe, and for someminutes she could not speak. "Well?" I at last asked,rather anxiously."What a magnificent journey. If I were only a

man! A journey worthy of the nephew of Pro-fessor Hardwigg. I should look upon it as anhonor to accompany him.""My dear Gretchen, I thought you would be the

first to cry out against this mad enterprise.""No; on the contrary, I glory in it. It is magnifi-

cent, splendid—an idea worthy of my father. HarryLawson, I envy you."

This was, as it were, conclusive. The final blowof all.When we entered the house we found my uncle

surrounded by workmen and porters, who were

packing up. He was pulling and hauling at a bell."Where have you been wasting your time? Yourportmanteau is not packed—my papers are not inorder—the precious tailor has not brought myclothes, nor my gaiters—the key of my carpet bagis gone!"

I looked at him stupefied. And still he tuggedaway at the bell. "We are really off, then?" I said.

"Yes—of course, and yet you go out for a stroll,unfortunate boy!""And when do we go?""The day after to-morrow, at daybreak."I heard no more; but darted off to my little

bedchamber and locked myself in. There was nodoubt about it now. My uncle had been hard atwork all the afternoon. The garden was full ofropes, rope-ladders, torches, iron .clamps, crow-bars,alpenstocks, and pickaxes—enough to load ten men.

I passed a terrible night. I was called early thenext day to learn that the resolution of my unclewas unchanged and irrevocable. I also found mycousin and affianced wife as warm on the subjectas was her father.Next day, at five o'clock in the morning, the post-

chaise was at the door. Gretchen and the old cookreceived the keys of the house; and, scarcely paus-ing to wish anyone good-bye, we started on ouradventurous journey into the center of the Earth.

CHAPTER VFIRST LESSONS IN CLIMBING

AT Altona, a suburb of Hamburg, is the Chiefii Station of the Kiel railway, which was to take

-L i.us to the shores of the Belt; and exactly at 7o'clock we were seated opposite each other in a first-class railway carriage. My uncle said nothing. Hewas too busy examining his papers, among which ofcourse was the famous parchment, and some lettersof introduction from the Danish eonsul, which wereto pave the way to an introduction to the Governorof Iceland. In three hours we reached Kiel, andour baggage was at once transferred to the steamer.,We had now a day before us, a delay of about

ten hours, which fact put my uncle in a toweringpassion. We had nothing to do but to walk aboutthe pretty town and bay. At last, however, we wenton board, and at half past ten were steaming downthe Great Belt. The next morning we reachedCopenhagen, where, scarcely taking time for' re-freshment, my uncle hurried out to present one ofhis letters of introduction. It was to the directorof the Museum of Antiquities, who having been in-formed that we were tourists bound for Iceland, didall he could to assist us. One wretched hope sus-tained me now. Perhaps no vessel was bound forsuch distant parts.

Alas! a little Danish schooner, the Valkyrie, wasto sail on the second of June for Reykjawik. Thecaptain, M. Bjarne, was on board, and was rathersurprised at the energy and cordiality with whichhis future passenger shook him by the hand, Tohim a voyage to Iceland was merely a matter ofcourse. My uncle, on the other hand, considered theevent of sublime importance. The honest sailor tookadvantage of the Professor's enthusiasm to doublethe fare.

"On Tuesday morning at seven o'clock be on

AMAZING STORIESboard," said M. B.jarne, handing us our receipts."

"Excellent ! Capital ! Glorious !" remarked myuncle as we sat down to a late breakfast; "refreshyourself, my boy, and we will take a run throughthe town,"Our meal concluded we went to the Kongens-Nye-

Torv; to the king's magnificent palace; to the beau-tiful bridge over the canal near the Museum ; to theimmense cenotaph of Thorwaldsen with its hideousnaval groups ; to the castle of Rosenborg ; and to allthe other lions of the place,—none of which myuncle even saw, so absorbed was he in his antici-pated triumphs.

But one thing struck his fancy, and that was acertain singular church steeple situated on theIsland of Amak, which is the south-east quarter ofthe city of Copenhagen. My uncle at once orderedme to turn my steps that way. This church exhibitednothing remarkable in itself; in fact, the worthyProfessor had only been attracted to it by one cir-cumstance, which was, that its rather elevatedsteeple started from a circular platform, afterwhich there was an exterior staircase, which woundround to the very summit. "Let us ascend," saidmy uncle.

"But I never could elimb church towers," I cried,"I am subject to dizziness in my head.""The very reason why you should go up. I want

to cure you of a bad habit.""But my good sir ""I tell you to come. What is the use of wasting

so much valuable time?"It was impossible to dispute the dictatorial com-

mands of my uncle. I yielded with a groan. Onpayment of a fee, a verger gave us the key. He,for one, was not partial to the ascent. My uncleat once showed me the way, running up the stepslike a school-boy. I followed as well as I could,though no sooner was I outside the tower, than myhead began to swim. There was nothing of theeagle about me. The earth was enough for me, andno ambitious desire to soar ever entered my mind.Still things did not go badly until I had ascended150 steps, and was near the platform. Then Ibegan to feel the rush of cold air. I could scarcelystand, but clutching the railings, I looked upwards.The railings were frail enough, but they seemedgood compared to those which skirted the terriblewinding staircase, that appeared, from where Istood, to ascend to the skies."Now then, Harry.""I can't do it!" I cried, in accents of despair."Are you, after all, a coward, sir?" said my

uncle in a pitiless tone. "Go up, I say!"To this there was no reply possible. And yet the

keen air acted violently on my nervous system; sky,earth, all seemed to swim round; while the steeplerocked like a ship. My legs gave way like thoseof a drunken man. I crawled upon my hands andknees; I hauled myself up slowly, crawling like asnake. Presently I closed my eyes, and allowed my-self to be dragged upwards."Look around you," said my uncle, in a stern

voice, "heaven knows what profound abysses youmay have to look down. This is excellent practice."

Slowly, and shivering all the while with cold, Iopened my eyes. What then did I see? My firstglance was upwards at the cold fleecy clouds, whichas by some optical delusion appeared to stand still,

while the steeple, the weathercock, and our twoselves were carried swiftly along. Par away onone side could be seen the grassy plain, while onthe other lay the sea bathed in translucent light.The Sund, or Sound as we call it, could be discoveredbeyond the point of Elsinore, crowded with whitesails, which, at that distance, looked like the wingsof sea-gulls; while to the east could be discernedthe far-off coast of Sweden. The whole appeared amagic panorama.

Faint and bewildered as I was, there was noremedy for it. Rise and stand up I must. Despitemy protestations my first lesson lasted quite anhour. When, nearly two hours later, I reached thebosom of mother earth, I was like a rheumatic oldman bent double with pain. "Enough for one day,"said my uncle, rubbing his hands, "we will beginagain to-morrow."

There was no remedy. My lessons lasted five days,and at the end of that period, I ascended blithelyenough, and found myself able to look down into thedepths below without winking, and even with somedegree of pleasure.

CHAPTER VI

OUR VOYAGE TO ICELAND

THE hour of departure came at last. The nightbefore, the worthy Mr. Thompson brought usthe most cordial letters of introduction for

Count Trampe, Governor of Iceland, for Mr. Pie-tursson, coadjutor to the bishop, and for M. Finsen,mayor of the town of Reykjawik. In return, myuncle nearly crushed his hands, so warmly did heshake them.On the second of the month, at two in the morn-

ing, our precious cargo of luggage was taken onboard the good ship Valkyrie. We followed, andwere very politely introduced by the captain to asmall cabin with two standing bed places, neithervery well ventilated nor very comfortable. But inthe cause of science men are expected to suffer.

"Well, and have we a fair wind?" cried my uncle,in his most mellifluous accents."An excellent wind!" replied Captain Bjarne;

"we shall leave the Sound, going free with all sailsset." A few minutesa afterwards, the schoonerstarted before the wind, under all the canvas shecould carry, and entered the channel. An hourlater, the capital of Denmark seemed to sink intothe waves, and we were at no great distance fromthe coast of Elsinore. My uncle was delighted;for myself, moody and dissatisfied, I appeared al-most to expect a glimpse of the ghost of Hamlet.

"Sublime madman," thought I, "you doubtless,would approve our proceedings. You might per-haps even follow us to the center of the earth,there to resolve your eternal doubts.""How long will the voyage last?" asked my uncle."Well, I should think about ten days," replied

the skipper, "unless, indeed, we meet with somenorth-east gales among the Faroe Islands.""At all events, there will be no very considerable

delay," cried the impatient Professor."No, Mr. Hardwigg," said the captain, "no fear

of that. At all events, we shall get there someday."The voyage offered no incident worthy of record.

A TRIP TO THE CENTER OF THE EARTH 109I bore it very well, but my uncle to his great an-noyance, and even shame, was remarkably sea-sick

!

This ma! de iner troubled him the more, that it pre-vented him from questioning Captain Bjarne as tothe subject of Sneffels, as to the means of com-munication, and the facilities of transport. All

these explanations he had to adjourn to the period

of his arrival. His time meanwhile, was spent lying

in bed groaning, and dwelling anxiously on the

hoped-for termination of the voyage. I did not

pity him.

On the eleventh day we sighted Cape Portland,over which towered Mount Myrdals Yokul, which,the weather being clear, we made out very readily.The cape itself is nothing but a huge mount ofgranite standing naked and alone to meet the At-lantic waves. The Valkyrie kept off the coast, steer-ing to the westward. On all sides were to be seenwhole "schools" of whales and sharks. After somehours we came in sight of a solitary rock in theocean, forming a mighty vault, around which the

foaming waves poured with intense fury. The isletsof Westman appeared to leap from the ocean, beingso low in the water as scarcely to be seen, until

you were right upon them. From that moment theschooner was steered to the westward in order toround Cape Reykjaness, the western point ofIceland.

My uncle, to his great disgust, was unable evento crawl on deck, so heavy a sea was on, and thuslost the first view of the Land of Promise. Forty-eight hours later, after a storm which drove us

far to sea under hare poles, we came once more insight of land, and were boarded by a pilot, who,

after three hours of dangerous navigation, brought

the schooner safely to an anchor in the hay of Faxa

before Reykjawik.

My uncle came out of his cabin pale, haggard,thin, but full of enthusiasm, his eyes dilated with

pleasure and satisfaction. Nearly the whole popula-

tion of the town was on foot to see us land. Thefact was, that scarcely any one of them but ex-pected some goods by the periodical vessel.

Professor Hardwigg was in haste to leave hisprison, or rather as he called it, his hospital ; but

before he attempted to do so, he caught hold of myhand, led me to the quarter-deck of the schooner,took my arm with his left hand, and pointed inlandwith his right, over the northern part of the bay,

to where rose a high two-peaked mountain—adouble cone covered with eternal snow. "Behold,"

he whispered in an awe-stricken voice, "behold

—

Mount Sneffels!"Without further remark, he put his finger to

his lips, frowned darkly, and descended into the

small boat which awaited us. I followed, and in

a few minutes we stood upon the soil of mysteriousIceland

!

Scarcely were we fairly on shore when there ap-peared before us a man of excellent appearance,wearing the costume of a military officer. He was,however, but a civil servant, a magistrate, the gov-

ernor of the island—Baron Trampe. The Professor

knew whom he had to deal with. He thereforehanded him the letters from Copenhagen, and abrief conversation in Danish followed, to which I, of

course, was a stranger, and for a very good reason,for I did not know the language in which they con-versed. I afterwards heard, however, that Baron

Trampe placed himself entirely at the beck and callof Professor Hardwigg.My uncle was also most graciously received by

M. Finsen, the mayor, who as far as costume went,was quite as military as the governor, but also fromcharacter and occupation quite as pacific. As forhis coadjutor, M. Pietursson, he was absent on anepiscopal visit to the northern portion of the

diocese. We were therefore compelled to defer th^pleasure of being presented to him. His absence

however, was compensated by the presence of M.Fridriksson, Professor of Natural Science in the

College of Reykjawik, a man of invaluable ability.This modest scholar spoke no languages save Ice-landic and Latin. When, therefore, he addressedhimself to me in the language of Horace, we atonce came to understand one another. He was, infact, the only person that I did thoroughly under-

stand during the whole period of my residence onthis benighted island.

Out of three rooms of which his house was com-posed, two were placed at our service, and in a fewhours we were installed with all our baggage, theamount of which rather astonished the simple in-habitants of Reykjawik."Now, Harry," said my uncle, rubbing his hands,

"all goes well, the worst difficulty is now over.""How the worst difficulty over?" I cried in fresh

amazement."Doubtless. Here we are in Iceland. Nothing

more remains but to descend into the bowels of theearth."

"Well, sir, to a certain extent you are right. Weihave only to go down—but, as far as I am con-cerned, that is not the question. I want to knowhow we are to get up again."

"That is the least part of the business, and doesnot in any way trouble me. In the meantime, thereis not an hour to lose. I am about to visit thepublic library. Very likely I may find there somemanuscripts from the hand of Saknussem. I shallbe glad to consult them."

"In the meanwhile," I replied, "I will take a walkthrough the town. Will you not likewise do so?"

"I feel no interest in the subject," said my uncle."What for me is curious in this island, is not whatis above the surface, but what is below."

I bowed by way of reply, put on my hat andfurred cloak, and went out.

It was not an easy matter to lose onself in thetwo streets of Reykjawik; I had therefore no needto ask my way. The town lies on a flat and marshyplain, between two hills. A vast field of lava skirtsit on one side, falling away in terraces towards thesea. On the other hand is the large bay of Faxa,bordered on the north by the enormous glacier ofSneffels. In the bay the Valkyrie was then the onlyvessel at anchor. Generally there were one or twoEnglish or French gunboats, to watch and protectthe fisheries in the offing. However, they were nowabsent on duty.

In three hours my tour was complete. The gen-eral impression upon my mind was sadness. Notrees, no vegetation, so to speak—on all sides vol-canic peaks—the huts of turf and earth—more likeroofs than houses. Thanks to the heat of theseresidences, grass grows on the roof, which grass iscarefully cut for hay. I saw but few inhabitantsduring my excursion, but I met a crowd on the

110 AMAZING STORIESbeach, drying, salting and loading cod-fish, theprincipal article of exportation. The men appearedrobust but heavy, fair-haired like Germans, but ofpensive mien—exiles of a higher scale in the ladderof humanity than the Esquimaux, but, I thought,much more unhappy, since with superior perceptionsthey are compelled to live within the limits of thePolar Circle.

CHAPTER VII

CONVERSATION AND DISCOVERY

WHEN I returned, dinner was ready. Thismeal was devoured by my worthy relativewith avidity and voracity. His shipboard

diet had turned his interior into a perfect gulf. Therepast, which was more Danish than Icelandic, wasin itself nothing, but the excessive hospitality ofour host made us enjoy it doubly. The conversationturned upon scientific matters, and M. Fridrikssonasked my uncle what he thought of the publiclibrary.

"Library, sir?" cried my uncle; "it appears tome a collection of useless odd volumes, and a beg-garly amount of empty shelves."

"What!" cried M. Fridriksson ; "why, we haveeight thousand volumes of most rare and valuableworks—some in the Scandinavian language, besidesall the new publications from Copenhagen."

"Eight thousand volumes, my dear sir—why,where are they?" cried my uncle.

"Scattered over the country, Professor Hard-wigg. We are very studious, my dear sir, thoughwe do live in Iceland. Every farmer, every laborer,every fisherman can both read and write—and wethink that books instead of being locked up incupboards, far from the sight of students, shouldbe distributed as widely as possible. The books ofour library are, therefore, passed from hand to handwithout returning to the library shelves perhapsfor years."

"Then when foreigners visit you, there is noth-ing for them to see?"

"Well, sir, foreigners have their own libraries,and our first consideration is, that our humblerclasses should be highly educated. Fortunately, thelove of study is innate in the Icelandic people. In1816 we founded a Literary Society and Mechanics'Institute; many foreign scholars of eminence arehonorary members; we publish books destined toeducate our people, and these books have renderedvaluable services to our country. Allow me to havethe honor, Professor Hardwigg, to enroll you as anhonorary member?"My uncle, who already belonged to nearly every

literary and scientific institution in Europe, imme-diately yielded to the amiable wishes of good M.Fridriksson. "And now," said the latter after manyexpressions of gratitude and good-will, "if you willtell me what books you expected to find, perhapsI may be of some assistance to you."

I watched my uncle keenly. For a minute ortwo he hesitated, as if unwilling to speak; to speakopenly was, perhaps, to unveil his projects. Never-theless, after some reflection, he made up his mind."Well, M. Fridriksson," he said in an easy, un-concerned kind of way, "I was desirous of ascer-taining, if among other valuable works, you hadany by the learned Arne Saknussem,"

"Arne Saknussem!" cried the Professor of Reyk-jawik; "you speak of one of the most distinguishedscholars of the sixteenth century, of the greatnaturalist, the great alchemist, the great traveler."

"Exactly so.""One of the most distinguished men connected

with Icelandic science and literature.""As you say, sir "

"A man illustrious above all.""Yes, sir, all this is true, but his works?""We have none of them.""Not in Iceland?""There are none in Iceland or elsewhere," an-

swered the other, sadly."Why so?""Because Arne Saknussem was persecuted for

heresy, and in 1573 his works were publicly burntat Copenhagen by the hands of the common hang-man.""Very good ! capital !" murmured my uncle, to the

great astonishment of the worthy Icelander."You said, sir—

"

"Yes, yes, all is clear, I see the link in the chain;everything is explained," and I now understand whyArne Saknussem, put out of court, forced to hidehis magnificent discoveries, was compelled to con-ceal beneath the veil of an incomprehensible crypto-graph, the secret "

"What secret?""A secret—which," stammered my uncle."Have you discovered some wonderful manu-

script?"

"No, no, I was carried away by my enthusiasm.A mere supposition.""Very good, sir. But, really, to turn to another

subject, I hope you will not leave our island with-out examination into its mineralogical riches."

"Well, the fact is, I am rather late. So manylearned men have been here before me."

"Yes, yes, but there is still much to be done,"cried M. Fridriksson."You think so," said my uncle, his eyes twinkling

with hidden satisfaction.

"Yes, you have no idea how many unknown moun-tains, glaciers and volcanoes there are which remainto be studied. Without moving from where we sit, Ican show you one. Yonder on the edge-of the hori-zon, you see Sneffels.""Oh yes, Sneffels," said my uncle."One of the most curious volcanoes in existence,

the crater of which has been rarely visited.""Extinct?""Extinct for the last five hundred years," was

the ready reply."Well," said my uncle, who dug his nails into

his flesh, and pressed his knees tightly together toprevent himself leaping up with joy. "I have agreat mind to begin my studies with an examinationof the geological mysteries of this Mount Sneffel—Feisel—what do you call it?"

"Sneffels, my dear sir."This portion of the conversation took place in

Latin, and I therefore understood all that had beensaid. I could scarcely keep ray countenance whenI found my uncle so cunningly concealing his' de-light and satisfaction. I must confess that his art-ful grimaces, put on to conceal his happiness, madehim look like a new Mephistopheles. "Yes, yes," hecontinued, "your proposition delights me. I will

A TRIP TO THE CENTER OF THE EARTHendeavor to climb to the summit of Sneffels, and,ii possible, will descend into its crater."

"I very much regret," continued M. Fridriksson"that my occupation will entirely preclude the pos-sibility of my accompanying you. It would havebeen both pleasurable and profitable if I could have

spared the time."

"No, no, a thousand times no," cried my uncle,"I do not wish to disturb the serenity of any man.

I thank you, however, with all my heart. The pres-ence of one so learned as yourself, would no doubt

have been most useful, but the duties of your office

and profession before everything.In the innocence of his simple heart, our host

did not perceive the irony of these remarks. "I en-

tirely approve your project," he continued after

some further remarks. "It is a good idea to begin

by examining this volcano. You will make a harvestof curious observations. In the first place, how doyou propose to get to Sneffels?"

"By sea. I shall cross the bay. Of course thatis the most rapid route.

"Of course. But still it cannot be done.""Why?""We have not an available boat in all Reykjawik,"

replied the other.

"What is to be done?""You must go by land along the coast. It is

longer, but much more interesting.""Then I must have a guide.""Of course; and I have your very man.""Somebody on whom I can depend?""Yes, an inhabitant of the peninsula on which

Sneffels is situated. He is a very shrewd and worthyman, with whom you Will be pleased. He speaksDanish like a Dane.""When can I see him—to-day?""No, to-morrow; he will not be here before.""To-morrow be it," replied my uncle with a deep

sigh.

The conversation ended by compliments on bothsides. During the dinner my uncle had learnedmuch as to the history of Arne Saknussem, the rea-sons for his mysterious and hieroglyphical docu-ment. He also became aware that his host wouldnot accompany him on his adventurous expedition,and that next day we should have a guide.

CHAPTER VIII

THE EEDER-DOWN HUNTER—OFF AT LASTTHAT evening I took a brief walk on the shore

near Reykjawik, after which I returned to an

early sleep on my bed of coarse planks, whereI slept the sleep of the just. When I awoke I heardmy uncle speaking loudly in the next room. I rosehastily and joined him. He was talking in Danishwith a man of tall stature, and of perfectly Hercu-lean build. This man appeared to be possessed ofvery great strength. His eyes, which started rather

prominently from a very large head, the face be-

longing to which was simple and naive, appearedvery quick and intelligent. Very long hair, which

even in England would have been accounted ex-

ceedingly red, fell over his athletic shoulders. This

native of Iceland was active and supple in appear-

ance, though he scarcely moved his arms, being in

fact one of those men who despise the habit ofgesticulation common to southern people.

Ill

Bveiwthing in this man's manner revealed a calmand phlegmatic temperament. There was nothingindolent about him, but his appearance spoke oftranquility. He was one of those who never seemedto expect anything from anybody, who liked towork when he thought proper, and whose philosophynothing could astonish or trouble.

I began to. comprehend his character, simply fromthe way in which he listened to the wild and im-.passioned verbiage of my worthy uncle. .While theexcellent Professor spoke sentence after sentence,

he stood with folded arms, utterly still, motionless

to all my uncle's gesticulations. When he wantedto say no he moved his head from left to right;when he acquiesced, he nodded so slightly that youcould scarcely see the undulation of his head. Thiseconomy of motion was carried to the length ofavarice.

Judging from his appearance it would have beena long time before I would suspect him to be whathe was! a mighty hunter. Certainly his mannerwas not likely to frighten the game. How, then,did he contrive to get at his prey? My surprisewas slightly modified when I knew that this tranquiland solemn personage, was only a hunter of theeider-duck, the down of which is, after all, the-greatest source of the Icelanders' wealth.

This grave, sententious, silent person, as phleg-

matic as an Englishman on the French stage, wasnamed Hans Bjelke. He had called upon us inconsequence of the recommendation of M. Fridriks-son. He was, in fact, our future guide. It struckme that had I sought the world over, I could nothave found a greater contradiction to my impulsiveuncle. However, they readily understood one an-

other. Neither of them had any thought aboutmoney; one was ready to take all that was offeredhim, the other ready to offer anything that wa3asked. It may readily be conceived, then, that anunderstanding between them was soon reached.The understanding was, that he was to take us

to the village of Stapi, situated on the southern

slope of the peninsula of Sneffels, at the very foot

of the volcano. Hans, the guide, told us the dis-tance was about twenty-two miles, a journey whichmy uncle supposed would take about two days. Butwhen my uncle realized that they were Danish miles,of eight thousand yards each, he was obliged to bemore moderate in his ideas, and, considering thehorrible roads we had to follow, to allow eight orten days for the journey. Four horses were pre-pared for us, two to carry the baggage, and twoto bear the important weight of myself anduncle. Hans declared that nothing would evermake him climb on the back of any animal. Heknew every inch of that part of the coast, andpromised to take us the very shortest way.

His engagement with my uncle was by no meansto cease with our arrival at Stapi ; he was further toremain in his service during the whole time re-

quired for the completion of his scientific investiga-

tions, at the fixed salary of three rix-dollars a week,

being exactly fourteen shillings and two-pence,minus one farthing, English currency. One stipula-tion, however, was made by the guide—the moneywas to be paid to him every Saturday night, failingwhich, his engagement was at an end.The day of our departure was fixed. My uncle

wished to hand the eider-down hunter an advance,

-112 AMAZING STORIESbut he refused in one emphatic word

—

"Efter,"—which being translated from Icelandic into plainEnglish means—After.

The treaty concluded, our worthy guide retiredwithout another word. "A splendid fellow," said

.my uncle; "only he little suspects the marvelouspart he 13 about to play in the history of theworld."

"You mean, then," I cried in amazement, "that heshall accompany ua?"

"To the Interior of the Earth, yes ;" replied myuncle. "Why not?"There were forty-eight hours more to elapse before

we made our final start. Our whole time was takenup in making preparations for our journey. Allour industry and ability were, devoted to packingevery object in the most advantageous manner—theinstruments on one aide, the arms on the other, thetoola here and the provisions there. There were,in fact, four diatinct groups.The instruments were, of course, of the best

manufacture :—1. A centigrade thermometer of Eizel, counting

up to 150 degrees, which to me did not appear halfenough—or too much. Too hot by half, if the de-gree of heat was to aacend so high—in which casewe should certainly be cooked—not enough, if wewanted to ascertain the exact temperature ofsprings or of minerals in a state of fusion.

2. A manometer worked by the pressure of theatmosphere, an instrument used to ascertain theatmospheric pressure. Perhaps a common barometerwould not have done as well, the atmospheric pres-sure being likely to increase in proportion as wedescended below the surface of the earth.

3. A first-claaa chronometer made by Boissonnas,of Geneva, set at the meridian of Hamburg, fromwhich Germans calculated as the English do fromGreenwich.

4. Two compasses, one for horizontal guidance,the other to ascertain the dip.

5. A night glass.6. Two Euhmkorf's coils, which, by means of a

current of electricity, would ensure us a very ex-cellent, easily carried, and certain means of obtain-ing light.

7. A voltaic battery on the newest principle.Our arms consisted of two rifles, with two re-

volvers. Why these arms were provided it wasimpossible for me to say. I had every reaaon tobelieve that we had neither wild beasts nor savagenatives to fear. My uncle, on the other hand, wasquite as devoted to his arsenal as to his collection ofinstruments, and above all was very careful withhis provision of fulminating or gun cotton, war-ranted to keep in any climate, and of which theexpansive force was known to be greater than thatof ordinary gun-powder.Our tools consisted of two pickaxes, two crow-

bars, a silken rope ladder, three iron-shod Alpinestocks, a hatchet, a hammer, a dozen wedges, somepointed piecea of iron, and a quantity of strong rope.You may conceive that the whole made a tolerableparcel, especially when I mention that the ladderitself was three hundred feet long!Then there came the important question of pro-

viaiona. The hamper was not very large but moreor leaa aatiafactory, for I knew that in concentratedessence of meat and biscuit there was enough to last

six months. The only liquid provided by my unclewas scheidam. Of water, not a drop. We had, how-ever, an ample supply of gourda, and my unclecounted on finding water, and enough to fill them,as soon as we commenced our downward journey.My remarks as to the temperature and quality

of such water, and even as to the possibility of nonebeing found, remained wholly without effect.To make up the exact list of our traveling gear—

for the guidance of future travelers—I will add,that we carried a medicine and surgical chest withall apparatus necessary for wounds, fractures andblows : lint, scissors, lancets—a perfect collection ofhorrible-looking instruments; a number of phialscontaining ammonia, alcohol, ether, Goulard water,aromatic vinegar, in fact, every possible and im-possible drug—finally, all the materials for work-ing the Ruhmkorf coil!My uncle had also been careful to lay in a goodly

supply of tobacco, several flasks of very fine gun-powder, boxes of tinder, besides a large beltcrammed full of notes and gold. Good boots ren-dered water-tight were to be found to the numberof six in the tool-box. "My boy, with such clothing,with such boots, and such general equipments,"said my uncle, in a state of rapturous delight; "wemay hope to travel far."

It took a whole day to put all these matters inorder. In the evening we dined with Earon Trampe,in company with the Mayor of Reykjawik, andDoctor Hyaltalin, the great medical man of Iceland.M. Fridriksson was not present. Unfortunately,therefore, I did not understand a word that wassaid at dinner—a kind of semi-official reception. Onething I can say, my uncle never left off speaking.The next day our labor came to an end. Our

worthy host delighted my uncle, Professor Hard-wigg, by giving him a good map of Iceland, a mostimportant and precious document for a mineralogist.Our last evening was spent in a long conversationwith M. Fridriksson, whom I liked very much

—

the more that I never expected to see him or anyone else again. After this agreeable way of spend-ing an hour or so, I tried to sleep. In vain ; withthe exception of a few dozes, my night was miser-able.

At five o'clock in the morning I was awakenedfrom the only real half-hour's sleep of the night, bythe loud neighing of horses under my window. Ihastily dreaaed myself and went down into thestreet. Hans was engaged in putting the finishingstroke to our baggage, which he did in a silent,quiet way that won my admiration, and yet he didit admirably well. My uncle wasted a great deal ofbreath in giving him directions, but worthy Hanstook not the slightest notice of his words.

At six o'clock all our preparations were completed,and M. Fridriksson shook hands heartily with us.My uncle thanked him warmly, in the Icelandic lan-guage, for his kind hospitality, speaking truly fromthe heart. As for myself, I put together a few ofmy best Latin phrases and paid him the highestcompliments I could. This fraternal and friendlyduty performed, we sallied forth and mounted ourhorses.

As soon as we were quite ready, M. Fridrikssonadvanced, and by way of farewell, called after mein the words of Virgil—words which appeared to

'A TRIP TO THE CENTER OF THE EARTH 113have been made for us, travelers starting for anuncertain destination.

"Bt quae tin que viani dcrlcril for'vna sequamur."("And whichsoever way fortune provides may

we follow it.")

CHAPTER IXOUR STAKT—WE MEET WITH ADVENTURES BY THE WAY

THE weather was overcast but settled, when wecommenced our adventurous and perilousjourney. We had neither to fear fatiguing heat

nor drenching rain. It was, in fact, real touristweather. As there is nothing I like better than horseexercise, the pleasure of riding through an unknowneountry, caused the early part of our enterprise to be

particularly agreeable to me. I began to enjoy theexhilarating delight of traveling, a life of desire,

gratification and liberty. The truth is, that myspirits rose so rapidly that I began to be indifferentto what had once appeared to be a terrible journey.

"After all," I said to myself, "what do I risk?Simply to take a journey through a curious country,to climb a remarkable mountain, and if the worstcomes to the worst, to descend into the crater of anextinct volcano." There could be no doubt that thiswas all this terrible Saknussem had done. As tothe existence of a gallery or of subterraneous pas-

sages leading into the interior of the earth, the idea

was simply absurd, the hallucination of a dis-tempered imagination. All, then, that may be re-quired of me I will do cheerfully, and will create nodifficulty.

It was just before we left Reykjawik that I cameto this decision. Hans, our extraordinary guide,went first, walking with a steady, rapid and un-varying step. Our two horses with the luggage fol-lowed of their own aecord, without requiring whipor spur. My uncle and I came behind, cutting verytolerable figures upon our small but vigorousanimals. Hans, on taking his departure from Reyk-jawik, had followed the line of the sea. We tookour way through poor and sparse meadows, whichmade a desperate effort every year to show a littlegreen. They very rarely succeeded in a good showof yellow. Every now and then a spur of rock camedown through the arid ground, leaving us scarcelyroom to pass. Our horses, however, appeared notonly well acquainted with the country, but by akind of instinct, knew which was the best road. Myuncle had not even the satisfaction of urging his

steed forward by whip, spur, or voice. It wasutterly useless to show any signs of impatience. Ieould not help smiling to see him look so big onhis little horse; his long legs now and then touch-ing the ground made him look like a six-footedcentaur.

"Good beast, good beast," he would cry. "I assureyou, Harry, that I begin to think no animal is moreintelligent than an Icelandic horse. Snow, tempest,impracticable roads, rocks, icebergs—nothing stopshim. He is brave; he is sober; he is safe; he nevermakes a false step, never glides or slips from hispath. I dare to say that if any river, any ford hasto be crossed—and I have no doubt there will bemany—you will see him enter the water withouthesitation like an amphibious animal, and reach theopposite side in safety. We must not, however, at-tempt to hurry him ; we must allow him to have his

own way, and I will undertake to say that betweenus we shall do our ten leagues a day.""We may do so," was my reply, "but what about

our worthy guide?""I have not the slightest anxiety about him; that

sort of person goes ahead without even knowingwhat he is about. Just look at Hans. He moves solittle that it is impossible for him to becomefatigued. Besides, if he were to complain of weari-ness, he could have the loan of my horse. I shouldhave a violent attack of the cramp if I were notto have some sort of exercise. My arms are allright—but my legs are getting a little stiff."

All this while we were advancing at a rapid pace.The country we had reached was already nearly adesert. Here and there eould be seen an isolatedfarm, some solitary boer, or Icelandic house, builtof wood, earth, fragments of lava—Idoking likebeggars on the highway of life. These wretchedand miserable huts excited in us such pity that wefelt half disposed to leave alms at every door. Inthis country there are no roads, paths are nearlyunknown, and vegetation, poor as it was, slowly asit reached its full growth, soon obliterated all tracesof the few travelers who passed from place toplace,

A few stray cows and sheep were only seen oc-casionally. What, then, must we expect whem wecome to the upheaved regions—to the districtsbroken and roughened from volcanic eruptions andsubterraneous commotions?We were to learn all this in good time. I saw,

however, on consulting the map, that we avoideda good deal of this rough country, by following thewinding and desolate shores of the sea. In reality,the great volcanic movement of the island, and allits atttendant phenomena, are concentrated in theinterior of the island; there, horizontal layers orstrata of rocks, piled one upon the other, eruptionsof basaltic origin, and streams of lava, have giventhis'country a kind of supernatural reputation.

Little did I expect, however, the spectacle whichawaited us when we reached the peninsula ofSneffels, where agglomerations of nature's ruinsform a kind of terrible chaos.Some two hours or more after we had left the

city of Reykjawik, we reached the little town calledAoalkirkja, or the principal church. It consists

simply of a few houses—not what in England orGermany we should call a hamlet. Hans stoppedhere one-half hour. He shared our frugal break-fast, answered yes and no to my uncle's questionsas to the nature o