193 
Mr. A. Newton’s two Days at Madeira. 
up a more tremendous ascent. Each side of the road was bounded 
by high walls, festooned and overhung with brilliant flowering 
plants; but every here and there one obtained a look-out. The 
rain came on again, more heavily than before, accompanied by a 
storm of wind; and we several times had to take shelter from it. 
At length we arrived at the Church of Nossa Senhora do Monte, 
upwards of 1900 feet above the sea, which forms so 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, notwith¬ 
standing 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 Buz¬ 
zards ; 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 ac¬ 
companied 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 edgeways, over the well-worn surface 
of which these sledges glide easily, their progress being assisted, 
