130 
LETTERS FROM HIGH LATITUDES. 
must be allowed to add, that tbe new-comer was not 
a fellow-countryman, but of the French tongue, and of 
the naval profession. 
Occupying then the door of my tent—by way of 
vantage ground, as soon as the stranger was come within 
earshot, I lifted up my voice, and cried in a style of 
Arabian familiarity, “ O thou that ridest so furiously,— 
weary and disappointed one,—turn in, I pray thee, into 
the tent of thy servant, and eat bread, and drink wine, 
that thy soul may be comforted.” To which he answered 
and said, “ Man,—dweller in sulphureous places,—I will 
not eat bread, nor drink wine, neither will I enter into 
thy tent, until I have measured out a resting-place for 
my Lord the Prince.” 
At this interesting moment our acquaintance was 
interrupted by the appearance of two other horsemen— 
the one a painter, the other a geologist—attached to the 
expedition of Prince Napoleon. They informed us that 
His Imperial Highness had reached Reykjavik two days 
after we had left, that he had encamped last night at 
Thingvalla, and might be expected here in about four 
hours: they themselves having come on in advance to 
prepare for his arrival. My first care was to order coffee 
