Give us your welcome to Norway,
Where all is lovely and fair;
Your fathers of old never tardy
Their friendship with strangers to share.
Blessed by St. Olaf the holy,
Land of Harold the bold,
Of you it is ever said truly
Your word is as good as your gold.
And now adieu; we must leave you,
To wander each forest and fell;
Our blessing for ever attend you,
And echo our parting farewell.
CHAPTER III.
“The woods are green, the hedges white
With leaves, and blossoms fair;
There’s music in the forest now,
And I too must be there.”
Jeffreys.
A FRIEND’S MISGIVING—DARK FOREBODINGS—A SLEEPLESS NIGHT—THE RAILWAY STATION—THE ALBION—A PHILOSOPHER—THE STREET BOY—DISTINGUISHED TRAVELLERS.
We had nearly completed our preparations, and were leaving town, when we dined one evening with a friend whom we had not seen for some time. He seemed interested in our approaching excursion, but his astonishment was great, when our plan was divulged.
“What! going to Norway with gipsies?” said he in amazement, as he poised in his hand, a glass of champagne. “Why I don’t believe my friend Tom Taylor, who has taken a great interest in the gipsy language, ever went so far as to camp with them. You’ll be robbed, and murdered—not the slightest doubt. Travel with gipsies!” exclaimed our friend, and he seemed to shudder at the thought
We were quite unable to say how much self-sacrifice Mr. Tom Taylor may have made. We had read his interesting collection of Breton Ballads. He writes well on a great variety of subjects, and is an excellent art critic; but we could not give any opinion upon his camp experience. My friend shook his head, “Write to me when you get there,—promise to write me a letter,” said he earnestly. “Yes, you will be certainly robbed, and murdered,” and he silently emptied his glass.
There was something touching in his manner, as he gulped down the effervescent draught, with a look which showed plainly that he had no hope for our safe return.