At length, after this scene had lasted a full hour, I could stand it no longer, and was fain to request my amiable visitors to retire, as I wished to go to bed.
My sleep that night was none of the sweetest.

A certain feeling of discomfort always attaches to the fact of sleeping in a church alone, in the midst of a grave-yard.

Besides this, on the night in question such a dreadful storm arose that the wooden walls creaked and groaned as though their foundations were giving way.

The cold was also rather severe, my thermometer inside the church shewing only two degrees above zero.

I was truly thankful when approaching day brought with it the welcome hour of departure.
June 5th.
The heavy sleepiness and extreme indolence of an Icelandic guide render departure before seven o'clock in the morning a thing not to be thought of.