第86章 LETTER XIII(3)

Oft by Bergen women,mourning,Shall the dismal tale be told,Of that lost ship home returning,With "THE BLACK DEATH"in her hold!

I would gladly dwell on the pleasures of my second visit to Christiansund,which has a charm of its own,independent of its interest as the spot from whence we really "start for home."But though strange lands,and unknown or indifferent people,are legitimate subjects for travellers'

tales,our FRIENDS and their pleasant homes are NOT;so I shall keep all I have to say of gratitude to our excellent and hospitable Consul,Mr.Morch,and of admiration for his charming wife,until I can tell you viva voce how much I wish that you also knew them.

And now,though fairly off from Norway,and on our homeward way,it was a tedious business--what with fogs,calms,and headwinds--working towards Copenhagen.We rounded the Scaw in a thick mist,saw the remains of four ships that had run aground upon it,and were nearly run into ourselves by a clumsy merchantman,whom we had the relief of being able to abuse in our native vernacular,and the most racy sea-slang.

Those five last days were certainly the only tedious period of the whole cruise.I suppose there is something magnetic in the soil of one's own country,which may account for that impatient desire to see it again,which always grows,as the distance from it diminishes;if so,London clay,--and its superstratum of foul,greasy,gas-discoloured mud--began about this time to exercise a tender influence upon me,which has been increasing every hour since:it is just possible that the thoughts of seeing you again may have some share in the matter.

Somebody (I think Fuller)says somewhere,that "every one with whom you converse,and every place wherein you tarry awhile,giveth somewhat to you,and taketh somewhat away,either for evil or for good;"a startling consideration for circumnavigators,and such like restless spirits,but a comfortable thought,in some respects,for voyagers to Polar regions,as (except seals and bears)few things could suffer evil from us there;though for our own parts,there were solemn and wholesome influences enough "to be taken away"from those icy solitudes,if one were but ready and willing to "stow"them.

To-morrow I leave Copenhagen,and my good Sigurdr,whose companionship has been a constant source of enjoyment,both to Fitz and myself,during the whole voyage;I trust that I leave with him a friendly remembrance of our too short connexion,and pleasant thoughts of the strange places and things we have seen together;as I take away with me a most affectionate memory of his frank and kindly nature,his ready sympathy,and his imperturbable good humour.From the day on which I shipped him--an entire stranger--until this eve of our separation--as friends,through scenes of occasional discomfort,and circumstances which might sometimes have tried both temper and spirits--shut up as we were for four months in the necessarily close communion of life on board a vessel of eighty tons,--there has never been the shadow of a cloud between us;henceforth,the words "an Icelander"can convey no cold or ungenial associations to my ears,and however much my imagination has hitherto delighted in the past history of that singular island,its Present will always claim a deeper and warmer interest from me,for Sigurdr's sake.

To-morrow Fitz and I start for Hamburg,and very soon after--at least as soon as railroad and steamer can bring me--I look for the joy of seeing your face again.

By the time this reaches Portsmouth,the "Foam"will have perfomed a voyage of six thousand miles.

I have had a most happy time of it,but I fear my amusement will have cost you many a weary hour of anxiety and suspense.