riends, which the captain would not
permit; an Englishman was disgusted with the "beastly fare;" and an
old Danish merchant would persist in shaving himself at the public
table every day--all of which caused an under-current of
dissatisfaction during the early part of the voyage. Sea-sickness,
however, put an end to it before long, and things went on all right
after that.

But I must not anticipate my narrative. The scene upon leaving the
wharf at Copenhagen was amusing and characteristic. For some hours
before our departure the decks were crowded with the friends of the
passengers. Every person had to kiss and hug every other person, and
shake hands, and laugh and cry a little, and then hug and kiss again,
without regard to age and not much distinction of sex. Some natural
tears, of course, must always be shed on occasions of this kind. It
was rather a melancholy reflection, as I stood aloof looking on at all
these demonstrations of affection, that there was nobody present to
grieve over my departure--not even a lapdog to bestow upon me a
parting kiss. Waving of handkerchiefs, messages to friends in Iceland,
and parting benedictions, took place long before we left the wharf. At
length the last bells were rung, the lingering loved ones were handed
ashore, and the inexorable voice of the captain was heard ordering the
sailors to cast loose the ropes. We were fairly off for Iceland!

In a few hours we passed, near Elsineur, the fine old Castle of
Kronberg, built in the time of Tycho Brahe, once the prison of the
unfortunate Caroline Matilda, queen of Christian VII., and in the
great vaults of which it is said the Danish Roland, Holger Dansk,
still lives, his long white beard grown fast to a stone table. We were
soon out of the Sound, plowing our way toward the famous Skager-Rack.
The weather had been showery and threatening for some time. It now
began to rain and blow in good earnest.

We had on board only thirteen passengers, chiefly Danes and
Icelanders. Among them was a newly-appointed amtman for the district
of Reykjaness, with a very accomplished young wife. He was going to
spend the honey-moon amid the glaciers and lava-fjelds of Iceland. It
seemed a dreary prospect for so young and tender a bride, but she was
cheerful and happy, except when the inevitable hour of sea-sickness
came. Love, I suppose, can make the wilderness blossom as the rose,
and shed a warmth over ice-covered mountains and a pleasant verdure
o