192 
Mr. A. Newton’s two Days at Madeira. 
sighted Madeira proper and the Dezertas, and finally dropped 
our anchor in Funchal Roads about midnight. 
Next morning, looking out of the port-hole, the first thing 
that attracted one’s attention was the intensely blue water—so 
blue as to appear almost opake. The sky was clouded, and the 
hills above the town draped in mist. Our steamer was sur¬ 
rounded by gay-looking boats, stocked with live turtle, bananas, 
and neat wicker cages crowded with canary-birds. The moment 
an unwary passenger showed himself in the waist, a general chorus 
of tawny boatmen in indifferent English invited him to go ashore. 
By the kindness of one of our fellow-voyagers, horses had been 
ordered for my brother, my nephew, and myself. When we got 
on to the beach, and had satisfactorily concluded the wrangle, 
inevitable in such cases, as to boat-hire, the rain began. We 
paddled about the town for a couple of hours or more, as the 
idea of starting on a ride was absurd. We looked into the fruit- 
market; were offered a string of semiputrid Quails by a man 
in the street (said Quails being decidedly darker in colour than 
our Coturnix dactylisonans ); visited the Convent of Santa Clara, 
whose inmates have an ornithological turn, since they make very 
pretty artificial flowers out of feathers; and finally inspected 
the Fort, which is defended by certain soldiers of His Most Faith¬ 
ful Majesty and a glacis covered with prickly pear. From the 
ramparts a good view of the town is obtained; but what I 
looked at more was some three or four couple of small dark 
Swifts ( Cypselus unicolor), which were wheeling to and fro under 
its walls. Beautiful little birds they were, and a very good 
living they seemed to be making, judging from the constant 
rapid jerks in their flight, and the abundance of small insects 
that, in spite of the rain, filled the air. At length the sun shone 
out, and in desperation we determined no longer to defer our ride. 
Accordingly the horses were brought out, and off we started at a 
gallop, each of us being accompanied by a man (a burriqueiro) 
whose business it is to hang on by the tail. The first mile was over 
the stones, and up a hill so steep that, having some regard to my 
reputation for veracity with the readers of ‘The Ibis/ I shall re¬ 
frain from mentioning what I believe to be its angle of inclination. 
I can only say I do not think I ever rode (much less gallopped) 
