"Follow my finger along the west coast of Iceland. Do you see Rejkiavik, the capital? You do. Well; ascend the innumerable fiords that indent those sea-beaten shores, and stop at the sixty-fifth degree of latitude. What do you see there?"
"I see a peninsula looking like a thigh bone with the knee bone at the end of it."
"A very fair comparison, my lad. Now do you see anything upon that knee bone?"
"Yes; a mountain rising out of the sea."
"Right. That is Snæfell."
"That Snæfell?"
"It is. It is a mountain five thousand feet high, one of the most remarkable in the world, if its crater leads down to the centre of the earth."
"But that is impossible," I said shrugging my shoulders, and disgusted at such a ridiculous supposition.
"Impossible?" said the Professor severely; "and why, pray?"
"Because this crater is evidently filled with lava and burning rocks, and therefore—"