Yet here and there were a few jets of steam from hot springs.
We had no time to watch these phenomena; we had to proceed on our way.

Soon at the foot of the mountains the boggy land reappeared, intersected by little lakes.

Our route now lay westward; we had turned the great bay of Faxa, and the twin peaks of Snaefell rose white into the cloudy sky at the distance of at least five miles.
The horses did their duty well, no difficulties stopped them in their steady career.

I was getting tired; but my uncle was as firm and straight as he was at our first start.

I could not help admiring his persistency, as well as the hunter's, who treated our expedition like a mere promenade.
June 20.