Washington.”
It should be stated that the great capacity of my friend does not consist in the appetite, so much as a certain embonpoint, coming, as he does partly up to Shakspeare’s description of Cardinal Wolsey—“a man of an unbounded stomach.”
In closing my account of the Icelanders at Reykjavik, I have to record the pleasure and profit that I derived from the friendly attentions of these excellent people. I spent many and most pleasant hours with President Johnson, and with Mr. Sivertsen and his wife and daughters; also a most agreeable evening at the house of the Dean, Rev. Mr. Johnson, who made a small party on my account. The young ladies in this family, as also in Mr. Sivertsen’s, and Mr. Ranthry’s, contributed much to the agreeable socialities of my stay in Reykjavik. Were these fair daughters of the North to appear in society in England or America, a comparison to their disadvantage could not be drawn. Speaking several languages—always two or more—good players on the pianoforte and the guitar, skilled also in vocal music, and to these accomplishments, add a knowledge of household duties, and I fear that many of the graduates of our female boarding-schools could not successfully come into competition with them. I also partook of the hospitalities of their most excellent bishop, who lives a little way out of town, on a pleasant part of the coast, opposite the island of Vithey. Before leaving Copenhagen, and on my return there, I formed a most agreeable acqaintance with Mr. Gisli Brinjulfsson, quite a young man, but already enjoying a good literary reputation, both in his own country and in Denmark. He is a graduate of the Iceland College, and edited for two successive years the “NORTHURFARI,”[[51]]—an Iceland “Annual.” This volume gives a résumé of the political news of the world for the year previous, together with tales, original poetry, and many interesting translations from English and American writers. But the time of my departure from the country, arrives and these jottings must close. As the vessel prepared to sail, several of my Iceland friends came to see me off, and wish me a pleasant journey. As I took their parting hands, I could not but think that this, in all human probability, was our last meeting on earth. Promises to write and send newspapers were mutually interchanged. The booming gun echoes o’er the broad waters—the sail is set—the mountains fast disappearing in the distance, and the shores of Iceland grow dim on my sight. The little ship with the wandering pilgrim goes dancing over the waves.
“The land is no longer in view,
The clouds have begun to frown;
But, with a stout vessel and crew,
We’ll say, let the storm come down.
“And the song of our hearts shall be,
While the winds and waters rave,—
A home, a home, on the firm-set lea!