THE ATLANTIC OCEAN. 171 



dicularly from the foaming waves, cut and seamed 

 into dark chasms and ravines, through which rocky 

 torrents find a noisy course, while here and there 

 a little stream is poured over the very summit of the 

 precipice, the cascade descending in a white narrow 

 line, conspicuous against the dark rock behind, until 

 the wind carries it away in feathery spray, long be- 

 fore it reaches the bottom. The sunlight throws 

 the prominences and cavities of the cliffs into broad 

 masses of light and shadow, which, ever changing 

 as the ship rapidly alters her position, give a magic 

 character to the scene. Here and there, on the 

 sides of the hills farther inland, the lawns and fields 

 of lively green, speckled with white villas and ham- 

 lets, and relieved by the rich verdure of the orange- 

 groves, present a softer but not less pleasing pros- 

 pect. Other islands of this interesting group gradu- 

 ally rise from the horizon, all of similar character, 

 but diverse in appearance from their various dis- 

 tance; some showing out in palpable distinctness, 

 and others seen only in shadowy outline. But there 

 is one which, from the singularity of its shape, arrests 

 the attention. A mountain, of a very regularly 

 conical form, seems to rise abruptly from the sea, 

 with remarkable steepness, verdant almost to the 

 summit ; it is almost like a sugar-loaf, with a rounded 

 top, crowned by a nipple-like prominence, which is 

 often veiled by clouds. It is the Peak of Pico, 

 seven thousand feet in height, second in celebrity, 

 as in elevation, only to the Peak of Teneriffe. A 

 recent visitor has thus described the picturesque 

 beautv of this oceanic mountain :— " The hoary head 



