Being some account of a voyage in 1856 of the schooner yacht "Foam" to Iceland, Jan Meyen, and Spitzbergen. By the Marquess of Dufferin Sometime Governor-General of the Dominion of Canada and afterwards Viceroy of India. Glasgow, Monday, June 2, 1856. Our start has not been prosperous. Yesterday evening, on passing Carlisle, a telegraphic message was put into my hand, announcing the fact of the "Foam" having been obliged to put into Holyhead, in consequence of the sudden illness of my Master. As

Greenock, Tuesday, June 3, 1856 I found the Icelander awaiting my arrival here,—pacing up and down the coffee-room like a Polar bear. At first he was a little shy, and, not having yet had much opportunity of practising his English, it was some time before I could set him perfectly at his ease. He has something so frank and honest in his face and bearing, that I am certain he will turn out a pleasant companion. There being no hatred so intense as that which you feel towards a disagreeable shipmat

Oban, June 5, 1856 I have seldom enjoyed anything so much as our journey yesterday. Getting clear at last of the smells, smoke, noise, and squalor of Greenock, to plunge into the very heart of the Highland hills, robed as they were in the sunshine of a beautiful summer day, was enough to make one beside oneself with delight, and the Icelander enjoyed it as much as I did. Having crossed the Clyde, alive with innumerable vessels, its waves dancing and sparkling in the sunlight, we suddenly shot in

Stornaway, Island of Lewis, Hebrides, June 9, 1856. We reached these Islands of the West the day before yesterday, after a fine run from Oban. I had intended taking Staffa and Iona on my way, but it came on so thick with heavy weather from the south-west, that to have landed on either island would have been out of the question. So we bore up under Mull at one in the morning, tore through the Sound at daylight, rounded Ardnamurchan under a double-reefed mainsail at two P.M., and shot into the Sou

Reykjavik, Iceland, June 21, 1856. We have landed in Thule! When, in parting, you moaned so at the thought of not being able to hear of our safe arrival, I knew there would be an opportunity of writing to you almost immediately after reaching Iceland; but I said nothing about it at the time, lest something should delay this letter, and you be left to imagine all kinds of doleful reasons for its non-appearance. We anchored in Reykjavik harbour this afternoon (Saturday). H.M.S. "Coquette" sails fo

Reykjavik, June 28, 1856. Notwithstanding that its site, as I mentioned in my last letter, was determined by auspices not less divine than those of Rome or Athens, Reykjavik is not so fine a city as either, though its public buildings may be thought to be in better repair. In fact, the town consists of a collection of wooden sheds, one story high—rising here and there into a gable end of greater pretentions—built along the lava beach, and flanked at either end by a suburb of turf huts. On every

Reykjavik, July 7, 1856. At last I have seen the famous Geysirs, of which every one has heard so much; but I have also seen Thingvalla, of which no one has heard anything. The Geysirs are certainly wonderful marvels of nature, but more wonderful, more marvellous is Thingvalla; and if the one repay you for crossing the Spanish Sea, it would be worth while to go round the world to reach the other. Of the boiling fountains I think I can give you a good idea, but whether I can contrive to draw for y

Hammerfest, July. Back in Europe again,—within reach of posts! The glad sun shining, the soft winds blowing, and roses on the cabin table,—as if the region of fog and ice we have just fled forth from were indeed the dream-land these summer sights would make it seem. I cannot tell you how gay and joyous it all appears to us, fresh from a climate that would not have been unworthy of Dante's Inferno. And yet—had it been twice as bad, what we have seen would have more than repaid us, though it has b

I have received a copy of the "Moniteur" of the 31st July, containing so graphic an account of the voyage of the "Reine Hortense" towards Jan Mayen, and of the catastrophe to her tender the "Saxon,"—in consequence of which the corvette was compelled to abandon her voyage to the Northward,—that I must forward it to you. (Translation.) "Voyage of Discovery along the Banquise, north of Iceland, by 'LA REINE HORTENSE.' "It fell to the lot of an officer of the French navy, M. Jules de Blosseville, to

July 27th, Alten. This letter ought to be an Eclogue, so pastoral a life have we been leading lately among these pleasant Nordland valleys. Perhaps it is only the unusual sight of meadows, trees and flowers, after the barren sea, and still more barren lands we have been accustomed to, that invests this neighbourhood with such a smiling character. Be that as it may, the change has been too grateful not to have made us seriously reflect on our condition; and we have at last determined that not eve

Throndhjem, Aug. 22nd, 1856. We have won our laurels, after all! We have landed in Spitzbergen—almost at its most northern extremity; and the little "Foam" has sailed to within 630 miles of the Pole; that is to say, within 100 miles as far north as any ship has ever succeeded in getting. I think my last letter left us enjoying the pleasant hospitalities of Kaafiord. The genial quiet of that last evening in Norway was certainly a strange preface to the scenes we have since witnessed. So warm was

Off Munkholm, Aug. 27, 1856. Throndhjem (pronounced Tronyem) looked very pretty and picturesque, with its red-roofed wooden houses sparkling in the sunshine, its many windows filled with flowers, its bright fiord covered with vessels gaily dressed in flags, in honour of the Crown Prince's first visit to the ancient capital of the Norwegian realm. Tall, pretentious warehouses crowded down to the water's edge, like bullies at a public show elbowing to the foremost rank, orderly streets stretched i

Copenhagen, Sept. 12th, 1856. Our adventures since the date of my last letter have not been of an exciting character. We had fine weather and prosperous winds down the coast, and stayed a day at Christiansund, and another at Bergen. But though the novelty of the cruise had ceased since our arrival in lower latitudes, there was always a certain raciness and oddity in the incidents of our coasting voyage; such as—waking in the morning, and finding the schooner brought up under the lee of a wooden