9186 Birds. 
conspicuous an object from the bay. Here we turned sharply to the 
right, the weather improved, and after emerging on a comparatively 
open country, arrived at a spot which the fragments of broken glass 
showed to be a favourite picnic ground. A beautiful prospect was 
before us. At our feet lay Funchal, with its heights all dwarfed; to 
the eastward the craggy Dezertas, the home of a thousand petrels, 
looking unspeakably desolate, notwithstanding the golden glare with 
which their peaks were lit up; and extending far away to the south 
and west nothing but the calm sea, overshadowed here and there by a 
passing cloud. After enjoying this view for some little time, we turned 
our horses’ heads, presently stopping at a small cottage—a venda— 
where our attendants begged a draught of wine. Horrible stuff it was, 
manufactured, if our tastes could be trusted, chiefly of rum and 
raisins. Fine Spanish chestnuts and thriving pinasters were dotted 
about; and passing down a rocky gully, a buzzard (Buteo vulgaris) 
flapped slowly from the top of a half-dead tree. At length we reached 
the object of our ride—the Curral dos Romeiros, a secluded valley, 
placed among a multitude of wild ravines. A small stream ran at the 
bottom, and made its exit, sparkling in the light, through a narrow 
gap. Crossing this, we ascended the opposite side, disturbing two or 
three more buzzards; and, finally, striking the Caminho do Palheiro, 
were soon in the town, where we re-embarked on board the steamer. 
Next morning we were on shore again betimes. A kind friend, who 
had invited us to breakfast, met us on the Praza, and accompanied us 
to his own house. I took a seat in an ox-sledge, which is the form of 
vehicle that in Funchal represents the Hansom cab of the British 
metropolis. The streets are paved with small flat pebbles, set edge- 
ways, over the well-worn surface of which these sledges glide easily, 
their progress being assisted, like those at Amsterdam, by the occa- 
sional application of a greasy rag to the runners. Notwithstanding 
this precaution, however, so heavy is the draught up the steep hills, 
that the poor beasts were constantly down on their knees. At length 
we arrived at our friend’s house, a pleasant guinda; and having done 
justice to his hospitality, and admired the view from his garden, we 
started on our expedition to the Curral dos Freiras. The day was 
beautiful. As we rode on, the strangeness of the scene struck us with 
increasing force at each succeeding step. On each side were fields of 
corn or sugar-cane, cabbages or yams, or sometimes a vineyard that had 
survived the ravages of the Oidium, studded with orange or apple 
trees, and intersected by high rows of fuchsias or blackberries; while 
overhead were fig trees and pines, poplars and dates, enough to 
i 
