Three hours later, still treading on the colourless grass of the pasture land, we had to work round the Kollafjord, a longer way but an easier one than across that inlet. We soon entered into a pingstaœr or parish called Ejulberg, from whose steeple twelve o’clock would have struck, if Icelandic churches were rich enough to possess clocks. But they are like the parishioners who have no watches and do without.

There our horses were baited; then taking the narrow path to left between a chain of hills and the sea, they carried us to our next stage, the aðalkirkja of Brantär and one mile farther on, to Saurboër “Annexia,” a chapel of ease built on the south shore of the Hvalfiord.

It was now four o’clock, and we had gone four Icelandic miles, or twenty-four English miles.