"But is it Jan Mayen?" I asked. "Nor that either," he answered. "This is no northern mountain; hereare no granite peaks capped with snow. Look, Axel, look!" Above our heads, at a height of five hundred feet or more, we saw thecrater of a volcano, through. which, at intervals of fifteen minutesor so, there issued with loud explosions lofty columns of fire,mingled with pumice stones, ashes, and flowing lava. I could feel theheaving of the mountain, which seemed to breathe like a huge whale,and puff out fire and wind from its vast blowholes. Beneath, down apretty steep declivity, ran streams of lava for eight or nine hundredfeet, giving the mountain a height of about 1,300 or 1,400 feet. Butthe base of the mountain was hidden in a perfect bower of richverdure, amongst which I was able to distinguish the olive, the fig,and vines, covered with their luscious purple bunches.