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 IN 
 
 MADEIRA, LISBON, AND THE MEDITERRANEAN. 
 
 BY REV. WALTER COLTON, 
 
 LATE OF THE UNITED STATES NAVT. 
 
 REVISE.D FROM THE 
 
 "JOURNAL OF A CRUISE TN THE FRIGATE COXSTELLATION," 
 
 BY EEV. HENRY T. CHEEVEE. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 PUBLISHED BY A. S. BARNES & CO., 
 
 NO. 51 JOHN-STREET. 
 CINCINNATI:— II. W. DERBY & CO. 
 
 1851.
 
 Eutered according to Act of Coagress, in the year Eighteen Huiidivn <ind Fifty-one, 
 
 By a. S. BARNES & COMPANY, 
 
 tn the Clerk's Office of the Distiict Court of Ihe United States for the Southern 
 
 District of New Yuiiv. 
 
 Stbrsotyped B1 
 
 RICHARD C. VALENTINE, 
 
 NETiff TonK, 
 
 T C. GUTIERREZ, Printer, 
 Comer of Jolm and Dutcb stresta.
 
 ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 In reproducing " The Ship and Shore" for the author's friends, 
 and the public generally, the Publishers are only doing what it 
 was the intention of Mr. Colton to have done, had his life been 
 spared. In the Work of revision, which, by his lamented death, 
 had to be transferred to other hands, the Editor has attempted 
 only such erasures and corrections as he believes the author 
 vvould himself have made. 
 
 He has also supplied appropriate mottoes to the chapters, 
 chiefly from Mr. CoUon's fugitive poetry, and has sometimes 
 condensed two chapters into one; and he has not hesitated to 
 introduce such illustrative matter, from other manuscripts of the 
 author lodged in his hands, as seemed to him likely to enhance 
 the value of the present work. Having gone over a part of the 
 same ground which this book traverses, and at a later date than 
 its writer, the Editor has been able to correct a few unimportant 
 mistakes, as well as numerous typographical errors which crept 
 into the first issue. 
 
 It was in this work that Mr. Colton made his first assay as an 
 author without a name. The favor with which it was received, 
 was a prophecy of the success of his after works, for it procured 
 him an honorable fame, both as a poet of promise and a spirited 
 writer of lively prose. It is upon this ascertained judgment of 
 the public, and upon the interest felt in the autlior by reason of 
 his late successful career in California, both as author and judge, 
 and his recent death, just as he had returned to enjoy his emolu- 
 ments and honors, that the publishers have ventured to under- 
 take his writings in due order. 
 
 The present volume will be followed by another, under the 
 same editorial supervision, to be called " Land and Lee in the 
 Bosphorus and Mgean." The whole series will consist of five 
 volumes, of uniform size with " Deck and Port," and " Three 
 Years in California," already issued.
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 In defiance of a profound maxim of my distant relative 
 — I say distant, because he was so far removed fpun me 
 on the genealogical tree that even a Yankee peddler in the 
 remote part of the South would not, upon the force of such 
 a relationship, put up his horse and himself for more than 
 six weeks, and that must place him on a very extreme twig, 
 perhaps even its shadow. — By the way — it is a little singu- 
 lar that these fellows of the wooden nutmeg should always 
 know where to find a market for their nuts and notions. — 
 But as I was saying — in defiance of a profound maxim of 
 my distant relative — what a world of tender thoughts and 
 emotions spring up in that one word relative ! — what beings 
 step from the magic of its circle : — uncles not a few, aunts 
 without number, and cousins a whole ship-load — all taking 
 a warm interest in you if rich, a pride in you if learned or 
 politically great, and never deserting you unless you become 
 poor — blessings on their sweet hearts ! — Without them 
 what would a man be, or rather, what would the world be 
 to him ? — A garden without a flower, a grove without a 
 bird, an evening sky without one lovely star. — His feelings 
 would break over his desolate heart, Uke a sunless ocean
 
 8 PJREFACE. 
 
 surging over a dead world. — But as I was saying — in deti- 
 aace of a profound maxim of my distant relative, the author 
 of — that word author ! — it never had such a fearful mean- 
 ing to me before. — It may be my imagination, but it seems 
 like a garment lined wnth sharp hatchel-teeth to be wrapped 
 around my naked form. — It so agitates my whole system, 
 that my poor bedstead gets into such a shake every night, 
 as to take quite all the next day for it to become tranquil, 
 and even then the tester trembles like an aspen leaf, or a 
 pigeon, in a thunder-storm. — To see others become authors 
 — to see them tried, condemned, and executed, is compara- 
 tively nothing ; but to be put to the bar yourself — to hear 
 your own sentence — to see the noose tied for your own neck, 
 and to know that among the thousands who are gathering 
 to witness your swinging fidgets, not one heart will throb 
 with pity ; — it is this which so agitates and confounds me ! — 
 But as I was saying — in defiance of a profound maxim of 
 my distant relative, the author of Lacon — that is a book 
 which only the wise will read, and only the profound can 
 comprehend, — it is an intellectual mine, where every thought 
 is a diamond of the keenest edge, and most brilliant ray, and 
 where giants may work with their pickaxes and still leave 
 it unexplored ; and yet he who created this mine had nothing 
 about him in keeping with it — no consistency in morals or 
 money. — He was the most singular of men — dining on a 
 herring, and keeping the most splendid coach in London — 
 wearing a hat soiled and rent with year^ and trowsers that
 
 PREFACE. 9 
 
 betrayed at the bottoms of their legs the gnawing despair 
 of some famishing rat, and carrying at the same time in the 
 top of his snuff-box a diamond that was itself an indepen- 
 dent fortune, — preaching a part of the year to his English 
 parishioners, and gambling out the rest in the French me- 
 tropolis. — But as I was saying — in defiance of a profound 
 maxim of my distant relative, the author of Lacon — who, I 
 am sorry to say, committed suicide — committed it too, after 
 having penned against the act an aphorism that might well 
 have fallen from the lips of an angel ; — an aphorism num- 
 bered in his manuscripts C C C, which express not only its 
 numerical relation, but the initials of his own name, as if 
 he had unknowingly addressed it to himself. — If there be 
 not something more than mere coincidence in this, then 
 there is no truth in my grandmother's manual on auguries. 
 — And yet he committed the act ; — but such is ever the in- 
 consistency of one who has broken the balance-wheel in his 
 moral nature. — He is like a ship that has lost her helm — 
 with which the winds for a time disport, then dash it on the 
 rocks ! — But as I was saying — in defiance of a profound 
 maxim of my distant relative, the author of Lacon, which 
 
 says there ! I have forgotten now what it says — this is 
 
 a hard case — for I was just making port — all ready to let 
 go anchor — and I am now out at sea again in a fog : — this 
 dirty, thick weather always comes on as you near a coast 
 — it has been the cause of more shipwrecks than all the 
 tempests put together. — Most people think the nearer the 
 
 1*
 
 10 PKIilFACE. 
 
 shore the safei- the ship : — directly the reverse — a whale is 
 never stranded at sea, nor is a ship — unless an island comes 
 bobbing up out of the water hke Venus — a debut which I 
 think was in extremely bad taste. — But — the fog begins to 
 break away — and now, as I was saying, in defiance of a 
 profound maxim of my distant relative, the author of Lacon, 
 which says, — "a writer who cannot throw fire into his 
 works ought to throw his Avorks into the fire " — I publish 
 this book — rather, I allow it to escape. 
 
 Go, little book, I will not burn thee, 
 
 Wander at will the country o'er. 
 And tell to all who do not spurn thee. 
 
 Thy simple tale of Ship and Shore. 
 
 Author.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Page 
 
 The Light-House — Pleasures and Pains of Memory — Un. 
 accountable Presentiment — Loss of Companions — Ship 
 Discipline — Ladies on board a Man-of-War — Ward- 
 Room Officers and Midshipmen — Traits of a Sailor — 
 The Setting Sun— Tribute to Woman— Funeral at Sea 
 — Welcome to a lost Bird H 
 
 CHAPTER IL 
 
 First Sight of Land — Peak of Pico — Terceira — City of An- 
 gra — Visit to the Shore — Appearance of the Inhabit- 
 ants — Cathedral — Vespers — Convent — Nuns — Gardens 
 Singular Monument — Shaving the Hog — A Gale and 
 Wreck 34 
 
 CHAPTER in. 
 
 Madeira — First Appearance — Glories of Sunset — Ride into 
 the Interior — Ponies and Burroqueros — Deep Ravines 
 — Peasantry — A Madeiran Beauty — An English Lady 
 — Dinner and Dancing 46
 
 12 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Pag^o 
 
 Madeira continued— Excursion— Villa of an English Bache- 
 lor—Tragical Death of George Canning— Wild Ravine 
 — Sino-ular Waterfall— Lady of the Mount— Supersti- 
 tion— The Dying Mother's Request— Star of Bethle- 
 hem—Visit to the Convent of Santa Clara— Introduc- 
 tion to a beautiful Nun— Her involuntary Confinement 
 — Personal Attractions — Mental Accomplishments — 
 Proposed scheme of Escape 5*7 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 A singular Marriage— Cathedral— Clergy— Weighing a Prot- 
 estant — The proscribed Fidalgo — Camancha Villa — 
 Its Lady— The Ribeiro — A sleeping Sentinel — Force of 
 human Sympathy— Mystery of Sleep— Joy of Morning 
 — Matins of Maria — Ride to the Curral — Stupendous 
 Scenery — Quiet Hamlet — Force of Habit — Saint's Day 
 — Homage of Gunpowder — Recollections of Home — 
 Twilight— The Vesper-Bell 74 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Sketches of Madeira — Physical Features — ^Wines — Climate 
 — City of Funchal — Priests — Society — Morals — Peas- 
 antry — Merchants — Political Opinions — Habits of the 
 Ladies — Courtships — Our Parting and Farewell 92
 
 CONTENTS. 13 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Page 
 
 Passage from Madeira to Lisbon — Sea-sickness as a Purga- 
 torial state — Situation of a Member of Congress and 
 Officer of the Navy compared — Rock of Lisbon — Pilot 
 — Tagus — Cheering — Rockets — Don Miguel — City of 
 Lisbon — Cabriolets — Postillion — Madam Julia's Hotel 
 — A partisan Merchant — Alcantra Aqueduct — Church 
 of St. Roque — Mosaics — Queen Maria First — Church 
 of St. Domingo — Statue of King Joseph — The Earth- 
 quake — Inquisition 104 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Excursion to Cintra — Scenery — Marialva Villa — Peter's 
 Prison — Penha Convent — Royal Palace — Visit to Mafra 
 Castle — Its Extent — Richness — Singular Origin — Re- 
 turn to Lisbon — Its Streets and Doafs — Don Mio-uel — 
 Habits of the Females — Friars and Monks — Perils of 
 Night-walking — Impositions on Strangers — A Blind 
 Musician — Political Disasters , 127 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Passage from Lisbon to Gibraltar — Diversions of the Sailor 
 — His Tact at Telling Stories — Love of the Song — 
 Fondness for Dancing — Unhappy Propensities — Duty of 
 the Government towards him — Gibraltar — A befitting 
 Emblem of British power — Romance of its History —
 
 14 CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 rortifications — Troops — Motley Population — Summit 
 of the Rook— St. IVfichael's Cave— The Five Hundred— 
 Monboddo's Originals — Pleasure Party — Music and a 
 Mermaid 152 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Malaga — Coming to Anchor — Cathedral — Tomb of Moliana 
 — Fiddles and Organs in Churches — Castle of the 
 Moors — Hours of a Malaguena — Traits of a singular 
 Bandit — A Spanish Lady — Twiliglit and the Prome- 
 nade — A Funeral 172 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 Passage from Malaga to Mahon — Tedious Calms — Reliev- 
 ing Incidents — Vist of a Bird — Capture of an ominous 
 Shark — Intrusions of a Ghost — Unfair taking otf of a 
 Black Cat — Petted Hedge-hog — Morgan's Spectre at 
 Niagara — Mahon — Harbor — Fort St. Philip — Admiral 
 Byng — Lazaretto — Navy-Yard — Habits of the Mahon- 
 ees — Effects of a certain vice on Man — Grand Organ — 
 Sailors on Shore — Jack and the Opera — Entertain- 
 ments 187 
 
 CHAPTER XIL 
 
 Passage from Mahon to Naples — Life at Sea — Chest of a 
 Sailor — Power of a Poet — Track of the Ship — Naples 
 from the Harbor — Unreasonable Quarantine — Grievous
 
 CONTENTS. 15 
 
 Page 
 
 Disappointment — Premature Departure — Ebullition of 
 Spleen — Passage from Naples to Messina — ^Volcano of 
 Stromboli — Dead Calms — Utility of Whales — Pastimes 
 in Calms — Faro di Messina — Charybdis and Scylla — 
 Ancient Whirlpool — Curiosities of the Sea — Messina 
 from the Strait 214 
 
 CHAPTER Xm. 
 
 Excursion to Mount Etna — Sleeping in a Corn-field — 
 Incidents of the Ascent — Storm at Night — View from 
 the Summit — Descent — Catania — Gayety of the Living 
 above the Dead — Museum of the Prince of Biscari — 
 Franciscan Monk — Passage from Messina to Milo — 
 Murat and Ney — Tides of the Strait — Island of Candia 
 — Island of Cerigo — Aspect of Milo — Historic Inci- 
 dents — Greek Pilot — Medicinal Springs — Natural Grot- 
 toes — Ancient Tombs 235 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Town of Milo — Steepness of the Streets — Advice to Dis- 
 tillers — Statue of Venus — View from the Town — 
 Greek Wedding — Dress and Person of the Bride — 
 Fickleness of Fashions in Dress — Anecdote of Franklm 
 — Passage from MOo to Smyrna — Cape Colonna — 
 Temple of Minerva— Profession of Pirates— Island of 
 Ipsara — Aspect of Scio— Massacre of the Inhabitants 
 — Conduct of the Allies— Gulf of Smyrna — Ancient 
 Clazomenge — Traits of tlie Sailor 268
 
 16 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Faga 
 
 Smyrna — Its Seamen — Motley Population — The Tartar Jan- 
 izary — Modern Warfare — Encounters in threading the 
 Streets — Fruit Market — Bazars — Greek Girls — Turkish 
 Burial-Ground — The Child unacquainted with Death — 
 Smyrna continued — Religious Sects — Visit to Gov- 
 ernor — His Palace — Pipes — Horses — Troops — Coffee- 
 House Scene — Prayers of the Mussulmen — Martyrdom 
 of Polycarp — Birth-place of Homer — Parting with the 
 Reader 283
 
 SHIP AND SHORE. 
 
 CHAPTER T, 
 
 A sAiLOii ever loves to be in motion, 
 
 Roaming about, he scarce knows where or why ; 
 
 He looks upon the dim and shadowy ocean 
 As home — abhors the land ; and e'en the sky, 
 
 Boundless and beautiful, has naught to plea'^e, 
 
 Except some clouds, which promise him a breeze. 
 
 THE LIGHT-HOUSE PLEASURES AND PAINS OP" MEMORY UNACCOUNTABLE 
 
 PRESENTIMENT — LOSS OF COMPANIONS — SHIP DISCIPLINE — LADIES ON 
 
 BOARD A MAN-OF-WAR WARD-ROOM OFFICERS AND MIDSHIPMEN 
 
 TRAITS OF A SAILOR THE SETTING SUN TRIBUTE TO WOMAN FU- 
 NERAL AT SEA WELCOME TO A LOST BIRD. 
 
 It is now seven days since we weiii;lied anchor in 
 Hampton Hoads, and took our parting leave of the 
 land. The last object that vanished from my stead- 
 fast eye, was the old Light-house on Cape Henry. 
 I watched that as it sunk slowly in the horizon, and 
 felt, when it was gone, as one that has parted with a 
 venerable, attached friend. Never before did a light- 
 house appear to me an object of such beauty, fidelity, 
 and affectionate regard. It seemed as if it had come 
 forth from the thousand objects of the hearths yearn- 
 ing remembrances, to take its position on that prom-
 
 13 SHIP AND SHOEE. 
 
 outoiy, where it might look its last farewell, and 
 express its kindest wishes. 
 
 During the seven days that we have been at sea, I 
 have lived but in the past. The segment of life's 
 poor circle through which I have gone has sprung 
 again from its grave of memory, bringing with it each 
 incident of pleasure and sorrow, each object of pur- 
 suing hope and lingering endearment. How mys- 
 terious is the spirit of memory — how painfully true to 
 the objects of its trust — how quick and vital over the 
 relics of joys that have fled, friendships that have 
 ceased, errors that have been wept ! How intensely 
 it concentrates into a point, years of wisdom or weak- 
 ness, pleasure or pain — pouring through the soul, in 
 an unbroken current, the mingled sensations that have 
 blessed or blighted its previous existence ! 
 
 The ocean is its empire. I should not envy a guilty 
 man his repose, w^ho should here seek an escape from 
 the deserts and the haunting remembrance of his 
 crimes. Every wave in this vast solitude would speak 
 to him as from eternity, and every dark cloud would 
 bear in its folds a message of wildest thunder. If 
 there be a cavern in hell, where anguish is without 
 alleviation, it must be that where a guilty spirit suffers 
 in solitude, 
 
 I am not a believer in supernatural intimations, yet 
 the presentiment that I am never to retrace my steps, 
 that I shall never see asjain the cherished beino-s that 
 encircle the hearth of my home, clings to my heart
 
 UNACCOUNTABLE PEESEKTBrENT. 10 
 
 with a dark and desperate pertinacity. Yon may 
 smile at this, if you will, and expose its want of phi- 
 losophy, but it is proof against all argument and 
 ridicule. It is not the effect of fear, for this is not the 
 first time that I have been at sea, and my confidence 
 in the power and capacity of a ship to triumph over 
 the conflicting elements, has increased with every 
 day's exj)erience. I^or is it from any apprehensions 
 connected with those diseases which frequently scourge 
 the places Avhich we are to visit ; for I have been in 
 those putrid ports and cities, where one of the most 
 familiar sights is the black hearse rumbling on its 
 dismal errand. Nor is it to be traced to any fearful 
 inferences from an extreme feebleness of constitution ; 
 for this Yerj debility is frequently the best shield 
 against malignant disease. The sturdy oak breaks 
 before the tempest, but the pliant sapling yields, and 
 when the storm has passed over erects itself. ISTor is 
 this gloomy presentiment ascribable to that melan- 
 choly mood of mind which darkly predicts ills that 
 are never to be experienced, nor to that morbid 
 sentimentality which affects sorrows that are never 
 felt. 
 
 It is rather an undefined, involuntary, and inex- 
 plicable conviction which reason did not induce, and 
 which reason cannot force away. Dr. Johnson be- 
 lieved in ghosts, and would not cross his threshold 
 left foot first ; and no arguments, however profound 
 and ingenious, could have convinced that sagacious
 
 20 Sllir AND SIIOKE. 
 
 vca^Kiier tluit he was unphilosopliical or superstitions. 
 The hare is not timid that trembles where the lion 
 shakes. 
 
 Had any one told me a few years since that I was 
 to become a sailor, tliat I shonld at this time be on 
 board a Man-of-war, bound to the Mediterranean, I 
 should have regarded the prediction with incredulous 
 amazement. But 
 
 " How little do we know, that which we are : 
 How less, what we may be !" 
 
 Time and the force of circumstances work changes 
 upon us of which we little dream. The very habits 
 which fitted me for the contemplative quietude of the 
 closet, by undermining my health, have driven me 
 into an opposite extreme ; for there is no situation 
 where every element is more stirring and restless, 
 than on board an armed ship. It would seem as if 
 the principles of a perpetual motion had found a 
 fevorite lodgment in every particle of which this vast 
 floating fabric is composed. There is not a spar, or 
 plank, or rope, that does not appear to have caught 
 this spirit of uneasiness ; much more the jovial tar, 
 whose home is on the mountain wave, who loves the 
 quick breeze and the rapid sea, and who regards a 
 life free from these excitements, as a state of listless- 
 ness and inactivity unbecoming a breathing man. 
 
 I am not quite a stranger to the peculiarities of 
 my present condition. A former cruise in another 
 quarter has familiarized me in some measure to the
 
 LOSS OF COMrANIONS. 21 
 
 strange habitudes of nautical life, Alas ! I can never 
 think of that cruise without grief. We left there 
 three of our dearest companions, who will return no 
 more ! They were in the spring-time of life, full of 
 hope, enterprise, and lofty resolutions, but they have 
 gone down to the silence and dreamless sleep of the 
 grave. Their generous purposes and goodly promise* 
 have all perished in the bud. How often has the 
 mother, in the depth of her anguish, doubted the 
 melancholy tale ; and how has the little sister, unac- 
 quainted with death, still expected her brother's re- 
 turn ! Spring shall return with its buds of promise, 
 summer with its purpling fruits, autumn with its 
 golden harvest, but these come not again ; there is no 
 returning pathway through the grave. 
 
 The journal which I have now commenced, and 
 which I intend to continue during the cruise, shall be 
 confined mainly to my first and freshest impressions. 
 I will cast into it the bright, the mournful, the deep 
 or transient feeUngs, which the diiferent incidents or 
 objects encountered may awaken. There is only one 
 subject upon which I shall reserve myself, and that 
 is the government, the discipline of the ship. The 
 moral and political mechanism of a floating commu- 
 nity like this is too peculiar, too intricate and com- 
 plicated for hasty o]Dinion, and I shall therefore wait 
 the results of the fullest experience. 
 
 Few situations involve a more perplexing respon- 
 sibility or require a higher combination of rare tal-
 
 09, 
 
 SHIP AND SHORE. 
 
 ent, than that of a commander of a national ship. 
 To be }X)pu]ar, and at the same time efficient, he must 
 be able to enforce a most strict and rigid discipline, 
 without giving to it that cast of unfeeling severity, to 
 which the despotical nature of a ship's government is 
 extremely liable. He must be open and undisguised, 
 and express even his sentiments of disapprobation 
 with a freedom and frankness, which may lead the 
 subordinate officer to the instantaneous conviction 
 that there are no su23pressed feelings of bitterness, 
 which may, in an miexpected hour, reveal their nour- 
 ished and terrific strength. This plain and honest 
 dealing is infinitely preferable to a heartless hypoc- 
 risy of manner ; it relieves all around from those dis- 
 quieting suspicions which du23licity never fails to ex- 
 cite ; and where it is united with a generous disposi- 
 tion, a well-informed mind, and a dignified demeanor, 
 cannot fail to secure affection and respect. 
 
 As my opinions may perchance, hereafter, be 
 quoted as law on questions aifecting the interests 
 and etiquette of the service, there is another subject 
 on which I must be for the present discreetly re- 
 served. This involves the exj^ediency and propriety 
 of permitting us to take out our ladies on board our 
 public ships. It will appear, as I am aware, ungal- 
 lant to hesitate over an immediate and unqualified 
 approbation of this license ; but as my decision is to 
 strike through all future usage in the service, and as 
 its condemnatory features might be ascribed to the
 
 PLEA FOK THE LADIES. 23 
 
 fact of my not having any one to take out, were the 
 privilege granted, I shall withhold it till events may 
 place it beyond the reach of such a cynical construc- 
 tion. 
 
 Yet, could any one disposed to arraign this meas- 
 ure, have seen the quantity of letters that went back 
 by the return boat of the pilot, and above all, could 
 he have glanced into the contents of those epistles, 
 and marked the tears and passionate fervors that 
 mingled there, like rain and lightning in a summer's 
 cloud, he would have exclaimed, in relenting tender- 
 ness, let the cherished beings of their bosom go with 
 them ! Separate not, by a wide ocean, hearts so in- 
 tensely united — beings so entirely formed for one 
 hearth and home ! Even Jack sent back the evi- 
 dence of his truth : his scarcely legible scrawl may 
 have given a fresh and bleeding life to aifections, not 
 the less deep on account of a simple, rude exterior. 
 The vigor of the bow depends not on the beauty of 
 its polish. 
 
 There is another subject upon which I must be a 
 little reserved ; — this touches the character of my im- 
 mediate comj)anions, the officers of the ward-room. 
 We present, perhaps, in our assembled capacity, as 
 great a variety of intellectual, moral, and social habit, 
 as any group of the same size, ever yet convened on 
 flood or field. There is no shape, which thought, 
 feeling, or association ever assumed, that may not 
 here find a ready, unbroken mold. We have every
 
 24 SHIP AJSTD SHORE. 
 
 thing from the silent operations of a mind that ex- 
 presses its action only in its priceless gifts, to the tu- 
 multuous agonies of an imagination that raises a tor- 
 nado to rock a rose-bud, and rolls the globe over to 
 crush a flea. "We have the officer who walks the 
 deck as if he were to be heard in whispers and 
 obeyed in silence, and the one that gives his slightest 
 order in a trumpet voice that might almost endanger 
 the sleep of the dead. We have the ever cheerful 
 and contented being, who would talk encouragingly 
 on a famishing wi-eck, and the inveterate complainer, 
 who would grumble amid the mellow profusions of a 
 paradise. We have the man of method, who sleeps, 
 dreams, and wakes by rule, and the unsystematized 
 being who would lose, were it possible, his conscious 
 identity; and who will probably be found at the 
 great resurrection coming out of the grave of some 
 other person. 
 
 We have a caterer wLo would purchase an ox for 
 the sake of a sirloin, and a steward who would pur- 
 chase an egg, were it possible, without the expense of 
 the shell. We have a sailing-master who is seldom 
 wrong when he conjectures, and as rarely right when 
 he calculates ; we have a commissary who would 
 shoulder an Atlas of real responsibility, and protest 
 against an ant-hill of petty inconvenience. We have 
 a surgeon who would kneel in worship of the beauty, 
 harmony, and matchless grace of the human form, 
 and then dissect a Cytherean Yenus to trace the path
 
 CHARACTER PAIJSrTmG. 25 
 
 of an imaginary muscle. We have a marine officer 
 full of professional pride and abilitj-, but whose 
 troops have never been paralleled since Jack Falstaif 
 mustered his men. We have a Chaplajn who vehe- 
 mently urges us on like an invading ai'my towards 
 heaven, but stays behind himself, as he says, to pick 
 up the stragglers ; and we have over all a Command- 
 er who inspires the humblest with self-respect, but 
 reinstates the absolute principles of the old school on 
 the levelling doctrines of the new. 
 
 Our incongruities do not stop here. We have in 
 our steerage light-hearted lads, unacquainted with a 
 single rope in the ship, never perhaps from home, 
 certainly never at sea before, and who are now giving 
 orders to old weather-beaten mariners, who have 
 ploughed every ocean known to the globe. I pen 
 this not in disparagement of these inexperienced 
 youth ; for they have a quick play of intelligence and 
 a freedom from vicious habit, that justly entitles them 
 to esteem and affection. May they be able to pre- 
 serve the " whiteness of the soul " untouched by the 
 evils that await them, and revisit their sacred homes 
 still worthy of a mother's fondness and a Other's 
 pride. 
 
 The tendency of early lessons of wisdom and piety, 
 with the incipient habits of childhood, may at times 
 be diverted and driven from their course, but they 
 generally recover again their original channels. If 
 there be any security in after vears against a wide 
 
 2
 
 26 SHIP AND SHORE. 
 
 departure from virtue, it is found in tlie early instruc- 
 tions of an anxious, devoted mother. The course of 
 the arrow is decided by the bow she holds in her 
 hands. 
 
 Our ship is a frigate of the second class, of light, 
 compact, and graceful architecture ; she cuts her way 
 through the water as smoothly and silently as the 
 dolphin. Our crew are more youthful, more full of 
 health and vigor, than are usually met with on the 
 deck of a man-of-war. They are remarkably young, 
 as years are reckoned on land, but the life of a sailor 
 usually stops far short of that period commonly allot- 
 ted to man. His occupation and habits shake his 
 life-glass and hurry out its sands. I never see one of 
 them die without those feelings we experience in see- 
 ing a noble being extinguished before his time. 
 
 He has points of character that penetrate to your 
 deepest sensibilities. You see him dividing his last 
 shilling with a pennyless stranger, — perilling his life 
 for one who may perhaps never appreciate the self- 
 sacrificing act, — living to-day in gay forgetfulness of 
 the evils which the morrow must bring, — undergoing 
 hardship, privation, and suffering with an unclouded 
 cheerfulness, — and when death comes, resigning him- 
 self to its calamity with a composure that belongs 
 more to philosophy and religion, than the character- 
 istics of his rude life. If any being full of errors, 
 generous impulses, and broken resolves, may hope for 
 mercy in his last account, it must be the poor sailor.
 
 THE SPLENDORS OF SUNSET. 27 
 
 — the man whom temptation and suffering have vis- 
 ited in every fonn, whose scanty enjoyments have 
 been snatched from the severest lot, and whose wild 
 profession has placed him essentially beyond the 
 reach of those redeeming influences, to which every 
 Christian community is indebted for its virtue and its 
 hope of heaven, 
 
 I have been on deck at the close of every clear day 
 to see the sun go down. This is a beautiful sight on 
 shore, but more so at sea ; for here the glowing orb 
 appears divested of that excessive brightness, which 
 on land frequently dazzles and pains the naked eye 
 of the beholder. He seems to partake of that solem- 
 nity which is felt through nature at his disappear- 
 ance. The clouds which attended him through the 
 day in glittering attire, now assume a more sober as- 
 pect, and put on a dress of deeper richness ; their full 
 and flowing folds have a groundwork of pm*ple and 
 gold, and as they float together, they rear over this 
 retiring Monarch of the sky a pavilion, compared with 
 the magnificence of which, the splendors of the Ori- 
 ental couch are but the tinsel which gilds the cradled 
 sleep of the nursery. 
 
 When the last ray that lingered above the wave 
 has vanished, and twilight is gone, the 'deep blue 
 vault of heaven seems to sweep down to the level 
 waters, and shut out all life, and breath, and motion, 
 beyond its incumbent circle. It is then you feel 
 alone — earth, with its ceaseless stir and countless
 
 28 SHIP AND SHOEE. 
 
 voices, is shut out, — there is nothing around, be- 
 neath, above, but the silent sky and the sleeping 
 Ocean. A man who can stand in such a breathless 
 solitude as this, and not think with warm veneration 
 of Him, whose benevolent eye notices the fall of the 
 lonely sj)aiTOW, must carry within him a heart as 
 cold and insensible as the marbles of the dead. 
 
 This observation was made to one who stood near 
 me, and whose fine suscej)tibilities were more deeply 
 touched than my own. To her this twilight change, 
 and desert ocean, seemed to call up memories in 
 which the he6,rt lingers with a bewildering fondness. 
 She has exchanged the security of the shore, and the 
 society of the most gentle and refined, for the perils 
 and hard features of a man-of-war. Her feelings, as 
 they break through her conversation, betray a fresh- 
 ness and elevation of tone that find their way to your 
 aftection and esteem. Cultivated and refined, w^ith- 
 out being supercilious, — cheerful and communicative, 
 without being obtrusive or trifling, — with mental en- 
 dowments to entertain the best informed, and a de- 
 meanor conciliating the most rude, she must be de- 
 servedly popular in her new condition, and cannot 
 fail to enhance the estimation in which the fair of our 
 country are held by foreigners. 
 
 As soft as falls the silken shade, 
 
 Let every sorrow be 
 Which grief, or care, or hope delayed, 
 
 May ever cast on thee.
 
 FUNERAL AT SEA. 29 
 
 And sweetly glide thine hours away 
 
 As music from the string 
 Of woodland lyre, while o'er it stray 
 
 The fragrant airs of spring. 
 
 And let each joy be pure and bright 
 
 As dew on infant flowers, 
 Some tender theme of new delight 
 
 To cheer thy pensive hours. 
 
 And as a soft melodious lay 
 
 Dies on the still of even, 
 May thy rapt spirit pass away 
 
 And mingle into heaven. 
 
 Death is a fearful thing, come in what form it 
 may — fearful when the vital cords are so gradually 
 relaxed, that life passes away softly as music from 
 the slumbering harp-string — fearful when in his own 
 quiet chamber, the departing one is summoned by 
 those who sweetly follow him with their prayers, 
 when the assiduities of friendship and affection can 
 go no further, and who discourse of heaven and 
 future blessedness, till the closing ear can no longer 
 catch the tones of the long familiar voice, and who, 
 lingering near, still feel for the hushed pulse, and 
 then trace in the placid slumber, which pervades 
 each feature, a quiet emblem of the spirit's serene 
 repose. 
 
 What then must this dread event be to one, who 
 meets it comparatively alone, far away from the 
 hearth of his home, upon a troubled sea, between
 
 30 SHIP AND SHORE. 
 
 the narrow decks of a restless ship, and at that dread 
 hour of night, when even the sympathies of the world 
 seem suspended ! Such has been the end of many 
 who traverse the ocean, and such was the hurried 
 end of him, whose remains we have just consigned 
 to a watery grave. 
 
 He was a sailor, but beneath his rude exterior he 
 carried a heart touched with refinement, pride, and 
 greatness. Tliere was something about him which 
 sj)oke of better days and a higher destiny. By what 
 errors or misfortunes he was reduced to his humble 
 condition, was a secret which he would reveal to 
 none. Silent, reserved, and thoughtful, he stood a 
 stranger among his free companions, and never was 
 his voice heard in the laughter or the jest. He has 
 undoubtedly left behind many who will long look for 
 his return, and bitterly weep when they are told they 
 shall see his face no more. 
 
 As the remains of poor Prether were brought up 
 on deck, wound in that hammock which through 
 many a stormy night had swung to the wind, one 
 could not but observe the big tear that stole uncon- 
 sciously down the rough cheek of his hardy com- 
 panions. When the funeral service was read to that 
 most affecting passage — " we commit this body to 
 the deep," — and the plank was heaved, which pre- 
 cipitated to the momentary eddy of the wave the 
 quickly disappearing form, a heaving sigh from those 
 around told that the strong heart of the sailor can be
 
 GRAVE EST THE DEEP. 31 
 
 touched with grief, and that a truly unaffected sorrow 
 may accompany virtue, in its most mipretending 
 form, to its ocean grave. Yet how soon is such a 
 scene forgotten ! 
 
 " As from the wing the sky no scar retains, 
 The parted wave no furrow from the keel, 
 So dies in hmnan hearts the thought of death." 
 
 There is something peculiarly melancholy and im- 
 pressive in a burial at sea: there is here no colhn 
 or hearse, procession or tolling bell, — nothing that 
 gradually prepares us for the final separation. The 
 body is wound in the dra]3ery of its couch, much as 
 if the deceased were only in a quiet and temporary 
 sleep. In these habiliments of seeming slmnber, it is 
 dropped into the wave, the waters close over it, the 
 vessel passes quickly on, and not a solitary trace 
 is left to tell where sunk from light and life, one 
 that loved to look at the sky and breathe this vital 
 air. There is nothing that for one moment can point 
 to the deep, unvisited resting-place of the departed, — 
 it is a grave in the midst of the ocean — in the midst 
 of a vast untrodden solitude. Affection cannot ap- 
 proach it with its tears, the dews of heaven cannot 
 reach it, and tliere is around it no violet, or shrub, or 
 murmuring stream. 
 
 It may be superstitious, but no advantages of 
 wealth, or honor, or power, through life, would recon- 
 cile me at its close to such a burial. I would rather
 
 32 SHIP AND SHORE. 
 
 share the coarse and scanty provisions of the simplest 
 cabin, and drop away unknown and unhonored by 
 the world, so that my final resting-place be beneath 
 some green tree, by the side of some living stream, 
 or in some familiar spot, where the few that loved me 
 in life might visit me in death. But whether our 
 grave be in the fragrant shade, or in the fathomless 
 ocean, among our kindred, or in the midst of stran- 
 gers, the day is coming when we shall all appear at 
 one universal bar, and receive from a righteous Judge 
 the award of our deeds. He that is wisest, pene- 
 ti'ates the future the deepest. 
 
 The day passed slowly and sadly away, — ^no sail 
 broke the farthest verge of the horizon, — no passing 
 cloud brought with it the incense of an unseen 
 shore ; but at night-fall a little bird was seen hover- 
 ing in wide circles around our ship. It had been 
 driven out to sea in a storm, or had wandered in its 
 careless mirth too far from its native isle ; it was un- 
 able to retrace its way, too timid to light, and too 
 exhausted to keep much longer on the wing. 
 
 Lonely wand'rer o'er the ocean, 
 
 Fainting for a place of rest, — 
 Canst no longer keep in motion. 
 
 Durst not trust the billow's breast ? — 
 
 Feeling fast thy strength diminish, 
 Yet canst spy no friendly shore, 
 
 And must sink, ere thou canst finish 
 One returning circle more?
 
 THE STEANGEK BIRD. 33 
 
 Rest thee here — I'll softly pillow 
 Thy too faint and feeble form, — 
 
 Bear thee safely o'er the billow, 
 
 Through this night of cloud and storm. 
 
 I was once like thee a stranger, 
 
 Searching for a place of rest, 
 But to peace and hope a stranger, 
 
 Till I found the Saviour's breast. 
 2*
 
 34 SHIP AND SHOKE. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 In CiVXMs, he gazes at the sleeping sea, 
 
 Or seeks liis lines, and sets himself to angling, 
 
 Or takes to politics, and, being free 
 
 Of facts, and full of feeling, falls to wrangling : 
 
 Then recollects a distant eye and lip. 
 
 And rues the day on wliich he saw a ship. 
 
 FIRST SIGHT OF LAND — PEAK OF PICO — TERCEIRA — CITY OF ANGRA VISIT 
 
 TO THE SHORE APPEARANCE OF THE INHABITANTS CATHEDRAL VES- 
 PERS CONVENT NUNS GARDENS SINGULAR MONUMENT SHAVING 
 
 THE HOG A GALE AND WRECK. 
 
 There is one short exclamation in our language, 
 which conveys to the heart of one at sea a more 
 thrilling excitement, than the highest raptures of 
 poetic inspiration. It has no meaning to a man who 
 plods out his days on the uneventful earth, but to 
 one who moves from zone to zone upon the " blue 
 wave," and has many days since parted with the 
 shore, it comes like a glad message from another 
 world — " Land, ho !" I heard it this morning from 
 mast-head just at the break of day, and sprang upon 
 deck, with eye never so quickly cleared to catch a 
 sight of what it conveyed ; but I could see nothing 
 except a heavy bank of clouds over oiu* larboard 
 bow. 
 
 " Don't you see," said the old cruiser who stood
 
 PEAK OF PICO. 35 
 
 near me, " that bit of a dark spot there, bobbing up 
 like a buoy out of water — there, now it's gone, but 
 keep it in yoiu' eye, and you'll see it again in a 
 minute, just under the stern of that scudding cloud." 
 So I fixed my eye on the cloud, which the fancy of 
 the old seaman had converted into a well-rigged ship, 
 which had just obtnided its dusky sides between us 
 and that dark spot against the sky, but I was still 
 uncertain at what precise point upon the hull to 
 look, not being able to distinguish the stern from the 
 stem in this aerial craft. " There, there, sir, it comes 
 again," whispered the sharj)-eyed tar. " At which 
 end of the cloud ?" I inquired, impatiently. " At her 
 stern, sir, at her stern, close under her spanker 
 boom," was the technical reply, which betrayed a 
 much better knowledge of nautical phrases, than of 
 an intelligible relationship between an obscuring 
 cloud, and a sharp, elevated point of land. 
 
 This " dark spot" on the sky, of a towering sugar- 
 loaf shape, and distinguishable in this respect only, 
 from the thick and motionless mass of clouds which 
 lay beneath it, proved to be the Peak of Pico, rising 
 abruptly some seven thousand feet above the level of 
 the sea, and which may be seen in clear weather at a 
 distance of eighty miles. "We were so near it, that 
 two hours' sail brought into beautiful relief, upon the 
 sides of its green acclivities, the white cottages of its 
 inhabitants. I longed to leap upon its shore, and 
 moimt its steep cliffs, but we were sailing for Ter-
 
 36 SHIP AND SHOKE. 
 
 ceira. Adieu then to Pico, to its vine-clad hills, and 
 its volcanic peak, beneath which the rainbow and 
 thunder-cloud dwell in strange concord, 
 
 A fair and fresh breeze soon brought us in sight 
 of the bold and lofty rocks which wall the circular 
 shores of Terceira — furnishing its quiet inhabitants a 
 defence, which may excuse in them their want of 
 that chivalrous valor which exposure and danger in- 
 spire. Beneath the steep battlements which nature 
 has reared along the breaker-beaten coast of this 
 island, a thousand hostile fleets might exhaust their 
 malice in vain ; the iron storm of their batteries 
 would make as little impression as the bubbles of a 
 muttering wave. Upon the south side, this natural 
 wall bends inward, affording a small harbor, of deej) 
 bottom and unsafe anchorage. At the foot of a 
 mountain, w^hich here freshly descends to the bright 
 water, stands the neat city of Angra, the capital of 
 the island. 
 
 We swung around into this inlet and let go our 
 anchor, to the pleasurable sm-prise of many, who from 
 their turrets and balconies were scanning our flao;, 
 and recognizing in it a long-absent friend. The blue 
 and white banner, which floated from a small armed 
 ship, and the two fortifications which defend the 
 harbor, told us that Donna Maria was the infant 
 queen of this romantic isle. 
 
 The necessities of an impatient dinner over, we 
 hastened to the shore, where we met our quasi Consul,
 
 CAPITAL CITT OF ANGEA. 37 
 
 wlio politely oflei-ed us his attentions in any form tliat 
 mis'lit be most auTceable. As we had but a few 
 hours to stay, we declined the hospitalities of his 
 hearth, preferring a ramble through the principal 
 streets, and a hasty look at the strange aspect every 
 thing wore. Under his guidance we passed from 
 street to sti-eet, meeting everywhere new-fledged 
 soldiers and little groups of citizens, who had been 
 brought together by the sudden appearance of our 
 ship. 
 
 The bells were chiming for vespers, and we turned 
 into the Cathedral — a building of huge dimensions, 
 in the Gothic style. We found about forty priests, or 
 friars, and as many boys, who had the gift of music 
 in them, sustaining the chant and occasionally break- 
 ing out with great animation in the chorus. When I 
 inquired of our polite guide for the audience — the 
 worshipping multitude that might here be accom- 
 modated — he jjointed to one poor publican kneeling 
 in the centre of the vast area, and observed, the 
 people here do not attend vespers. 
 
 What a worship, I was about to exclaim, is this ! — 
 whether paid to God, or saint, or sinner. Why, the 
 little brook, as it murmurs~its vesper hymn in the ear 
 of nature, has at least a lonely pilgrim or bird on its 
 brink, to listen to its harmony, and catch the spirit of 
 its homage. But here is a magnificent temple with 
 its sweeping aisles, perfumed altars, white-robed 
 priests, and melodious choir, all consecrated to the
 
 38 SHIP AND SHORE. 
 
 worsliip of the Most High and the sacred edification 
 of man — and only one poor penitent, of the thousands 
 whose sins or gratitude should bring them here, is 
 seen to come and kneel. Surely there must be " rot- 
 tenness in Denmark." 
 
 Breaking from this partial reverie, I joined our 
 company at the extreme end of the aisle, where our 
 guide was leading the way to some recess, or shriue, 
 with an air of peculiar awe^t was the sanctum 
 sanctorum of the place, and we paused upon its hal- 
 lowed threshold. Three large wax candles were 
 burning within, and before these a venerable priest 
 was walking, as one that meditates alone. The 
 solitary prelate instantly invited us in, and seemed to 
 excuse our not crossing ourselves to the sacred pic- 
 tures which hung upon the walls. This consecrated 
 cloister was distinguished for the sober richness of its 
 furniture, its silent solemnity, and the multiplicity of 
 images, which cast upon us ii'om every quarter their 
 looks of penitence and celestial hope. 
 
 Around the embroidered curtain, which inclosed 
 the Host, bloomed several vases of fresh flowers. 
 The priest from one of them, as we retired, plucked a 
 rich carnation and gave it to Mrs. Head with the most 
 graceful inclination that I ever saw in a man of his 
 years. There was something in the manner of his 
 presenting this beautiful flower, which made one for 
 the moment forget that we can ever grow old. The 
 rose was a delicate compliment, and will be cherished
 
 GLAIiTCES AT THE CONVENT. 39 
 
 by her to wliom it was given, long after tlie perfume 
 has passed from its withered leaf, and long after the 
 thin pale hand which tendered it shall have forgotten 
 its kindly office. 
 
 From the Cathedi'al we wandered into a street, 
 leading past a favorite convent, beneath the high 
 walls of which, scarcely a blade of grass was seen to 
 shoot. On inquiring the cause of the sterile and 
 ti-odden aspect of the ground, we were informed that 
 the young men of the city were in the habit of fre- 
 quenting that place, hoping to catch an answering 
 glance, or word, from the truant nuns within. The 
 windows had balconies, in which were placed various 
 pots of flowers, the care of which afforded the veiled 
 inmates a pretext for visiting the light ; but while 
 hovering over their cherished plants, their eyes it 
 seems are wont to meet those of some romantic 
 Eomeo below, — and then a devoted word goes up, 
 and another, with some sweet flower, comes down ; 
 and now and then, the gentle Juliet comes down 
 herself^ — not to descend into a tomb, but to make a 
 heart happy, that has turned away from the gay 
 saloon to the pensive convent. 
 
 I like these romantic touches in human life ; they 
 are green spots in a desert. I know not what His 
 Holiness the Pope or the Lady Abbess might say to 
 such a charmed elopement of one of their nuns, but 
 sure I am that if I am ever concerned in what is 
 coarsely termed a run-away match, the object of my
 
 40 SHIP AND SnOKE. 
 
 pious plunder sliall be some brilliant being, suffering 
 an invohmtary confinement in one of these living 
 graves. Kor am I without an encouraging example : 
 a captain in the British navy recently ran away with 
 one from a convent in Teneriffe, and found in her all 
 
 " Which Eve has left her daughters since her fall." 
 
 The next object that arrested our stej^s was an 
 extensive and neatly arranged garden, connected 
 with an herb-growing monastery, and which, as our 
 conductor informed us, was rather a flattering speci- 
 men of the horticultui'e of the island. In the midst 
 of plats, upon whose varied bosom the rose and 
 geranium were intertwined, appeared most of the 
 tropical fruits and plants in vigorous growth. To 
 one who has been many days at sea, living on hard 
 bread and salt meat, the slightest vegetable, even a 
 head of lettuce, appears a tempting luxury ; but an 
 inaccessible orange or banana is like the stream which 
 mocked the parched lips of poor Tantalus. But we 
 left this ample garden, so full of vegetable life, with 
 all its budding sweets untouched and untasted ; not 
 a flower was plucked, or a leaf disturbed in its green 
 quietude. Though sorely tempted, we kept this once 
 the eighth commandment. 
 
 After strolling through several more of the streets, 
 we found ourselves in a public square, upon rather a 
 conflned scale, in the centre of which stood a some- 
 what singular monument. It was constructed of a
 
 BUILDINGS AND STREETS. 41 
 
 species of calcareous stone, of dark line and compact 
 texture, and Consisted of an elevated quadrangular 
 pedestal, upon which rose a cylindrical column, bear- 
 ing a capital with a deface, which no one could trace 
 to any definite order of architectm-e, or particular 
 school of sculpture. The whole betrayed the wasting 
 effects of time, though the outline had been pre- 
 served quite entire. 
 
 One of our company, having a great fondness for 
 antiquities, immediately commenced transcribing a 
 half obliterated inscrij^tion upon its base ; others des- 
 canted on the beauty and harmony of its proportions ; 
 the rest of us wandered back in thought, through the 
 depth of centuries, to the virtues of those whose 
 achievements were here rendered immortal. Our 
 conductor, who had been detained by some company 
 w^e had met on the way, now joined us ; and ob- 
 serving the rapt air in which each stood, and tlie 
 antiquary with his busy pencil, remarked that the 
 time-worn object of our contemplative wonder was a 
 pillory ! 
 
 Romance, a love of the marvelous, self-complacency, 
 all died within us, as we blushingly turned away 
 from this only monument which we met with in 
 Angra. Our mortified vanity, however, was soon 
 exhilaratingly revived, by a glass of native wine, 
 and a cup of excellent cofiee, at the house of our 
 Consul. 
 
 The streets of Angra, though nan'ow, are uncom-
 
 42 SHIP AND SHORE. 
 
 monly clean for a Portuguese city. The houses are 
 generally of two stories, and have many of them 
 balconies, screened by vines and trellis-work, which, 
 without excluding the air, afford a green protection 
 to the black-eyed beauty as she catches a glimpse of 
 the moving crowd below. The aj^parel of the poorer 
 classes is clean, but it is obvious that the needle has 
 in many cases been put in extensive requisition to 
 repair the rents of time. The costume of the better- 
 conditioned circles, though not glaringly gaudy, is 
 rather showy than rich. 
 
 There is very little about the place indicative of 
 wealth or earnest enterprise. It must have paused 
 for many years in the march of improvement. This 
 is owing to the unsettled state of its political relations, 
 its frequent revolutions, the rapacity and poverty of 
 its successive masters. Even the bells of some of the 
 churches have been taken down and coined. There 
 are men, who, if they could get there, would pick out 
 and peddle the gems which glow in the pavements of 
 heaven. 
 
 The wines of this island are inferior to those of the 
 Canaries, and the birds less musical ; but the lands 
 are abundantly productive of grain, pasturage, and 
 fruits. Little attention, however, is paid to flocks and 
 herds, unless the treatment which the hog receives be 
 considered an exception. This coarse animal, which 
 of late has become among us little more than a strong 
 political metaphor, is here remarkable for his anti-
 
 THE GALE AND THE WRECK. 43 
 
 Jew characteristics ; he is not only obnoxious to this 
 class of people, from his very natiu'e, but this an- 
 tipathy is enhanced by the instrumentality of the 
 razor, applied, it is true, not to his face — only his 
 back. This is done, not out of disrespect to those who 
 have repudiated this humble quadruped, but for the 
 sake of giving him a greater breadth of beam. 
 "Whether this is really the eifect, or a mere conceit, I 
 did not particularly inquire. I ask pardon for intro- 
 ducing here this unseemly emblem of the spirit of 
 our party devotedness ; tliough Byron, in his masterly 
 letter to Bowles, contends, that if pure, unsophisti- 
 cated natm'e be the highest theme of the muse, then 
 the most poetical object in the world must be — " a 
 hog in a high wind." 
 
 At a little before sunset, we returned on board, for 
 the sky had already begun to assume an ominous 
 change, when orders were immediately given to get 
 underway. We had no sooner weighed anchor — 
 leaving our fluke among the ragged rocks of its bed 
 — and made sail, than night set in with an aspect of 
 terrific gloom. The wind, which had been blowing 
 fi'esh dm'ing the afternoon, now came with the vio- 
 lence of a gale ; — the clouds which had himg around 
 us at twilight, in huge black masses, suddenly heaved 
 their distended forms over the heavens and increased 
 in density and darkness, till they shut out its last 
 sti-uggling ray. Of the sea, which began to speak to 
 us in the shock and ten-or of its resistless motion.
 
 44 SHIP AND SHORE. 
 
 notliing was seen but the fitful light, which occa- 
 sionally flashed from the crest of a plunging wave. 
 
 In this world of wild convulsion and impenetrable 
 night, through which the sheeted dead and a shaking 
 earthquake might have passed imperceived, om- ship 
 sustained herself with singular steadiness and resolu- 
 tion. With her magnificent wings furled, and he»' 
 loftier spars taken dowTi, she resembled the battling 
 hero, remaining firm, with his plume and helmet 
 swept away, and his sword broken at the hilt. At 
 midnight the gale began to subside, and at break o? 
 day there was little evidence left of its fearful energy, 
 except the heavy sea it had raised, anrl the dis 
 mantled condition of our noble ship. ^ 
 
 In the course of the day, a sad memorial of ita 
 violence drove past us in the shape of a wreck. It 
 was pursued by huge waves, that broke over it with 
 an exulting fierceness and savage glee. Her masta 
 had been swept by the board, — her helm carried 
 away, — her gunwale broken down, — not .a living 
 being remained, or even a breathless corse, to tell who 
 there wept, prayed, and despaired ! This is only a 
 type of that universal wreck that is coming on : for 
 
 This mighty globe, with all its stretching sail 
 And streamers set, is speeding wildly fast 
 
 To that dim coast, where thunder, cloud, and gale 
 Will rend the shrouds, lay low the lofty mast, 
 
 And bear her down, 'mid night and howling wave, 
 
 With wail and shriek, to her engulfing grave.
 
 THE LAST WRECK. 4:5 
 
 A u Pharos then will cast its cheering ray 
 To show the mariner the welcome shore ; 
 
 No friendly star come forth, as dying day 
 Darkens above the breakers' ceaseless roar ; 
 
 No minute-gun through calcined cliff or steep, 
 
 Startle the wrecker from his savage sleep. 
 
 Monarchs will seize the helm to stay its roll, 
 Then fall upon their trembling knees in prayer, 
 
 Hoar voyagers scan again the chart's dim scroll. 
 And drop its idle page in mute despair; 
 
 While pallid myriads, on the plunging deck, 
 
 Grapple with death, in that tremendous wreck. 
 
 And down 'twill sink amid the tide of time. 
 And leave no relics on the closing wave. 
 
 Except the records of its grief and crime : 
 The gentle heaven will weep above its grave. 
 
 And universal nature softly rear 
 
 A dewy urn to this departed sphere.
 
 46 SHIP AND SHOllE. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 It is a sweet and sunny isle, just swelling 
 
 From out the ocean of a rosy dream — 
 Crowned with ambrosial bowers, where love is telling, 
 
 In modest violets, its tender theme, — 
 A theme too delicately sensitive for words, 
 But may be conned in flowers, and sung by birds. 
 
 MADEIRA FIRST APPEARANCE GLORIES OF SUNSET RIDE INTO THE 
 
 INTERIOR — PONIES AND BURROQUEROS DEEP RAVINES PEASANTRY 
 
 A MADEIRAN BEAUTY AN ENGLISH LADY DINNER AND DANCING. 
 
 As the white clouds, which hung this morning like 
 a widely distended veil over our weather-bow, were 
 occasionally ruffled by the breeze, we caught mo- 
 mentary glimpses of the lofty and varied outline of 
 the heights of Madeira. Here a steep cliff presented 
 its wild features, there the green side of some hill 
 smiled forth, while upon gentler elevations appeared 
 the white dwellings of the inhabitants, in beautiful 
 contrast w^ith the deep verdure in which they were 
 embowered. Upon the beach foamed the successive 
 wave, or cast its white crest high up the jutting rock. 
 The whole appeared the work of enchantment — a 
 mere illusion sent to please and mock the senses ; and 
 this impression was almost confirmed, as the spread- 
 ing folds of the floating clouds again snatched every 
 vestige of the entire scene from our fixed eyes.
 
 ISLE OF MADEIRA. 47 
 
 Had death come upon me at that moment, I should 
 have departed with a full belief in the mystery and 
 power, which fancy or superstition has ascribed to 
 those fairy agents, who dwell in subtle essence, and 
 work their marvels upon the palpitating experience 
 of man. But a springing breeze unveiled again the 
 hidden object of our curiosity, and brought us at 
 length so near it, that it appeared before us in all its 
 unrivalled wilduess and beauty. Could I see but one 
 island, in its progressive development from the ob- 
 scurity of cloud, and sky, and wave — it should be 
 Madeira. There is no isle, even under the glittering- 
 skies of the West Indies, that has such an enchanting 
 effect as this ; none that seems so completely a thing 
 of light, laughter, and beauty. 
 
 As we floated into its open roadstead, we passed 
 an English frigate lying at anchor, which saluted us 
 with a " Hail Columbia ;" a compliment which our 
 band retm-ned with a badly played " God save the 
 King." Our anchor was now let go, our sails clewed 
 down, and a boat lowered for the shore. I remained 
 on board, to witness the effect of the setting sun upon 
 the scene before us. Twilight here is of short dm-a- 
 tion, but atones for its brevity by its richness. 
 
 The city of Fimchal, before which we were riding 
 at anchor, stands against a green amphitheatre of 
 hills, which rapidly ascend to an elevation of three 
 thousand feet. These steeps are crowned with pin- 
 nacles, which shoot up wild and high, and which are
 
 48 SHIP AKD SliOEE. 
 
 burning with living splendor, after the advancing 
 twilight has cast its j^urple shadows over the hushed 
 dwellings beneath. The contrast of these flaming 
 turrets, with the dim and dark aspect of that which 
 slumbers in sunless depths below, produces an effect 
 which can never be described, and which would only 
 be feebly mimicked, by setting the towering bastions 
 of some hugely-walled city in flames, while silence 
 and night reigned through its untrodden streets. How 
 triumphant is nature, both in her magnificent and 
 minor forms, over the proud pretensions of man ! The 
 clifi" which sunset kindles, and the violet which the 
 dew-drop gilds, alike baffle his art and mock his vanity. 
 In the morning we took a boat for the shore, for 
 the purpose of riding into the interior of the island. 
 We were met at the landing by Mr. Perrigal, our 
 Yice-Consul, who had politely provided Mrs. Read 
 with a palankeen, in which she was carried by two 
 broad-shouldered men to the Consular mansion. As 
 for the rest of us, the question was not, how we should 
 obtain the means of conveyance, but how we should 
 manage to mount one saddle, instead of two or three ; 
 for we were surrounded by thirty or forty Burroque- 
 ros, leading their donkies into our very faces, and 
 vociferating "This one, this one, this one!" with an 
 earnestness and impatience which rendered all choice 
 impossible. Indeed we were glad to jump upon any 
 thing to escape from such a snarl of animals, and 
 importunate diivers.
 
 PONIES AND BTJEKOQUEKOS. 49 
 
 In a moment we were mounted, and rushing 
 through the city, witli a Burroquero holding on with 
 one hand to the tail of his ponj, and with the other 
 belaboring his limbs with a long stiff wand. "W"e 
 brought up at the door of the Consul, where we halted 
 for a few minutes, till Mrs. Read could mount her 
 pony, and then started off, full gallop, for the inte- 
 rior. The clatter of hoofs which we left behind, 
 brouglit to the window many an eye, whose look 
 came too late. Echo and wonder only remained, 
 with dust, distance, and laughter. John Gilpin's 
 race with all its involuntary speed was gravity, com- 
 j)ared with our ludicrous appearance : it was enough 
 to shake the powder from the wig of a Chief- Justice. 
 I found myself bestriding a pony about as large as 
 one of farmer Darby's black sheep, but as sure of 
 foot as any fox that ever jumped ; yet in the gallop, 
 his fore and hind quarters went up in such quick 
 alternations, that the most rapid vibrations of the 
 body were necessary to preserve the even balance, 
 and keep one from falling over the stem or stern of 
 this tossing craft. I thought, after all, the animal was 
 more to be jDitied than his rider ; and when we had 
 been on the tilt about two hours, and were come to 
 the foot of another long and steep ascent, I dis- 
 mounted, to the no small amusement of the driver, 
 who, it would seem, much better understood the 
 ability of the little hardy fellow, than myself. 
 
 At the top of this arduous ascent, we found our- 
 
 3
 
 50 SHIP AND SHORE. 
 
 selves suddenly recoiling from tlie crumbling verge 
 of a ravine, that dropped down in nearly a perpen- 
 dicular descent two thousand feet. As we discovered 
 no road leading away from this perilous position, 
 except that by which we had come, we concluded, of 
 course, that this was the ne ^lus nltra of our ride. 
 But crack w^ent the huge sticks of the drivers against 
 our donkeys, and away they sprang up an extremely 
 narrow ledge of rocks, that beetled out over this 
 frightful abyss. 
 
 Tliere was no stojDping them, for a concussion of 
 the animals against each other would have precipi- 
 tated the whole of us to the bottom. Go on we must, 
 but whether for good or ill, for gratification or broken 
 bones, we could not tell. Nothing but the instinct of 
 our steeds saved us ; they balanced along with well- 
 poised frame, when their riders would have lost their 
 footing, and with a spinning brain would have reeled 
 toppling down. 
 
 Another hour of this hair-breadth ridinsr brouo-lit 
 us to the Curral — the main object of our adventure. 
 This is a little fertile valley sunk into the heart of the 
 island, surrounded by a wall of natural rock rising 
 to a height of twenty-five hundred feet. Upon the 
 verge of this wall we now stood ; but every object 
 below was buried beneath masses of cloud : nothing: 
 could be seen ; nothing heard, except the tones of a 
 church-bell, as they struggled up through this heavy 
 sea of vapor. The wild clifis and pinnacles, which
 
 VALLEY OF THE CLTREAL. 51 
 
 still towered far above us, shone conspicuously in the 
 light, and their sunny aspect served to deepen the 
 gloom which rested upon the unpierced depths below. 
 There was light, and beauty, and resplendent gran- 
 deur above ; but below, brooded a night, upon which 
 the quick rays of the sun fell at once quenched and 
 powerless. 
 
 After partaking of a very welcome lunch, and some 
 excellent wine, which Mr. Perrigal had hospitably 
 provided for the occasion, we started on our return, 
 fully determined, if we should get back without any 
 serious accident, to make another exciu'sion to this 
 inland wonder. I never left a place with greater 
 reluctance, or a deeper conviction of the jDower of 
 man's curiosity. 
 
 On our return, we frequently overtook, as we had 
 encountered in coming out, many of the peasantry, 
 bearing their burdens of fuel to market. This essen- 
 tial article consists here, principally of the fern, and 
 the roots of the broom. It is borne from the interior 
 upon the head ; we met women with large bundles 
 of it in this position. This indeed is the only mode 
 in which it can be transported. The paths in many 
 places are notched into the steep face of a mountain, 
 and are so extremely narrow, as to afford a passage 
 for little more than the person of the individual. The 
 burden is therefore done up like a sheaf, and placed 
 on the head in a line with the path. With one hand, 
 the patient bearer steadies her load, and with the
 
 SHIP AND snoRE. 
 
 other, by the help of a pointed cane, she steadies her- 
 self. "When two encounter each other with their 
 loads, one of the parties looks out for a jutting cliff, 
 or a deeper nitch, where she stands till the other has 
 passed. It was only in this mode that we were able 
 to get along with our ponies. In this form the city 
 of Funchal is mainly supplied with fuel. Fortunately 
 the climate is habitually so very mild, that little is 
 required, except for culinary purposes. 
 
 I never had such a feeling of sinking sadness, as 
 when I saw these females with these enormous bun- 
 dles on their heads. There was something in their 
 condition so strangely at variance with the delicacy 
 and tenderness which are usually the pride and priv- 
 ilege of their sex : when I observed, too, the unmur- 
 muring patience and cheerful resolution with which 
 they perform the incredible task, I could have stopped 
 and wept. Had I possessed a key to the mines of 
 Peru, I could have cast it at their feet. They carry 
 these wearisome loads, from many miles in the inte- 
 rior, through the most rough and perilous passes, to 
 the city, where they are obliged to part with them 
 for a few farthings, and then start at night-fall, faint, 
 and perhaps unattended, for their cabin in the moun- 
 tains. 
 
 The self-adapting disposition of woman, the uncom- 
 plaining trust with which she submits to reverses of 
 fortune, and the hope and cheerfulness with which 
 she strives to inspire others, while her own heart may
 
 THE DINKEE AND DAXCE. 63 
 
 be desolate, are high and affecting attributes which 
 belong only to her. She is essentially the same in the 
 cottage and palace, at the couch of pain and the hall 
 of festivity, in all that constitutes her highest excel- 
 lence and man's chief happiness. 
 
 But I am wandering from the thread — not of my 
 discourse, but of om* return from the Curral. We 
 arrived at the Consul's quite late in the afternoon, 
 and sat down to a sumptuously furnished table, where 
 we met several agreeable ladies and gentlemen of the 
 island. The dinner passed off with many good feel- 
 ings, and amiable sentiments lit up with many kin- 
 dling recollections of home. I saw, neither on this 
 occasion, nor on any other while in the island, ex- 
 cessive drinking, even of the pure and harmless 
 juice of the grape. There was no ardent spirits of 
 any kind upon the table, nor any lurking upon 
 the sideboard, to tempt the lips of the unwary 
 guest. 
 
 When the table broke up, we found in the ample 
 mansion every facility for disposing of om'selves, as 
 our different tastes and dispositions suggested. Some 
 took the cigar, and talked of politics ; some amused 
 themselves in the garden, among its fruits and flow- 
 ers ; and others, like myself, took a siesta — that 
 dreamy quietude in which weariness forgets its ex- 
 haustion, and the spirits rally for fresh action. I al- 
 ways had a great respect for sleep, and a deep love 
 of dreams. The first is the most innocent occupation
 
 64 SHIP AJ^D SHORE. 
 
 in which we engage ; the last, the most sweet and 
 beautifuL 
 
 The evening presented us with a brilliant circle of 
 ladies. The most striking featm'e in a Madeiran 
 beauty is her eyes : these are usually full, black, and 
 jSoating ; and shaded with a long, silken lash, from 
 beneath which the kindling ray flies with an electric- 
 al efiect. You would hardly think that an eye, which 
 verges so close upon the melancholy in its general ex- 
 pression, and around which a living languor seems to 
 sleep, could contain such vivifying power. The out- 
 line of her face, perhaps, approaches the circle too 
 closely for depth of sentiment, but for an exhibition 
 of cheerfulness, it could hardly be improved. 
 
 The contour of her person has also too much ful- 
 ness to appear in perfect consonance with the most 
 pliant and airy motion ; but this is gently relieved by 
 a foot that needs no compression to give her carriage 
 a light and airy cast. Her complexion is a shade 
 darker than the brunettes of our clime, yet equally 
 transparent : her locks are long, and black as the ra- 
 ven's wing; and when she speaks, it is not simply 
 with her lips, — her whole countenance is lighted up 
 and eloquent. 
 
 Among the English ladies, there was a Miss 
 
 E s, whose winning sweetness of conversation 
 
 and demeanor came upon one like a soft, mysterious 
 charm. It was merely nature speaking and acting 
 without affectation and without disguise. There was
 
 AN ENGLISH LADY. 55 
 
 no effort, no ambition, and not the slightest indication 
 that she was even aware of the interest she inspired. 
 Indeed, there was a delicacy and half-retiring diffi- 
 dence about her, that would have shrunk from an 
 idea of the attraction which encircled her. The pre- 
 tensions of dress and the show of studied airs utterly 
 faded under her manner. Her thoughts and lan- 
 guage seemed to come forth un wrought and sponta- 
 neous from their pure fount, yet they beamed with 
 beauty and native intelligence. I never met with 
 but one lady before, in whom nature appeared so un- 
 mingled and sweetly triumphant. That lady was 
 
 Mrs. G., of W , whom I shall never cease to 
 
 remember, till all that is amiable and excellent in 
 woman has ceased to affect me. 
 
 The evening passed off" in music, scattered conver- 
 sation, and dancing. As for the first, I was a de- 
 lighted listener ; the more so, because there was one 
 voice breathing most melodiously there, that had 
 come with us over the wide water; and as for the 
 last — I was a mere looker on, though in no surly, cen- 
 sorious mind. I never could see much sense or pleas- 
 ure in grown people bowing, wriggling, and skipping 
 about the floor to the sound of a fiddle-string. It may 
 pei'haps become that age, when we are justly "pleased 
 with a rattle, tickled with a straw." But leave it, I 
 pray, to the dear little girl.s and boys, on the Green, 
 such as I made a ballad for in my young days.
 
 56 SHIP AND SHORE. 
 
 While ambling round a cottage green, 
 
 I met a little child, 
 The merriest object in the scene — 
 
 Where she was playing wild. 
 
 No bonnet screened her from the sun, 
 Her neck was white and bare — 
 
 Except around it loosely hung 
 The ringlets of her hair. 
 
 There was a gladness in her air, 
 
 A laughter in her eye ; 
 Her little hands went here and there — 
 
 As she was racing by. 
 
 Whither so fast, my little one 1 
 
 She made me no reply — 
 But chattering to herself — ran on 
 
 To catch the butterfly. 
 
 The fluttering beauty soon she caught, 
 
 But then it was so bland, 
 So fine and delicately wrought, 
 
 It perished in her hand. 
 
 So giddy youth for pleasures run, 
 And think they shall be blest. 
 
 But find them, after all is done, 
 To perish when possessed.
 
 THE TIL VILLA. 
 
 67 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 But now methinks 'lis time to change this theme, 
 
 To say a word of matters and of men, 
 For neither of them are just what they seem, 
 
 And never were what they will be again ; 
 But both are changing in the wax or wane. 
 Like floating fire along a field of grain. 
 
 MADERIA CONTINUED EXCURSION — VILLA OF AN ENGLISH BACHELOR 
 
 TRAGICAL DEATH OF GEORGE CANNING WILD RAVINE— SINGULAR 
 
 WATERFALL LADY OF THE MOUNT — SUPERSTITION THE DYING MO- 
 THER'S REQUEST — STAR OF BETHLEHEM VISIT TO THE CONVENT OF 
 
 SANTA CLARA — INTRODUCTION TO A BEAUTIFUL NUN HEE INVOLUNTARY 
 
 CONFINEMENT — PERSONAL ATTRACTIONS — MENTAL ACCOMPLISHMENTS 
 
 PROPOSED SCHEME OF ESCAPE. 
 
 The cloudless heights of Madeira promising this 
 morning a fine day to those who might be disposed 
 to make an excm-sion among their wild scenes, we 
 started, full of glee, at a very early hour. The ponies 
 which we had taken from the multitude that were 
 clamorously urged upon us, were in high spirits, and 
 we started at a speed that would have left the quick- 
 est footman in our country panting and puffing in the 
 distance. Not so with the mountain boy of this isle ; 
 for quick or slow, he is ever singing, whistling, and 
 cracking his whip, close at the heel of his animal. 
 
 The first place at which we alighted, and to which 
 
 8*
 
 58 smr and shore. 
 
 we had been politely favored with an nnceremonions 
 invitation, was the Til Yilla. This is the residence of 
 an English gentleman, situated at a small distance 
 from the citj^, upon the sunny side of one of those 
 hills which slope up so gradually as to be capable of 
 cultivation, especially when thrown off into parapets, 
 as in the present instance. This villa is quite in the 
 Italian style ; the grounds are laid off with a strict 
 regard to beauty and effect ; and though the rigid 
 utilitarian would find but little here to applaud, yet 
 the lover of flowers, of the green shade, and the 
 sparkling stir of waters, might easily be in a rapture. 
 In the centre of the garden towers a majestic Til, one 
 of the indigenous evergreen forest-trees of the island, 
 ingens arhos, faciemque, similima lauro. This tree 
 has given name to the place, though its right so to do 
 might well be questioned by a venerable chestnut 
 standing near, and measuring, with its neighbor, 
 over thirty feet in circumference. 
 
 This villa derives a melancholy interest as having 
 been the scene of the tragical death of George Can- 
 ning, a captain in the British Navy, and eldest son 
 of the late distinguished Premier of that name. He 
 had come to this villa with a party of gentlemen to 
 dine, — had been playing at racket, and being some- 
 what exhausted, had thrown himself, for a moment's 
 repose, upon the sofa, on which I am now sitting to 
 sketch this note. But being heated, he soon left the 
 apartment, and went, unperceived by any one, to
 
 GEOEGE CANNING. 59 
 
 the pool, a place convenient in many respects for 
 bathing. 
 
 When the table was announced, the host looked 
 around for the guest, in honor of whom the enter- 
 tainment was intended, but he was not in his place. 
 Inquiry was raised, a search commenced, when, com- 
 ing to the pool, they discovered the pale form — but 
 the noble spirit — of Canning had fled forever! 
 Tears and lamentations, and the kindly efforts of 
 affectionate grief, were unavailing. The hall of fes- 
 tivity was wrapt in sorrow, and many a heart that 
 came there gay, retired to weep. As died the la- 
 mented father, so perished here, still more suddenly, 
 the beloved son. Their remains may molder in the 
 untimely grave, but their virtues are stamped with 
 immortality. 
 
 The Til Yilla begins to w^ear the aspect of neglect 
 and decay. Its proprietor is one of those men who 
 tread life's circle alone. This may do perhaps through 
 half the round, while the heart can look abroad, but 
 then the other half becomes a listless solitude. The 
 very objects in which the solitary once delighted, and 
 in which, through his more salient years, he placed 
 his pride and trust, will in age lose their attraction, 
 and dissust him with their frivolous memories. There 
 is but one object that can perpetually interest and 
 charm the heart, — but one that can fill the native 
 void in its affections, — but one that can render natm-e 
 truly beautiful and lovely ; for Eden itself was but
 
 60 SHIP AND SHORE. 
 
 -" a wild, 
 
 And man, the hermit, sighed, till woman smiled." 
 
 All tliis is, perhaps, as much as I can consistently 
 say, committing myself the mistake which I depre- 
 cate in others. But I cannot pen here a deeper truth, 
 than that an individual vitally consults his happiness, 
 honor, and wealth, by an early union with one, who 
 may perhaj)s bring to him no dower, except her 
 gentle virtues and affections. 
 
 But I forget our ponies, and the distant waterfall, 
 to which we were bound. From the Til we wound 
 up the steep hills, which tower in quick and long 
 succession above each other; but before we had 
 reached the object of our curiosity, a part of our 
 company were so well satisfied with a scene we had 
 met, that like a wise man looking out for a wife, they 
 would go no further. 
 
 The object which arrested them was a section of 
 the ravine, which, in its progress to the ocean, inter- 
 sects the eastern end of Funchal ; and which, from 
 the projecting height where they were standing, ap- 
 peared to divide the very foundation of the island. 
 In its lowest depths sparkled a current, which any 
 miser would have taken for a stream of silver. The 
 imagination of a believer in a central sphere might 
 have taken this mysterious chasm as the authorized 
 I medium of communication with his inner world ; and 
 
 his fancy would have converted the streamlet, which
 
 A UNIQUE WATER-FAUi. 61 
 
 wanders tbrougli it, into the narrow and glittering 
 outKne of its concealed ocean. 
 
 Leaving our charmed companions to wonder and 
 speculate at will, Lieut. L. and myself proceeded for 
 the Waterfall. After ascending several difficult ele- 
 vations, we arrived at the foot of one, from the top of 
 which, our native guide informed us, the Fall might 
 be seen. But how to get there, was now the ques- 
 tion ; for the ascent was entirely too steep for our 
 ponies, and seemed likely to j)rove too much for our 
 strength. But the force of curiosity and the pride of 
 conquest urging us on, we dismounted, and when an 
 upright posture became impracticable, resorted to our 
 hands and knees ; and by catching to this stone and 
 that shrub, we at last drew ourselves up to the top. 
 The cascade instantly burst on our view, — a mag- 
 nificent sight — being a large sheet of water, falling- 
 unbroken three hundred and fifty feet. 
 
 From the position which we occupied, it appeared 
 to burst from the solid side of the mountain ; there 
 was no warning of its coming — no " note of prepara- 
 tion" — nothing that led you to expect the splendid 
 exhibition. It rushed upon you at once, unnotified 
 and unprepared ; and when you saw it plunge down 
 its terrific way, to the then concealed gulf, it was as 
 if that were the all of its magnificent existence. 
 
 It appeared a miracle in natui-e — a river without a 
 source — a fall witliout an admonitory rajjid. The 
 rushing wave of Niagara prepares you for the plung-
 
 62 snip AND SHOEE, 
 
 ing thunder of its miglit. It speaks to shore and 
 cliff, and echoes the footsteps of its coming in the 
 caverned rock. You expect its wild leap, and wait 
 with awe the crushing force of its gigantic strength ; 
 but this mysterious wonder in the fall of waters dashes 
 down, without having awakened an idea of its ex- 
 istence. It deigns to exhibit only its splendid flight, 
 — its wings are spread and furled unseen. 
 
 Before our return we renewed one of the recrea- 
 tions of boyhood, but upon rather an enlarged scale. 
 "We disengaged, successively a number of rocks, 
 weighing several tons, and saw them sweep their 
 resistless course to the bottom of the ravine. When 
 they reached their shaking bourne, they sent up a 
 crash of echoing thunder, that lingered long in sullen 
 reverberation among the hills. We hove off the very 
 mass upon which we had been incautiously standing : 
 — it was dashed into a thousand fragments upon a 
 projecting ledge, while each went indiscoverably be- 
 neath, in muttering wrath. I thought of the erring 
 spirits, smitten from heaven's verge to Tartarean 
 night. Bidding the waterfall adieu, we returned to 
 our companions, whom we found lingering around 
 the very spot where we had left them. Nature never 
 tires ; in the magnificent or the minute, the severe or 
 subdued, she is an exhaustless source of interest. 
 
 Our descent, which we commenced after partaking 
 of an excellent lunch, and a short rej^ose, brought us 
 into the neighborhood of the Mount Church, to which
 
 OTIR LADY OF THE MOUNT. 63 
 
 we paid at least the respect of curiosity. This edifice 
 is one of the first objects which attract the eye in 
 apj)roaching the harbor. It is situated half-way up 
 the mountain which ascends in the rear of the city, 
 and commands an elevation of two thousand feet. It 
 is surrounded by a fresh chestnut grove, in which you 
 mount to it by sixty granite steps. The style of the 
 building is modern, and not destitute of architectural 
 pretension. 
 
 As we approached the altar, the priest, who was 
 directing our attention to the points of strongest in- 
 terest, and who had hitherto evinced an air of utmost 
 ease and playfulness, seemed suddenly impressed with 
 a strange reverence. I shall never forget the incom- 
 municable solemnity which pervaded his counte- 
 nance, as he slowly drew aside the rich curtain that 
 hung over the altar-piece, and breathed, in a whisper 
 — Nossa Senhora do Monte. 
 
 The object of his deep devotion was a little image 
 of Our Lady ; which resembled in every respect a 
 child's doll, only its ornaments and attire were more 
 expensive than are ordinarily thrown away upon a 
 toy. A string of beads, in imitation of jewels, went 
 round its filleted head, and a number of tinsel stars 
 bespangled its little petticoat. I could hardly pre- 
 serve my gravity of countenance, while looking at 
 this Nossa Senhora do Monte. Yet it seems she is 
 an object of peculiar veneration and homage here ; 
 on her festival day, half the population of the island
 
 64 snip AND SHORE. 
 
 go in solemn procession to kneel at her feet. Those 
 who would be classed among the most devont, or 
 who may have committed some sin of deeper dye, in 
 their earnestness to secure her compassionate grace, 
 mount the sixty stone steps, which lead to her sanctu- 
 ary, upon their naked knees. 
 
 The following circumstance, which came to me 
 from a source too credible to admit of doubt, strikingly 
 exhibits the spirit in which this our sainted Lady of 
 the mount is regarded. A mother, being about to 
 depart this life, summoned her daughter to her bed- 
 side, and told her that in her younger years she had 
 committed one unconfessed and unatoned-for offence, 
 and that she could not leave the world in peace and 
 with a consolatory hope of heaven, till she had given 
 her a solemn promise that in expiation of this sin, she 
 would on the birth-day of her eighteenth year, at 
 twelve o'clock at night, climb the steps of this church 
 upon the bare knee. The pledge was given, and in a 
 few months from this time will be redeemed with the 
 most religious punctuality. I subsequently met the 
 young lady who is to perform this painful penance, 
 and might perhaps have quoted to her the first Com- 
 mandment, had there been any probability of her 
 justly appreciating its awful sanctions. 
 
 Far be it from me, however, wantonly to disturb 
 the performance of a vow, given even in a spirit of 
 religious delusion — or to trifle with a pledge, which 
 may have served to console the dying. When that
 
 STAR OF BETHLEHEM. 65 
 
 fearful hour shall become a reality with me, God only 
 knows the anxieties it may awaken, or what infinite 
 need this trembling spirit may be in of the smallest 
 ray, to relieve its gathering doubts and sorrows. Yet 
 I would not descend to the grave under the light of a 
 false trust — under the guidance of a star that is to 
 vanish away in perpetual night. But there is one 
 star, that will never disappoint the hope which it 
 awakens ; its ray is never dimmed, and it knows no 
 going down ; its cheering light streams on through 
 ages of change and tempest. The earth may be 
 darkened, the foundations of nature broken up, and 
 the planets shaken from their spheres, but this sweet 
 star will still smile from its high and holy dwelling. 
 'No wonder the Poet of truth and piety determined 
 to celebrate 
 
 First in night's diadem, 
 The Star, the Star of Bethlehem, 
 
 I must now introduce the reader to an individual 
 who has been for several years an object of deep ad- 
 miration and sympathy among visitors at Madeira. 
 This person is Donna Maria Clementina, — a nun in 
 the Convent of Santa Clara. She was immured in 
 this prison at the early age of ten, by the wicked 
 cruelty of a step-mother ; — her tears and prayers were 
 of no avail. Thirteen long years have now passed 
 away, and she still gazes on the dull wall of the con- 
 vent, and sighs for the light and free air of heaven. 
 Her situation has been partially relieved by the inter-
 
 66 SHIP AND SHORE. 
 
 est which her youth and beauty have awakened. 
 The companions of her early years have never forgot- 
 ten her, and now, when inquired of for the most 
 beautiful lady of the island, they will take you to this 
 convent, and call to its impassable grate the blushing 
 Maria. 
 
 Another circumstance has cast a momentary smile 
 into the solitude of this sweet creature. When the 
 constitutional government was established in Portu- 
 gal, an order was issued by the Cortes that the doors 
 of all religious houses should be unbarred. The con- 
 sequence was, that Santa Clara was freely visited by 
 those who had affection or curiosity to be gratified in 
 that form. Among others who availed themselves of 
 this privilege, was a young and accomplished officer 
 in the Portuguese navy. He saw Maria, and felt at 
 once, as every one must, the charm of her beauty. 
 She returned his affection, with a gentleness and sin- 
 cerity, which showed the delicacy and truth of her 
 heart. She was now free from the authority of a 
 cruel parent, and of the coerced obligations of the 
 veil ; and she engaged to receive the hand of the 
 gallant officer, whose heart she had so immtentionally 
 won. 
 
 The wedding day was appointed, and she left the 
 convent to mingle with her friends a short time, be- 
 fore her happy union. But during this interval she 
 was taken seriously ill, — the excitement of society 
 came with a too sudden power upon one of her sus-
 
 THE BEAUTTETTL NTJlSr. 67 
 
 ceptible nature, — the wedding day was deferred — fa- 
 tally deferred ! — for, before its arrival, the Constitu- 
 tional Parliament was forcibly dissolved, the libera- 
 ting act of the Cortes revoked, and Maria remanded 
 back, in tears and despair, to her solitary cell. 
 
 He in whom she had wound up her gentle affec- 
 tions, and who had fondly identified her with the 
 hopes and happiness of his coming years, was now 
 debarred all access to her presence. Yet would he 
 ascend a rock which towered near the convent, and 
 wave his white handkerchief, and joyfully catch the 
 answering token of hers, as it gleamed from the grate 
 of her high window ; and in the still night, he might 
 often be seen on that cliff making the expressive sig- 
 nal, and by the light of the full clear moon, exult- 
 ingly discovering, at the shadowy grate, the replying 
 evidence of an affection that could outwatch the 
 morning star. 
 
 He was soon ordered by his government upon a 
 foreign station, where he fell an early victim to the 
 diseases of the climate ; and there is now no evidence 
 of his having been here, except what lives in the 
 melancholy remembrance of poor Maria ; and there 
 seems to be nothing in sympathy with her, in her dis- 
 appointment and grief, but the moaning of the wave, 
 as it dies on the broken shore. 
 
 Such is an outline of her history, to whom Mrs. E.., 
 Dr. M., and myself were introduced this morning, by 
 the amiable Miss S. E., of Madeira. Upon ringing
 
 68 SHIP AND SHORE. 
 
 tlie outer bell of the convent, we were conducted to a 
 well-furnished parlor in the second loft, communica- 
 ting with the more secluded interior, by a double 
 grate. The lady Abbess was called, permission to 
 speak with Maria solicited, and the name of Miss E. 
 sent in, as an attraction that never fails to bring her 
 forth. 
 
 Maria had no toilet to make, no curls to arrange, 
 and she was soon seen approaching the grate, with 
 that easy and subdued air, which refinement and 
 grief only can mold. Her eye kindled instantly as it 
 met that of her friend, and though our unexpected 
 presence seemed at first slightly to disconcert her, 
 yet it was only a momentary embarrassment, which 
 bespake the retiring delicacy of her nature. We were 
 all immediately at ease, and she was speaking to 
 each, in a tone so cheerful and animated, that we 
 quite forgot the sorrows which had so early overshad- 
 owed her life. 
 
 I stepped silently to a position where I could study, 
 with less exposure, the sweet being before us. Her 
 veil was drawn aside, and she was telling Mrs. R. 
 of the glimmering hope which still lingered in her 
 solitude. I have met before with many a face justly 
 regarded as lovely, but never with one of such serene 
 expressive beauty. This indescribable charm was 
 confined to no particular feature, — it dwelt like a 
 sweet dream upon the whole countenance, — each 
 turn, and shade, and swelling line contributed to it3
 
 EFFECT OF GEIEF. G9 
 
 perfection. Yet there was no want of distinct ex- 
 pression, — her fiill blue eje alone contained tlie 
 breaking mystery of a world, — all the voiceless 
 thonghts, feelings, hopes, and desires of the spirit 
 within, seemed to float there in melancholy life. 
 
 The sentiments of the spectator followed in quick 
 sympathy each token of this mute oracle of her 
 heart. If its glance fell to the earth, he thought of 
 broken hoj)es and blighted expectations ; if it turned 
 to heaven, he felt the aspirations of a confidence 
 which no sorrows can wholly quench ; if it dwelt for 
 a moment on him, he would find himself in smiles or 
 tears, just as its look and tone might be. 
 
 Around her dewy lips dwelt a wonted smile, which 
 appeared as if it had been checked and shaded in its 
 sunny flow, by some counter sentiment of grief; and 
 yet her lips did not sufier, in the breathing sweetness 
 of their expression, by these mingling emotions. You 
 felt no intense desire to approach those lips too nearly, 
 and yet you could not turn away without looking 
 again to the pensive, half-formed smile which slum- 
 bered there. 
 
 The oval outline of her cheek had been very slightly 
 invaded by her sorrows, though it still retained its 
 delicate transparency, and was ever and anon man- 
 tling with exquisite life and loveliness. The exulting 
 thought, that she might one day be free, would now 
 and then rush to her glowing cheek, and gleam among 
 its paler hues, like that deceptive flush, with which
 
 70 SHIP A^'D SHORE. 
 
 the hectic sometunes beautifies the dying ; and then 
 the chilhng suggestions of doubt and despair would 
 blanch it again to its marble whiteness. 
 
 Her forehead, from which her raven hair was rolled 
 back, rose in a fulness and serenity of aspect, that 
 imparted a feminine dignity to the more tender and 
 playful features of her face. It was a brow that be- 
 spake intellect, without any of its sternness, and a 
 serene enthusiasm, without any of its impatient pas- 
 sion. She seemed as one formed to please, and sen- 
 sible to the gentlest impulse, yet capable, in -an hour 
 of trial, of leaning upon her own energies, and of 
 sustaining hei-self upon the strength of a spirit which 
 no misfortune can wholly subdue. Still she appeared 
 as susceptible, sweet, and childlike, in her being, as 
 if she had been wholly ignorant of this undying re- 
 source in herself. 
 
 Her form was in keeping with the delicacy and 
 richness of her mind and countenance. The propor- 
 tions were molded into that flowing curve, which 
 fills the eye, without going beyond the decision of 
 its chastened taste. Her whole person, in its more 
 slender and full expressions, was a rare and happy 
 triumph of nature ; no art could improve it, and no 
 heart be insensible to the exquisite perfection of its 
 symmetry and beauty. 
 
 Such is only a faint outline of the'animated being, 
 near whom I now stood as one enchanted in some 
 dream of immortal loveliness and grief If the power
 
 SCHEMES OF ESCAPE. Tl 
 
 had then been lent me, the grate of that convent had 
 fallen in twisted fragments ; and I half accuse myself 
 now, for not having tried the wrenching force of my 
 arms upon it, although the most entire success would 
 have been regarded by many, merely as an act of 
 romantic folly. But cold must the heart be, that 
 could turn away from that grate without being kin- 
 dled, and filled with indignant regret. I never yet 
 could see woman in tears, without being deeply 
 moved. Man in his prison, may busy himself in the 
 projected and daring intentions of an escape, but 
 these bold and hardy adventurers are above the cope 
 and bearinoj of the timid and retiring female : she 
 might, perhaps, nom-ish them silently in her heart, 
 yet when she came to their execution, her difiident 
 hand would fail in its perilous office. 
 
 Her voice possessed a singular sweetness, and liquid 
 fulness of tone ; its modulations came warbling on 
 the ear like the musical flow of a rich harp-string ; it 
 was a breathing harmony, living a moment, and then 
 melting away in the soft atmosphere, which her pres- 
 ence created. It aj^jjeared to possess a mellowing 
 and pervading influence, bathing her lighted counte- 
 nance, and steeping in music each eloquent feature. 
 It resembled, in this spreading sweetness, the flowing 
 of the dew-drop over the delicate veins of the violet. 
 
 Yet Maria listened eagerly to the ingenious sugges- 
 tions of Mrs. R. respecting an escape, and deemed 
 it, in the shape contemplated, as practicable. But
 
 72 SHIP AND SHORE. 
 
 what could slie do, provided this escape was effected ; 
 there was no conceahnent in Madeira, that could long 
 secure her from the searching pursuit of her oppres- 
 sors, and she could not fly away unprotected into a 
 land of strangers. Mrs. E,. was ready to offer her 
 the protection and patronage of a sister, but her con- 
 nection with a public ship, and with the commander 
 of that ship, forbade, for the present, this generous 
 expression of sympathy ; besides, Maria had too much 
 delicacy to allow her liberation to involve her friend 
 in any embarrassment. I regretted, for once, that it 
 was not in my power to absolve myself from the ob- 
 ligations and responsibilities of a commission in the 
 navy. I know not that the beautiful creature would 
 have taken the adventurous flight with me, but sure 
 I am that I would not have parted with such a prize 
 for all the pearls of Omer and the gems of Golconda. 
 
 These sentiments of admiration were by no means 
 confined to myself.' Dr. M., in this animated inter- 
 change of thoughts with the lovely captive, had un- 
 consciously caught the pleasing infection ; indeed, it 
 could not be otherwise with a man of his discrimina- 
 ting taste and fine susceptibilities. And then the 
 object of om' symj)athy and affection was before us, 
 so lovely, helpless, and surpassingly beautiful : a heart 
 that never moved before would have melted then. 
 
 I wish I could trace the various turns which her 
 
 conversation took, and the refined mental accomplish- 
 
 • nients which it betrayed. The varied topics upon
 
 THE HOUR OF PARTING. 73 
 
 which her brilliant imagination lighted, she instantly 
 animated with the very life of her feelings. Silence 
 and solitude, with the contemj^lative habits which 
 they bring, seemed to have attuned her mind into 
 harmony with the most pm-e and ethereal sphere of 
 thought. Her spirit had a home there, far above the 
 tumult, and strife, and sorrows of earth. 
 
 But our parting moment had now come, yet we 
 did not go without a token of Maria's affectionate 
 regard. She put into the hand of each a cluster of 
 fresh flowers. Among those which she presented to 
 Mrs. R. were several of her own fabrication, but 
 so delicately pencilled, you could not have told them 
 from the living blossoms, with which they were inter- 
 twined. Mrs. R. tendered her in return an elegant 
 ring, on which were appropriately rej)resented two 
 clasi^ed hands in cameo. As for myself, I had nothing 
 about my person indicative of my feelings, excej)t 
 two hearts cut in carnelion, and so peculiarly united, 
 that a destruction of one must be the ruin of the 
 other. These little offerings Maria accepted with a 
 look of gratified sadness ; and now, as we breathed 
 our adieu, and turned to go, her small white hand 
 came quickly through the grate to Mrs. R., and 
 before it was withdrawn, w^e each pressed it to our 
 lips, and then wound off 
 
 " With lingering step, and slow."
 
 74 SHIP AND SHORE. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 How freshly on our slumbers broke the morn, 
 How sweet the music of the mountain stream, 
 
 How all things seemed of bliss and beauty born. 
 And bounding into life, with day's young beam ! — 
 
 Alas, the sin that could such joys forego. 
 
 And fill an infant world with guilt and woe ! 
 
 A SINGULAR MARRIAGE CATHEDRAL — CLERGY ^WEIGHING A PROTEST- 
 ANT — THE PROSCRIBED FIDALGO — CAMANCHA VILLA ITS LADY THE 
 
 RIBEIRO — A SLEEPING SENTINEL — FORCE OF HUMAN SYMPATHY MYS 
 
 TERY OF SLEEP — JOY OF MORNING MATINS OF MARIA — RIDE TO 
 
 THE CURRAL — STUPENDOUS SCENERY — QUIET HAMLET — FORCE OF HABIT 
 
 saint's day HOMAGE OF GUNPOWDER — RECOLLECTIONS OF HOME 
 
 TWILIGHT — THE VESPER-BELL. 
 
 A SMAI.L party of us left the ship to-day to dine 
 with Mr. B., at his Camancha Yilla. On reaching 
 the shore we were met by a little girl, who came run- 
 ning up to us, with an eye full of laughter. I could 
 not at first account for her delight, but it seemed that 
 she sought in smiles, what many seek in tears. 
 "When the little boon which she asked, simply jpor 
 sua saude — for the sake of your salvation — reached 
 her hand, off with it she ran to a matronly looking 
 person, in the most simple attire, who received it with 
 a grateful countenance. 
 
 It appears this lady is the mother of the girl, and 
 in her more youthful and romantic years, gave the
 
 THE BEGGAE AND PRIEST. T5 
 
 very highest evidence of the bewildering power of 
 the " capricious passion," for though of a respectable 
 family, she gave her heart and hand to a blind beg- 
 gar— 
 
 " The current of true love never did run smooth," — 
 
 and lived with him in a small cave, till his death, an 
 event which occurred a few years after their mar- 
 riage. This playful child was theirs, and now sup- 
 poi-ts her forsaken mother by smiling you into a be- 
 nevolent humor, and then taking yom- cheerful offering 
 to one, whom all should regard with charity, who be- 
 lieve in the resistless force of love. 
 
 "We now entered the Cathedral, and found the 
 priests extremely polite and attentive ; indeed, they 
 could not with a good grace be otherwise, for they 
 had been telling the lower orders of the population — 
 who regard them as little less than oracles — that we 
 had been sent of heaven, to break up the alarming 
 blockade of Don Pedi-o, and afford an access to pro- 
 visions, which had begun to grow scarce in the 
 island. We had, indeed, broken uj) the blockade, 
 but I seriously question whether our commission 
 emanated from a higher source than the president of 
 the United States ; much less could it be regarded as 
 an expression of divine pleasure towards the ambi- 
 tious designs of the ex-emperor of Brazil, or of foster- 
 ing favor towards the riveted despotism of his brother 
 Don Miguel, or of holy sanction towards the political
 
 76 SHIP AND SHORE. 
 
 inliueuce of a priesthood whose power is here based 
 on the most humiliating ignorance and superstition. 
 
 The cathedral is a large structure of no exterior 
 pretension, in the modern style, and lined with many 
 pictures of the dying and the dead. Among these 
 paintings, one, from its more conspicuous position 
 and characteristic design, instantly caught my atten- 
 tion. It held forth, in strong relief, the most un- 
 evenly balanced scales ever known since the weigh- 
 ing of man's prospects of heaven. In one lay a good 
 favored Catholic, plump down to the comiter, solid 
 and sure ; in the other, an unlucky Protestant, keeled 
 up in ho])eless despair. He had been laid in the Jes- 
 uitical balance, and found wanting. We might smile 
 at this symbol of bigotry, were it not that it whimsi- 
 cally forestalls the decisions of the Judgment-day. 
 
 We now mounted ponies for Camancha, distant 
 six or seven miles. The road which we took led past 
 the magnificent villa of Seignor Joas de Carvalhal, 
 the richest Fidalgo of the island. Having in our 
 company a gentleman quite at home there, we halted, 
 and, dismounting, entered a heavy iron gate whose 
 rusty bolts spoke of change and misfortune. The 
 winding vistas of the orange, lemon, myrtle, and ba- 
 nana, with the reeling vine and fragrant flower, 
 opened before us in tropical luxuriance. To the eye 
 of one just from a frost-bitten clime, it was as the first 
 blush of Eden to the eye of Adam. 
 
 Through the green depths rippled a stream that
 
 THE VILLA OF CAMANCHA. Y7 
 
 had been induced from the distant mountain. Here 
 it fell in a glittering cascade ; there it supplied a 
 calm lake, upon which floated a swan joyously, as if 
 ignorant of the exiled and unhappy condition of its 
 lord. Alas, for him ! a man of noble qualities, whose 
 munificent hospitality was in keeping with his wealth ; 
 but he was suspected of entertaining principles that 
 breathed too warmly of freedom, and was forced to 
 fly, leaving his immense estates to confiscation and 
 plunder. I saw, but a few days since, a number of 
 the hundred pipes of wine found in his cellar, and 
 which had been seized by the government, exposed 
 to sale. But no purchasers appeared ; they would 
 have nothing to do with "JSTaboth's vineyard." Ahab 
 might revel in its sweets, and share alone the fruits of 
 his crime. After a saddened walk of two hours 
 through the neglected park, the deserted mansion, 
 the silent chapel, and forsaken summer-house, we 
 whispered a deep denunciation to tyrann}^, and de- 
 parted. 
 
 We were soon at the Camancha Yilla, which is 
 nestled in a small verdant valley, and sheltered from 
 the drifting winds by a circling range of densely 
 wooded steps. It is just such a spot as one would 
 choose, who wishes to retire from the dusty jar of the 
 world and drink in the fresh spirit of nature. It is 
 in perfect consonance with the tranquil cast of her 
 taste who fixed on this spot, not so much from a set- 
 tled disaffection to the more stirring scenes of life, as
 
 78 SHIP AND SHORE. 
 
 the desire of an occasional refuge, where she might 
 indulge her classical and contemplative habits. I 
 have seen this accomplished lady in the circles of the 
 gay, and though she would there enchain the capri- 
 cious waywardness of youth in a sparkling flow of 
 thought, yet it is in this hushed place that she seems 
 to fill the full measure of her sphere. She is here 
 as the Queen of night moving through the silent 
 heaven. 
 
 We had taken om* walk through the garden which, 
 like that of Tasso's muse, 
 
 " Apriche collinette, amtrose valle, 
 Sil-ve e spelonche in vista offerse," 
 
 where the plants of India, Africa, and Mexico, breathe 
 theii" mingling perfume. We had seen the little boat 
 that on its crystal element trims its own sail to the 
 breeze, and the gold-fish sporting in the ripple of its 
 wake ; we had traced the streamlet ever murmuring 
 its music to the spirit of the place, and living on in 
 freshness and harmony when decay has stricken the 
 blossoming year ; the festivities of the day were over, 
 our sentiments of friendship plighted, and now the 
 purpling twilight bade us dej^art. Adieu to thee, 
 Camancha, — adieu to thee, fan* lady, — many be thy 
 years, and happy as he is blest, who won and retains 
 thy affections. 
 
 On our return we crossed the riheiro, which inter- 
 sects the eastern end of the city ; it now shows itself
 
 A MOUNTAIN DELUGE. 79 
 
 only as a little babbling brook, but some twenty years 
 past, I am told, it was so swollen by tlie bm'sting of 
 a cloud in the mountains, that it carried oif in its 
 torrent sweep a hundred dwellings with their un- 
 warned inhabitants. It occurred in the dead of the 
 night, and before the sleeper could wake to his peril, 
 he was whelmed in the rushing mass of ruin : 
 
 " lapides adesos, 
 
 Stirpesque raptas, et pecus, et domos 
 Volventes vaik." 
 
 Tne gigantic remains of a church are still shown 
 as the sad e^'idence of this terrible catastrophe, which 
 indeed seems to have anchored itself so frightfully in 
 the recollections of the people, that they speak of 
 events which took place before the flood, and leave 
 you in danger of' confounding the miracles of this 
 little streamlet with the destructions of the general 
 deluge. 
 
 On reaching the gate which communicates with 
 the shore, we found it bolted, and a sentry sleeping 
 beside it, with as much composure as if the days of 
 hanging and shooting for this defection from duty 
 were over. His gun lay beside him, wet with the 
 dew ; and even his dog, whom it would seem he had 
 appointed a sort of deputy watch, did not feel suf- 
 ficiently the responsibilities of his trust to keep wholly 
 awake. 
 
 All this was well for us, not that it enabled us to 
 pass the gate, but the poor soldier on awaking was bo
 
 80 SHIP AND SHORE, 
 
 happy in ascertaining that it was not the patrol who 
 had caught him asleej), that he unceremoniously 
 turned the key, and saved us the trouble of going to 
 the guard-house for a pass. Poor fellow ! — let him 
 sleep and take his rest ; for what is life to him — what 
 its thousand sources of wakefulness and interest ? 
 His days molder through a narrow round of un- 
 meaning duties. In peace there is nothing to quicken 
 a solitary pulse ; and if war come, it is only that he 
 may be hacked to pieces for the ambition of another, 
 and then cast into a hospital to be forgotten and die ! 
 
 My feelings, while looking at the condition of this 
 poor soldier, would alone convince me of the force 
 and sacredness of human sympathy. We are so 
 mysteriously made that suffering and virtue, in what- 
 ever form presented, never fail to excite our pity and 
 veneration. Even where this affecting trait is an 
 exception to all the other characteristics of the in- 
 dividual, still we admire and weep. The tender 
 affection of Conrad for Medora half reconciles us to 
 the wild life of the Corsair ; and we tremble to each 
 doubt and hope, as he springs from shore to cliff to 
 greet once more — alas ! that changed and changeless 
 countenance. 
 
 We yearn to let Othello know that the object of 
 Ills luve and fatal jealousy is innocent, and that lago 
 is the wretch on whom the lightning of his indigna- 
 tion should fall. We rejoice to see the " Birnam- 
 wood move towards Dimsinane," convincino- us no
 
 THE POWER OF SYMPATHY. 81 
 
 less tliau Macbetli, that lie may be put to death by 
 " man of woman bom." When Romeo with his 
 mattock thunders on the portal of the tomb in which 
 Juliet sleeps, we hear the marble break, and would 
 give a world could Juliet hear it also. AYhen Glou- 
 cester loses his eyes, and with them, his desire of life, 
 and hires a poor peasant, as he supposes, to lead him 
 to the verge of the precipice that beetles over the sea, 
 and bidding an eternal farewell to the world, makes 
 the desperate leap, it is quite as difficult to persuade 
 us as it was him, that he has not actually fallen many 
 a fearful fathom down. 
 
 This sympathy extends beyond our own species. 
 Cowper is not the only being who has wept over the 
 untimely end of some favorite prisoner of the cage. 
 I should not envy a man his sensibility who could be 
 at ease, and hear the bleatings of a lamb that had 
 fallen into the clutches of a wolf. Nor is this sym- 
 pathy confined to animal existence. The mariner 
 has a strange afiisction for the plank that has saved 
 him from a watery grave. The octogenarian looks 
 upon his old familiar cane rather as a companion 
 than a support. Even the dog will bark at the stone 
 that has rolled too carelessly over his foot. Thus are 
 we strangely linked in our perceptions and sym- 
 pathies with all the animate and material objects of 
 the world ; and the slightest of them may often strike 
 this electric chain with vivifying force. 
 
 Enough of this philosojjhizing humor. The night 
 
 4*
 
 82 SHIP AND SHOEE. 
 
 wears late — the lamp tliat lights this vagrant page 
 bums dimly : I must rest — must sleep. Strange state 
 of being — to live, yet be unconscious — to breathe, 
 yet feel not the pulses thrill — to sigh, love, smile, and 
 weep, yet be insensible to the quick presence of all 
 outward things ! Would that one could penetrate this 
 state — reveal its mysteries — its deej), tongueless se- 
 crets : — does it resemble the slumber of the shroud ? 
 or do we there dive still deeper from the realities of 
 life ? how shall tliat sleep be broken up ? 
 
 " When will it be morn in the grave ?" 
 
 ISTatm'e here awakes from her night's repose with a 
 freshness and vigor which fill one with the most 
 vivifying sensations. Each mount and vale and wood 
 and waterfall break upon you with an exulting life, 
 that calls up within you the joyous and irrepressible 
 feelings of yom- earliest years. Your first impulse is 
 to bury yourself in some more favored recess, or 
 ascend some height, around which the fragrant earth 
 sends up the incense of its thousand altars. To 
 gratify these feelings in their widest scope, we started 
 this morning, with the freshening light, for the Cur- 
 ral — that great marvel of Madeiran scenery. 
 
 We were well mounted, and soon moving through 
 the high-walled street which leads past the con- 
 vent of Santa Clara. It was the hour of Matins, and 
 the early prayer of the beautiful Maria was ascending, 
 in unison with the pure homage of nature, to the
 
 MATESrS OF MARIA. 83 
 
 great Source of all light and blessedness. I could 
 have stopped and listened to the solemn chant that 
 stole through the grate of the chapel window, but 
 sterner hearts were near me, and I must move on, 
 with only time to whisper an earnest blessing to the 
 unseen worshipper within. "Who could endm-e to be 
 cut off, like this lovely being, in the first flowing of 
 the heart's affections, from all the congenial objects of 
 its fervid desire — never to mingle in the delights of 
 social endearment — never to feel the sweet influences 
 of the varied year — never to see the return of purpling 
 eve, or 
 
 " Morn, in russet mantle clad, 
 "Walk o'er the dew of yon high eastern hill !" 
 
 From the convent we passed the humble church of 
 St. Antonio, and thence onward and upward through 
 a continuous series of vineyards, all sheltered from 
 the chilling effects of the north winds by the heights 
 to which we were tending. The orange-tree was 
 bending under its golden burden ; the banana reveal- 
 ing between the bright expanse of its broad leaves- its 
 delicious ti-easures ; and the low winds, which had 
 slept amid the flowers through the night, were 
 abroad, scattering the perfume of their gathered 
 sweets. A mile or two further of these gi-adual as- 
 cents, and cultivation ceased ; the vine, save here 
 and there, could not find soil in which to strike its 
 roots ; and even where it could effect this foothold,
 
 84 SHIP AND SHOEE. 
 
 was cliilled into sterilitv. We continued on, now in 
 a zigzag motion, i;p the steep height, and then on a 
 path of frightful narrowness and elevation around its 
 sharp pinnacle, till our steps were at length suspend- 
 ed on the verge of the Curral. 
 
 This island wonder is a valley of a wild ravine 
 character, lying at a depth of three thousand feet be- 
 neath the cliff on which we stood, and surrounded on 
 all sides by an equal, and at many points, by a still 
 loftier range of rocks. Far down in its green bosom, 
 a cluster of white cottages may be seen, in the midst 
 of which stands the delicate church of Nossa Senhora 
 do Livramento, and near by, the humble mansion of 
 the goodly padre. These habitations, from our 
 elevated position, appeared not larger than what 
 might well accommodate the prattlers of the nursery ; 
 and the hawk, which wheeled midway, dwindled to 
 the form of a bird that might rock itself to slumber 
 in a rose-bud. 
 
 The quiet aspect of this little village contrasted 
 strangely with the mountain barrier which towered 
 in wildness and grandeur around it. In many places 
 these precipices dropped to the bottom with an al- 
 most perpendicular front ; in others they were bro- 
 ken, and there the Til and Yinhatico cast below the 
 deep umbrage of their forest gloom ; while over the 
 wave-w^orn steep rushed some stream on its exulting 
 course to the torrent that called to it from beneath. 
 It was a place where the thvmder-cloud would seem
 
 DESCEisT TO THE CUKEAL, 85 
 
 most at home ; yet, as the cahn bow will sometimes 
 attend this minister of sublime terror, so this sweet 
 hamlet smiled out from its terrific dwelling-place. 
 
 "We now commenced our descent to the valley, 
 which we reached by an extremely narrow path, cut 
 along the steep face of the rocks, and requiring in 
 us a philosopher's steadiness of brain, and a rope- 
 dancer's dexterity of balance. The ingenuity dis- 
 played by our Burroqueros in getting down our 
 ponies, was quite original, and but for the perils 
 attending it, would have been burstingly ludicrous. 
 When a smooth precipitous descent of several feet 
 occurred, where the animal could obtain no foothold, 
 they would let him down upon his patient haunches, 
 by the flowing length of his tail, with many appliances 
 of a steadying character, nicely adjusted to the emer- 
 gency of the occasion. This will appear about as 
 credible as the story of the flying-horse ; but if there 
 never be a greater deviation from truth, exaggeration 
 and falsehood will cease among travellers. 
 
 On reaching the small church of the hamlet, we 
 found a tiny flag flying from something like a liberty- 
 pole, in its court, and a little cannon sending out its 
 noisy breath. On inquiring for the occasion of this 
 military display, we were informed that it was in 
 honor of the sainted lady, whose image we now dis- 
 covered on the flapping banner. I had heard of 
 prayers being offered to saints, but the homage of 
 gunpowder was a novelty. It is a little singular that
 
 86 SHIP AWD SHORE. 
 
 the same element which the assassin employs for the 
 destruction of his victim, the suj:»pliant should use in 
 worship of his saint. But enough of this heterodox 
 deviation. 
 
 Standing in the centre of this deep valley, though 
 the indications of human life and industry are around 
 one in a variety of forms, yet there is very little that 
 forcibly reminds him of man. This domestic senti- 
 ment is overwhelmed in the mightier impressions of 
 nature. From the bottom of a profound abyss, he is 
 looking up to mountains which steeply inclose him 
 on all sides, and tower to the very heavens in the 
 wildest magnificence. From the broken summits, 
 around which the cloud rallies in darkness, down to 
 the torrent that rolls at his feet, every thing awes and 
 subdues him. Wherever he turns, the threatening 
 mass of some lofty cliff, or the shadowy mysteries of 
 some unpierced chasm, or the hollow voice of some 
 unseen waterfall, or the perpetual gloom of the forest- 
 tree, impresses him with sublime terror. He feels as 
 one shut out from the gayer scenes of earth — confined 
 within an insurmomitable barrier of precipitous rock, 
 and doomed forever, in his helplessness and desertion, 
 to tremble under a sense of height and depth, soli- 
 tude, solemnity, and danger. 
 
 Yet the unpretending tenants of this secluded spot 
 pursue their quiet vocations as free of alarm as they 
 are of molestation. They cultivate their vines in the 
 very crater, whose bursting energies threw up this
 
 STTrPENDOTJS SCENERY. 
 
 87 
 
 island from the bed of the ocean. Eveiy thmg 
 around them has upon it the marks of volcanic vio- 
 lence, and seems still to be pillared upon a slumber- 
 ing earthquake ; but these ominous appearances and 
 recollections do not disturb their calm and ever-cheer- 
 ful contentment. 
 
 This results from the force of habit. It is this 
 mysterious principle in our nature that enables the 
 mariner to sing under the dark fi'own of the coming 
 storm ; that makes the peasant sleep soundly at the 
 shaking foot of Etna ; and the chamois hunter pm'sue 
 his game, in lightness and glee, along the glittering 
 verge of the avalanche. Can any thing within the 
 range of our conceptions more thoroughly adapt man 
 to his condition, than nature ? This she effects so 
 silently and unperceived by the individual himself, 
 that before he is aware of it, he is singing under the 
 cloud that mantles the tempest — looking with exulting 
 sensations into the eye of the volcano — or holding a 
 carnival over the ashes and bones of an entombed 
 city. Let those who treat with lightness the un- 
 tutored influences of nature, find in reason, if they 
 can, a more effective and pervading power. 
 
 I return to the Curral. This is a part of the do- 
 main of the Santa Clara Convent ; and is contem- 
 plated as a refuge for the nuns, in case a hostile inva- 
 sion should render it necessary. I should be tempted 
 myself to join an expedition to storm the nunnery, 
 if it would be the means of planting in this retreat
 
 88 snip ANT) SHORE. 
 
 the imprisoned Maria. Her romantic heart would 
 here find objects fitted to its high and enthusiastic 
 nature. 
 
 She is now like a bird of adventurous wing and 
 gifted song, caged to the lattice of one that is steeled 
 to the injury inflicted, and incapable of grief for the 
 melody lost. I must unwire that cage and liberate 
 tlie captive : there will then be music sweeter than 
 that breathed through the star-lit bowers of Eden by 
 
 " Tlie wakeful nightingale, 
 
 Who all night long her amorous descant sung." 
 
 Tlie spot on which we had fixed for a half-hour's 
 repose, was a large rock, rising boldly out of the 
 rushing stream, and commanding the most compre- 
 hensive view of the stupendous scenes around. We 
 here spread out the welcome collation, which the 
 provident forethought of Mrs. R. had munificently 
 provided. TJje severe exercise which we had under- 
 gone gave a keen relish to the occasion. There is no 
 appetite so unfastidious in its demands, and so happy 
 in its gratification, as that produced by mild fatigue, 
 especially when the effort has been sprinkled with 
 adventure, and enlivened by agreeable company. 
 We suspended a bottle or two of the purest Madeira 
 in the stream — which was indisputably an excellent 
 cooler — and then, in the flowing cup, remembered 
 those far away, and some of whom, perhaps, we never 
 more might see.
 
 ASCENT OF THE CHREAL. 89 
 
 Witli what yearning fondness the affections of one 
 in a strange land will turn to his native shore, though 
 oceans roll between ! I am not astonished that the 
 exiled Swiss thinks of his wild hills with mournful 
 regret; much less do I wonder that the Hebrew 
 captive hung his harp on the willow, and wept by 
 Babel's stream, when he remembered Zion. Home 
 never appears so sweet to us as when deprived of its 
 endearments ; all that may have been coarse or re- 
 pulsive about it, is then forgotten, and eyerj attrac- 
 tion is invested with an additional charm. 
 
 Our repast over, Capt. Head proposed that we 
 should climb the side of the Curral, opposite to that 
 which we had descended. The task was one of ex- 
 treme difficulty, for the face of the mountain, though 
 broken into chasms, cliffs, and crags, was very pre- 
 cipitous, and presented an elevation of four thousand 
 feet. But by winding along its front, and improving 
 every slope of less boldness, we at last gained the top. 
 Thanks to the roots of those shrubs for the pertinacity 
 with which they clung to the rocks : it w^as often our 
 only hope and safety. 
 
 I thought we had taken a final farewell of our 
 ponies, but their attendants forced them up. The 
 dexterity of both is incredible ; they seem to be 
 strangers to fatigue, and superior to any obstacles 
 wiiich nature, in her fiercest fit of defiance, may cast 
 in their way. We now picked our way along the 
 sharp ridge, with the Curral on our left, when the
 
 90 SHIP AND SHORE. 
 
 Serra d'Agoa, a ravine of equal depth, and perhaps 
 of more rugged magnificence, opened beneath us on 
 the right. A current of white clouds was pouring 
 down its opposite side, and so closely resembling a 
 foaming cataract, that the illusion for a few minutes 
 was entire. The lingering splendors of the setting 
 sun, the silence of the approaching twilight, and the 
 lono; shadows which beo;an to cast their dark forms 
 below, imparted a fearful interest and solemnity to 
 the scene. 
 
 I have stood by the plunging tide of Niagara, and 
 seen its mighty wave roll down into its abyss of agony 
 and thmider ; but there is not in all its fierceness and 
 crushing strength, that which fills the mind with such 
 a deep and mysterious awe as these hushed and 
 fathomless ravines. We could have lingered here 
 for hours, but the fading light warned us to go. "Woe 
 to the luckless wight who sings his Ave Maria on 
 that height ; it wiU. be his last vesper ; the dryads of 
 the untrodden chasm only will know the place of his 
 grave. 
 
 We descended without any serious accident, and 
 were happy in finding ourselves once more on a road 
 where we could mount our ponies. Our return, in 
 consequence of having crossed the Curral, was much 
 more circuitous than our route in the morning ; but 
 the picturesque novelty of the varying scenery, as it 
 opened upon us in the depths of the twilight horn', 
 more than reconciled us to the length of our way.
 
 BEAUTIES OF TWILIGHT. 
 
 91 
 
 The light that is shed here from an evening sky, lies 
 on the landscape in a rich mellow slumber. There is 
 a softness and liquid fulness about it, that makes you 
 think you can drink it as you would nectar. Were I 
 to tm'n idolater here, the objects of my worship would 
 be the genius that reigns in the awful Curral, the 
 spirit that breathes through the star-lit night, and the 
 beautiful being who dwells in sweetness and grief 
 within the veil of Santa Clara. 
 
 Hark to the bell in Clara's turret ringing, 
 Bidding the vestals for their rites prepare ; 
 
 When low before the white-robed altar kneeling, 
 Maria meekly breathes her vesper prayer ; 
 
 A prayer so full of holy, fervid feeling. 
 She seems a sainted spirit, lighted there 
 
 To pray, — giving to this one spot of earth 
 
 The heavenly charm that hovered round its birth.
 
 93 SHIP AND SHORE. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Oh, there is something in this stirring hour, 
 Just as the sun is circling from the sea, 
 
 Which has, if any thing can have, the power 
 To make men feel that it were good to be 
 
 Like Him whose smiles, descending in a shower, 
 Now wake the living world to ecstasy I 
 
 Tet many rise, as they lie down at even — 
 
 Without one thought of either God or Heaven. 
 
 SKETCHES OF MADEIRA PHYSICAL FEATURES WINES — CLIMATE CrTY OF 
 
 rUXOHAL PRIESTS SOCIETY MORALS PEASANTRY MERCHANTS 
 
 POLITICAL OPINIONS HABITS OF THE LADIES COUKTSHIPS OUR PART- 
 ING AND FAREWELL. 
 
 The island of Madeira is full of marvel and ro- 
 mance. It was thrown up into this breathing world 
 by some volcanic convulsion ; it was discovered by a 
 wandering love-adventure ; its every aspect is one of 
 wildness and beauty ; and its wines prompt the most 
 rich and unearthly dreams. There is nothing about 
 it that has the smallest cast of sameness, except its 
 climate ; and that could hardly be improved by any 
 chano-es wider than the slio-lit vibrations throusrh 
 
 (D O O 
 
 which it passes, and which are fall of softness and 
 vitality. It is indeed a fairy land, — the paradise of 
 the Atlantic, — the gem of the ocean. But I will look
 
 wnSTES OF MADEIRA. 93 
 
 at some of the more marked and discriminating fea- 
 tures of this singular island. 
 
 Its southern coast descends in easy and green de- 
 clivities to the sea. These warm slopes are covered 
 with the choicest vineyards ; the vine seems to reel 
 under its purple burden. Where the ascent is so 
 steep as to render it necessary, it is thrown off into 
 parapets, which may be seen rising above each other 
 in a lengthened series. So precious is this southern 
 exposure, that where there is no native soil, the rock 
 is covered with earth brought from a distance with 
 great labor and expense. The wines of these vine- 
 yards, for richness of body, deliciousness of flavor, 
 and immunity from injury by time and indifferent 
 treatment, are not equalled in the world. Who has 
 not seen the hospitable host half in a rapture, as he 
 bade his delighted guests fill their glasses from a 
 little of the " old south side" left him by some worthy 
 ancestor ? But " who hath redness of eyes ? — they 
 that tarry long at the wine." 
 
 The northern shore of the island rises from the 
 wave in a bold, elevated range of rock ; but what it 
 gains in majesty it loses in other respects. The vine 
 is inferior to its sister of the south ; and, as if to pun- 
 ish it for its want of sweetness, instead of being sup- 
 ported by fine trellis-work of cane, it is left to climb 
 up some bramble or reluctant tree, as it can ; and 
 then, after all its best efforts, is still more deeply pun- 
 ished by being worked up into brandy. Sometimes,
 
 0-i SHIP AND SHORE. 
 
 indeed, it has the good fortune to be removed in its 
 infancy to the south side ; and then it never fails to 
 secure affection and esteem. 
 
 The centre of the island has the Curral and the 
 magnificent heights which surround it, and which are 
 filled with gushing fountains that send their laughing 
 waters in every direction to the shore. Every cliff, 
 and chasm, and cascade, has around it the deep 
 shadows of some indigenous wood, — the mystery of 
 some romantic legend, — the despair of a lover's leap, 
 — or the yielding affections of beauty, flying from the 
 stern mandates of parentah authority. 
 
 The climate is one of unvarying mildness and sa- 
 lubrity : it is a continual spring with its fruits, and 
 flowers, and fragrant breath. This uniformity of 
 temperature is one of its most charming features : 
 you are never oppressed with heat ; never pinched 
 up with cold. The thermometer usually ranges 
 from sixty to seventy-five degrees ; and in the great- 
 est extremes, rarely rises or sinks more than five 
 degrees above or below that agreeable medium. 
 This place is a favorite resort for invalids, especially 
 those afflicted with pulmonary comj)laints. You 
 meet with them from the most distant climes. The 
 atmosphere has a peculiar elasticity and softness ; 
 it flows through the delicate lungs with a soothing, 
 healing influence. 
 
 The patient fears no attack from any diseases 
 foreign to his own malady ; for a malignant fever or
 
 QUINTAS OF FUNCHAL. 95 
 
 fatal epidemic is not known here. And so entirely 
 has nature intended the place as one of harmlessness 
 as well as health, that she has excluded from it 
 every description of venomous reptiles and insects ; 
 even the musqueto has never been able to obtain a 
 citizenship. Whether it be owing to natural causes 
 or not, I cannot say ; but during the time that I 
 have been at this island, I have never once heard a 
 child cry. The little nestler appears to be so well 
 satisfied with the new world in which he has arrived, 
 that he troubles no one with the fretful calls of any 
 ungratified want. Who would not ventm-e to get 
 mamed at Madeira ? 
 
 Funchal is the princij^al town of the island ; it is 
 delightfully situated on the south side, and contains 
 a population of about twenty thousand. The streets 
 are very narrow, and ascending as they lead fi'om the 
 shore ; but they are remarkably clean ; and a refresh- 
 ing air is given to them by a little runnel of water 
 that courses down the centime. The buildings are 
 generally of two stories ; many of them have iron 
 balconies at the windows, and a belvedere or tmTet, 
 which is a favorite resort in the evening. 
 
 Some of the wealthier class, especially the English 
 merchants, have Quintas — beautiful summer resi- 
 dences — in the vicinity of the town. Around these 
 fresh reti'eats the vine, shrubbery, and flora of the 
 island, aj)pear to the highest advantage. The grape, 
 with its creeping tendrils and exuberant foliage, shad-
 
 96 SHIP AND snoEE. 
 
 ows the cool corridor ; the geranium and fussia rise 
 in a firm aromatic wall ; while a vast variety of flow- 
 ers bloom in their tasteful arrangements : many of 
 them are sweet exotics, but they seem here not to 
 pine for their native skies. 
 
 Among the natives there is very little of that free, 
 social intercourse, which constitutes so prominent 
 and pleasing a feature of society with us. This re- 
 serve is owing in part to a wider distinction of classes, 
 but more to a useless jealousy. The husband has little 
 confidence in the fidelity of his soft companion, and 
 the good lady has just as little in the virtuous educa- 
 tion of her daughters, and the Argus-eyed vigilance 
 of both is frequently eluded. In the annual returns 
 of births in the parish of the cathedral, the number 
 of children espostos, que ndo se sabe quern sdo seu^ 
 pays^ generally equals that of those born ds legitimo 
 matrimonio. 
 
 This laxness of morals will always be found where 
 a blind indiscriminate jealousy is substituted for the 
 restraints of an enlightened conscience and a high 
 tone of public sentiment. If a parent wishes to keep 
 himself and the members of his household in the 
 paths of virtuous peace and happiness, he should in- 
 troduce among them the Bible, and bind upon the 
 heart the sj)irit of its sanctions : this will do a thou- 
 sand times more to aid his better purposes, than all the 
 bolts, and bars, and sleepless suspicions that ever yet 
 embarrassed the wandering or punished the guilty.
 
 itOEAJLS A2sD POLITICS. 97 
 
 Yet it is astonishing what a degree of composure 
 the domestic relations maintain here, notwithstanding 
 this frequent profanation of their shrine. It can be 
 explained only on the supposition of a want of inno- 
 cence to cast the first stone. Nothing so disarms the 
 injured and incensed, as a consciousness that he is 
 giiilty himself of the very crime which he would ex- 
 pose and punish in others. 
 
 The man who requires fidelity and purity at home, 
 must not carry treason and contamination abroad. If 
 he breaks within the sanctuary of his neighbor, it is 
 but a just retribution that his own hearth should be 
 profaned. If he wanders in search of forbidden 
 pleasures, he must not expect even his own children 
 to escape the contagion of his example. The censor 
 should be immaculate of the crime which he con- 
 demns in the culprit. 
 
 The more influential and better-informed portion of 
 the population of Madeira, are in favor of a govern- 
 ment based on liberal principles. They utterly loathe 
 the miserable despotism to which they are now forced 
 to submit. They do not speak out, but there is deep 
 thunder ready to rend the cloud. That the present 
 state of things must soon change, no one who has 
 any knowledge on the subject, can doubt. It is not 
 in human nature long to endure such wrongs mi re- 
 dressed. "Whether the condition of the people will be 
 improved by the success of those who have espoused 
 the cause of Anna Maria remains to be shown ; but 
 
 5
 
 98 SHIP AND SHOKE. 
 
 one thing is very clear, it can hardly be rendered 
 more deplorable. 
 
 A revolution would have taken place before this, 
 but for the unaccountable influence of the clergy 
 over the lower orders. These men of sables, I regret 
 to say, appear to have forgotten their high and holy 
 calling ; for, instead of being interested in multij)ly- 
 ing the sources of intelligence and sacred influences, 
 they seem to be engaged in suppressing inquiry, and 
 stifling the breaking light of the age. They sym- 
 pathize with every movement that casts a new weight 
 upon the drooping energies of human nature. There 
 was a great exultation among them when it was an- 
 nounced here, a few days since, that the administra- 
 tion of Earl Grey had been overthrown, and that the 
 Wellington party, with its high-toned aristocratic 
 sentiments, had been installed upon its ruins. The 
 aged bishop, in the plenitude of his thankfulness, 
 crept up the stone steps of the cathedral three times, 
 at the dead of night, upon the naked knee. But his 
 hopes were blasted in the bud ; Grey was soon re- 
 called, and the Reform Bill passed in triumph. So 
 perish the ho23es of all who seek to trammel the 
 public mind. 
 
 The condition of the peasantry is not one of such 
 unrelieved wretchedness as its external form would 
 intimate. Who would suj^pose that the comfort, in- 
 separable from the smallest portion of happiness, 
 could be found in a cabin without a floor, or window.
 
 DRESS OF THE PEASAITTEY, 99 
 
 or chimney, and where the only edibles seen are the 
 yam, the pumpkin, the batata, and a fish over which 
 even the gull might hesitate ? Yet I found in these 
 very cabins, a kindness, contentment, and cheerful- 
 ness, to which the abodes of refinement and luxury 
 are often strangei-s. Yet this smiling contentment 
 was not of that animal sort which consists in an in- 
 sensibility to its condition ; through all the shades of 
 its deprivations there was a quick intelligence, and a 
 hope of better days, as irrepressible as the mountain 
 wind. 
 
 The peasants are a healthy, muscular, and active 
 class of people. The dress with the men consists of 
 a conical cap thrown on the top of the head, a coarse 
 linen shirt with an extremely narrow collar and flow- 
 ing sleeve, and which is confined, just above the hip, 
 by the band of a pair of loose kilts of the same ma- 
 terial, which in their turn descend to the knee, and 
 are there gathered and confined, while a short boot, 
 leaving a part of the leg bare, completes the costume. 
 The women wear a similar cap, with short petticoats, 
 and a pelerine which protects the ample chest and 
 firm-set shoulders, and is fastened behind. Such a 
 dress has one thing to recommend it at least, it leaves 
 nature free in the discharge of her noble functions ; 
 there is no narrowing, pinching, tortunng whalebone, 
 or constricting cordage about it — inventions which 
 death has introduced to flatter the fancy and fill the 
 grave.
 
 100 SHIP AND SHOEE. 
 
 The English ladies at Madeira form a small, but 
 intelligent and attractive circle. He mild climate 
 appears to soften down those more sanguine traits of 
 character, to which the daughters of Albion are a 
 little prone, and which are slightly at variance with 
 a perfect delicacy and sweetness of disposition. I 
 observed similar effects of climate, upon the same 
 polished class, in the island of Santa Cruz. The cli- 
 mate of England wants that softness which breathes 
 such a mellowed harmony through the spirit of the 
 fair Madeiran. It is this melody of soul which im- 
 parts such a tranquil and exquisite beauty to the 
 countenance of the gentle inmate of Santa Clara. 
 As I saw this peerless one conversing with the sister 
 of her heart, in her early visit, it appeared like the 
 meeting of two light clouds, without an element to 
 disturb the amalgamating flow. 
 
 A Madeiran lady seldom walks, and very rarely 
 rides except in her palankeen. This is a sort of 
 swinging cradle, suspended from a slight pole, and 
 borne upon the shoulders of two men, and is so closely 
 inclosed by curtains, as entirely to secure the fair 
 occupant from observation, save now and then when 
 her small hand feigns to adjust the drapery, or her 
 flashing eye finds some intended aperture, through 
 which it can exchange the exulting glance. In this 
 mode she goes to mass, and makes morning calls, 
 and sometimes steals a look at one whom she may 
 not yet openly encounter.
 
 MADEIEAJSr COURTSHIPS. 101 
 
 But the matrimonial preliminaries are generally 
 conducted in a quite different form. The gentleman 
 passes in front of the lady's house, with a frequency 
 which cannot escape her notice : if she is pleased 
 with her out-door visitor, she manifests her interest 
 by appearing at the window of the upper story. As 
 his attentions are continued, and her complacency 
 increased, she gradually descends from one loft to 
 another, until she reaches the window of her parlor ; 
 from this she casts him some flowers, significant of 
 her pleasm-e. At length she permits him to pay her 
 the passing compliment of the morning, while she 
 returns him some word or broken sentence of mystical 
 and magical import ; but she never permits him to 
 come in, until he has obtained the consent of her 
 parents — and then not to address her a few months 
 and run away — but to marry her ; and his request 
 and their consent are regarded as a bona fide contract, 
 which neither party can violate without dishonor. 
 
 There is something in this mode of approximation 
 and union that I like. It has none of that long, feel- 
 ing, sounding, experimental process about it, which 
 obtains in our country, and which too frequently ends 
 only in the disappointment and mortification of one 
 of the parties, — unless, as is sometimes the case, the 
 farce has a still more tragical close, in a blighted 
 name, or a broken heart. Ladies, who have usually 
 the most to apprehend from these unmeaning pas- 
 times, should be careful how they set the example of
 
 102 SHIP AKD SHORE. 
 
 a trifling disingenuousness, for if they are honest and 
 sincere, the men will not dare to play the hypocrite. 
 I^othing is more calculated to make a gentleman 
 honest, than the presence of an honest lady. 
 
 I leave Madeira with regret. I could never he 
 wearied with its climate, its scenery, and society. 
 The pleasm'es of our visit here have been much en- 
 hanced by the polite attentions of our vice-consul, 
 Mr. Perrigal. Though under no obligations to be 
 peculiarly civil, yet his time, his well-furnished table, 
 and ample mansion were proffered to us in that cor- 
 dial, unceremonious manner, which makes acceptance 
 easy, and leaves one at liberty to come and go at 
 pleasm-e. It was a true specimen of the politeness 
 and hos]3itality which- adorned the olden times, and 
 which may be met with occasionally in these later 
 days. ITo one can enjoy such favors, especially in a 
 strange land, without cherishing, what I know we do 
 on the present occasion, the liveliest sentiments of 
 gratitude and esteem. We shall look back to the 
 hospitality of this shore, as the pilgrim to the spark- 
 ling waters of the desert spring. 
 
 But om^ anchor is up — our sails are unfurled — the 
 si^ringing breeze comes fast — and we must bid adieu 
 to Madeira and Maria. Farewell, thou wild and 
 beautiful isle ! — nothing lovelier than thee ever rose 
 from the ocean, or possessed a more captivating claim 
 to the first smile of the morning star. Farewell, 
 Maria ! — the veil never shadowed a sweeter counte-
 
 ADIEU TO MADEIRA AJSTD MAEIA. 103 
 
 nance, nor hath convent-wall imprisoned a purer heart 
 than thine ! May thy footsteps soon be unconfined 
 as thy spirit ; but whether free and bright, or chained 
 and moui-nful, be the lot of thy coming years, thou 
 wilt long be remembered by those who never met 
 thee but "with increased fondness, and now leave thee 
 with lingering affection and grief ! 
 
 Farewell ! — and should we meet no more, 
 
 Except in memory's dream ; 
 Yet sweet the visions that restore 
 
 The semblance thou dost seem. 
 
 Adieu ! — the last that thou wilt hear 
 
 From him that knows thy worth too. well — 
 
 To stifle one relenting tear, 
 
 That mingles in this last — farewell !
 
 104 SHIP AJS^D SHOEE, 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 In Portugal, Don Miguel holds the throne, 
 In spite of Pedro and his lovely daughter ; 
 
 John Bull aifects to think the girl hath shown 
 The clearer title, and will whelm in slaughter 
 
 Her Uncle's forces, if the Miss, when crowned, 
 
 Will pay for every sailor shot and drowned. 
 
 PASSAGE FROM MADEIRA TO LISBON SEA-SICKNESS AS A PURGATORIAL 
 
 STATE — SITUATION OF A MEMBER OF CONGRESS AND OFFICER OF THE 
 
 NAVY COMPARED ROCK OF LISBON PILOT TAGUS — CHEERING 
 
 ROCKETS — DON MIGUEL CITY OF LISBON — CABRIOLETS POSTILLION 
 
 4 
 
 — MADAM Julia's hotel — a partisan merchant — alcantra aque- 
 duct church of ST. ROQUE — MOSAICS QUEEN MARIA FIRST 
 
 CHURCH OF ST. DOMINGO STATUE OF KING JOSEPH THE EARTH- 
 QUAKE INQUISITION. 
 
 I HOPED, when we had reached Madeira, and quite 
 crossed the Athmtic, that the horrors of sea-sickness 
 were over, at least, for this cruise ; but this persecu- 
 ting plague of the ocean has come again, foul and 
 ghastly as Milton's personification of sin at the portals 
 of the lower world. A heavy head-sea is heaving 
 against our bows the mass of its violent strength ; 
 while our ship shakes through her sides, like a whale 
 in the convulsions of death. 
 
 This frightful paroxysm, were it all, might be en- 
 dured ; but then to be yourself sickened beyond all 
 the powers of the most nauseating drugs — to heave
 
 PANGS OF SEA-SICKNESS. 105 
 
 up, in wrenching throes, your very vitals, from their 
 bleeding roots — to be battled, and bruised, and tum- 
 bled about, as a loathsome thing, which even the sea 
 would spurn from its presence, and almost deny a 
 grave — this is enough to torture and disgust one out 
 of life. I wonder not that the sea-sick, sometimes, 
 while the power of motion remains, roll overboard, 
 and bury themselves before their time ; for if suicide 
 be ever without guilt, it is where the poor wretch has 
 every thing of death but its insensibility. 
 
 It is astonishing to me that the ancients, whose 
 imaginations were so prolific of woe, never intro- 
 duced, among their Tartarean torments, the horrors 
 of sea-sickness. For what is the plight of a wander- 
 ing ghost, or the thirst of a Tantalus, or the recoiling 
 task of Sisyphus, or even the inexorable wheel of 
 Ixion, compared with the condition of one who is for- 
 ever straining and retching to heave up from his in- 
 most being, a rankling, broiling, clinging nest of tor- 
 tm'e — and in his agony, and faintness, and swimming 
 delirium, calling in vain on death for relief! If I 
 ever construct the machinery of a purgatorial state, I 
 will place, in the very centre of its horrors, a rolling 
 deck, strewn with the ghastly victims of sea-sick- 
 ness ; for the man must be lost to reason who could 
 think of long endm-ing such a retribution for all the 
 pride, and pomp, and gratification which float be- 
 tween the cradle and the gravp. 
 
 I wish those members of Congress who think the 
 
 5*
 
 106 SHIP AND SHOKE. 
 
 officers of the navy sufficiently compensated for their 
 hardships and sufferings, would just take one voyage 
 to sea. It is an easy thing for a man to rock on to 
 Washington, getting fifty cents a mile for his smooth 
 circuitous passage, — to take there a snug room, with 
 its cheerful fire, easy chair, and sofa, — to retire to 
 rest at what hour he pleases, without even a mouse to 
 disturb his repose, — to rise sometime along in the 
 morning, and, in gown and sli23pers, sip a bowl of 
 coffee covered with rich cream, — to ride up to the 
 Capitol at eleven o'clock, and take his arm-chair, in a 
 hall warmed to a mild and congenial temperature, — 
 to open his mail, and peruse a sweet letter from his 
 affectionate wife ; then unfold a newspaper and read 
 the compliments of its editor on his last speech, — to 
 ambulate in the lobby and talk over a little politics, 
 while some younker is addressing the House about 
 the comj)lexion of the inhabitants of the moon, — to 
 ride home to his quarters and dine on viands and 
 vegetables, warm and rich, with a bottle of old wine 
 to mellow them down, — to take a quiet siesta, and in 
 the evening go to the drawing-room and exchange 
 smiles with the ladies, — and, when the session is 
 over, to draw eight dollars a day for services thus 
 rendered the country ! 
 
 All this is very easy, — very comfortable, — quite a 
 desirable condition, — and I would not disturb its 
 sweetness and serenity by one unnecessary care. 
 But suppose this individual exchange situations with
 
 JOYS OF NAVAL LIFE. 107 
 
 one of us, and ascertain what om* amply compensa- 
 ted life of gayetj and romance really is. Before he 
 di'eams of it, he is ordered off to sea, so peremptorily 
 that even a new-married wife, or one that is dying, 
 cannot plead him off an hour. He hastens on board 
 his ship, looks back from the hm'rying wave to his 
 native shore, perhaps for the last time, — begins to 
 feel the deck of his vessel spinning around him, and 
 then enters on the agonies of sea-sickness, — lifts his 
 faint and di'ooping head from this rack of straining 
 tortm'e, and hears a thunder-gale roaring through his 
 shrouds like the summons of the last trump, — di'aws 
 his nerveless form upon deck, and sees the tattered 
 fragments of a top-sail fluttering on the distant wind, 
 or a broken spar scudding away from his ship, like a 
 thief from the gallows : — through night, and tempest, 
 and torrents from the clouds, he must ever keep his 
 regular watch, and feel in all his weariness and ex- 
 haustion that the safety of the shij), and the preserva- 
 tion of the lives on board, are at issue upon the wis- 
 dom and vigor of his conduct. 
 
 He is thirsty, — calls for a cup of water, — strains a 
 liquid through his teeth, which has the name of that 
 pure element, but which ropes away from his parch- 
 ing lips, — he is faint, requu-es sustenance, and thinks 
 of a bowl of milk, so soothing and innocent, but it is 
 far off in some farmer's dairy, — he thinks of fruit and 
 vegetables, those fresh things of earth, which seen 
 through a sea atmosphere, appear still more fresh and
 
 108 SHIP AND SHOEE. 
 
 tempting, but they too are far away in some market 
 which he may never see again, — and so he sits down 
 with a dry crust, and hacks away at a piece of salt 
 junk, at which a shark, in any remarkable degree 
 fastidious, would turn up his nose and pass on. 
 
 While cruising around in chase of pirates, he falls 
 in with a vessel just from his own country, and boards 
 her with the eager expectation of finding letters from 
 home, but he finds only a newspaper or two, contain- 
 ing a brief notice of the death of some esteemed 
 friend or relative, and the remarks of some members 
 of Cono-ress on the romance of his life and the 
 prodigality of his pay. At length, from some less 
 healthy clime, he enters a salubrious port, but is put 
 under a quarantine of forty days, and cannot even 
 get a note to the town, without having it first steeped 
 in fire and brimstone. This is intolerable, — he weighs 
 anchor, puts to sea, and in his cruise reaches another 
 port, and enters ; but the yellow fever or cholera 
 enters his ship. It is now too late to fly, and death 
 to remain. Through the wearisome night, he can 
 hear only the moaning of the sick, and the passage of 
 the dead over his ship's side, — the fatal symptoms 
 are upon him, — he orders his colfin to be made, — 
 dictates a brief letter to his wife, — bids his messmates 
 adieu, — and dies ! 
 
 If there be romance in such a life as this, it is not 
 that kind of romance which takes one away from the 
 toils and troubles of a real world, into a fairy region
 
 KOCK OF LISBON. 109 
 
 of perpetual smile and simshine ; and if there be a 
 prodigal compensation allowed to such a life, it is not 
 that prodigality of reward which enables one to pro- 
 vide for the wants of his widow and orphans. The 
 testament of an officer in the navy, who has no means 
 of accumulation except his pay, has usually as little 
 gold at its disposal as the last article in the will of a 
 Palestine pilgrim. He can bequeath his good name 
 — the memory of his virtues — and it is only to be 
 regretted, that these cannot contain the essential ele- 
 ments of life. 
 
 Ye that are on land, leave not the safe, substantial 
 earth ; and when the pitiless storm raves around your 
 snug dwelling, turn a thought to the poor sailor, tost 
 on this howling waste, with only a plank between 
 him and eternity ; and in your evening devotions, 
 commend him to the protection of that Being who 
 " rides on the tempest and directs the storm," and 
 who can say to the chainless ocean, " Hitherto shalt 
 thou come, and no further, and here shall thy proud 
 waves be staid." 
 
 It was past mid-day when the rock of Lisbon broke 
 from a mass of clouds that hung densely over our 
 larboard-bow. There was nothing remarkably bold 
 or towering in the aspect of this rock, and yet to me 
 it was full of thrilling interest. It was my first glance 
 of Europe, — the first object seen in that old world, 
 whose nations had risen to power and splendor, and 
 gone down to their mighty sepulchres, while America
 
 110 SHIP AND SHOKE. 
 
 was yet a stranger to the map of tlie globe, and be- 
 fore it had even floated on the dream of a conjec- 
 tm'ino; Columbus. 
 
 Owing to the faintness of the breeze, it was several 
 hours before we could require or obtain a pilot. A 
 signal-gmi at length brought one on board ; but he 
 was a meager, narrow, and ghastly looking fellow ; if 
 old Charon be dead, he should be his successor ; for 
 he would appear much more appropriately occupied 
 in ferrjang the dead, than piloting the living. He 
 at first refused to take us in that evening, declaring 
 the night too near at hand, and the wind* from 
 the wrong point of the compass ; but threw out a 
 blunt hint, as he passed below, that a glass of brandy 
 would enable him to overcome these obstacles. 
 
 Thus braced and conciliated, he retm'ned to the 
 deck, ordered sail to be made, and manifested the 
 craft of his profession by an aifected escape of dif- 
 ficulties which never existed, and an exhibition of 
 knowledge for which there was no possible demand. 
 
 Moving up the Tagus, we found the U. S. sloop-of- 
 war John Adams, commanded by Capt. Storer, lying 
 at anchor, in quarantine. The crew, as we passed, 
 gave us a hearty cheer, — a welcome which our tars 
 cordially returned. We came to anchor oj)posite the 
 royal j)alace Ajuda, about two miles below the town. 
 
 The Tagus is a noble river, deep and broad, and 
 its wave has that rich yellow tinge, which has made 
 poets sing of it, as ever " rolling its golden sand."
 
 SUBURBS OF LISBON. Ill 
 
 The heights on tlie right bank, as you look up the 
 stream, are broken into conical hills, and covered 
 with a profusion of quintas and villages ; on the left 
 stands Lisbon, coming down with its white dwellings, 
 churches, and convents, on an easy sweep, to the 
 lapping waters. 
 
 Aromid the quay shot up a forest of masts bearing 
 the flags of different nations ; while a little more re- 
 mote, reposed at this time three ships of the line and 
 two frigates, under the " proud ensign of Britannia ;" 
 nearer to us lay two frigates, bearing the tri-colored 
 banner of chivalric France ; and two ships of the 
 same class, with the white field and central crown of 
 the Eng of Portugal ; while the light feluccas of the 
 natives were in all dii-ections cutting the broad 
 stream. 
 
 As the shadows of evening deepened over us, the 
 frequent rocket was seen darting through its pathway 
 of flame, and now and then a long, loud cheer came 
 floating on the wind. These demonstrations of pleas- 
 m-e were in honor of our arrival, and conveyed a 
 compliment equally unusual and unexpected. It 
 seems we are in great favor with the multitude, who 
 threw up their caps for Don Miguel ; this is in con- 
 sequence of having so early recognized their king, 
 but our acknowledgments of this kind, if rightly 
 understood, would go but little way in establishing a 
 man's title to the crown. We never sift the question 
 of right, but give in om- diplomatic adhesion to what-
 
 112 SHIP AND SHORE. 
 
 ever may be on the throne, whether it may be Don 
 Miguel or the devil. This is undoubtedly om' true 
 policy ; for if we, with our republican education, 
 were to attempt to settle the question of legitimacy, 
 we should soon find ourselves in the predicament of 
 the school-boy, who attempted to solve a problem by 
 the rule of three, without having first made himself 
 familiar with the simple rules of multiplication and 
 division. 
 
 ITo one left the ship last evening. This morning, 
 at an early hour, Mr, C, and myself landed down the 
 stream, at Belem Castle — an old, feebly mounted for- 
 tress, and took a cabriolet for Lisbon. Every thing 
 around convinced us at once that we were in a foreign 
 land, and among a people where the march of im- 
 provement had long been pausing. The vehicle in 
 which we were trundled along was one of those rude 
 contrivances which might be classed among the first 
 triumphs of civilization. It was a clumsy affair, 
 moving on two heavy wheels, with a massive body, 
 hanging stiffly down to the creaking axle, and a 
 ponderous top, supported by rough iron stanchions, 
 with a window on each side, and a thick movable 
 leather curtain in front. It was drawn by two old 
 worn-out horses, moving abreast ; one in the long 
 beamy thills, the other outside, mounted by a postil- 
 lion, whose appearance was quite in keeping with his 
 charge. 
 
 His large dingy hat was cocked up closely over
 
 BUENOS ATRES. 113 
 
 each ear — ^his straight, pendulous cue hung far down 
 his shoulders — his coat was pinched and high in the 
 waist, while its little narrow iiaps struggled hard to 
 reach the stern of his saddle ; and his japanned boots, 
 armed with a pair of enormous spurs, mounted so 
 high up the lank leg as to let the knee well into the 
 gaping top. His whip, which made np for the brevity 
 of its stock in the length of its lash, he ever cracked 
 ahead of his animals ; and on such an occasion, he 
 usually cocked his eye around to us, with that pe- 
 culiar look in which one expresses his sense of the 
 dignity and importance of his occupation. 
 
 On our asking him, if these were the only vehicles 
 used here, he replied, with rather an offended air, 
 " It is the only one in which a gentleman rides," and 
 then gave his whip another crack far ahead. So, 
 beinar satisfied our establishment was not as ridicu- 
 lous in the eyes of others as our own, we moved on. 
 Passing through a long series of narrow, dirty streets, 
 with here and 'there a huge convent towering above 
 the visible poverty below, we reached Buenos Ayres, 
 a suburb of Lisbon, possessing some claims to neat- 
 ness and comfort. 
 
 We here called on our Charge d'Affairs, Mr. Brent, 
 whose long and successful services have given him 
 an eminent -station in the confidence of his country. 
 He is almost the only diplomatic agent who has not 
 been displaced by the spirit of change that has of 
 late fallen upon our public counsels. Having de-
 
 114 SHIP AND SHORE. 
 
 livered the dispatches of our government, and made 
 a few inquiries respecting the political features of 
 Portugal, we took leave, and jogged along into the 
 city, meeting in almost every street an armed patrol, 
 who were universally civil on detecting our American 
 uniform. 
 
 Om* next call was on our Consul, or rather his 
 agent — the Consul himself being " absent at Paris. 
 Among other inquiries, we made one for the most 
 convenient and respectable hotel ; and were recom- 
 mended to Madam Julia's, as possessing by far the 
 highest claims. So, dismissing our knight of the 
 cabriolet, we walked on in search of Madam Julia's 
 hotel, the Dutch characteristics of which we soon 
 discovered in the antic tricks of two monkeys, and 
 the incessant prattle of a parrot, upon its porch. We 
 found our hostess a thick-set, dumpy, Dutch woman, 
 with a broad, red face, and a tongue equally voluble 
 in a vast many languages. She assured me, within 
 ten minutes after crossing her threshold, that she 
 could speak the dead languages as well as the living. 
 
 I felt no disposition to test her laiowledge of Latin 
 and Greek, for I was already overwhelmed with her 
 torrent of broken English. I told her we would 
 thank her for our dinners soon as practicable ; but 
 before I had finished my brief request, she broke in, 
 by asking if I could speak the Hebrew — " that first 
 great language of all the world." I replied by re- 
 questing our dinner, as we were in haste. She sug-
 
 IVIEAGEE DINNEE. 115 
 
 gestecl that I might, perhaps, speak the Arabic — 
 " that lano-uao-e in which Mahomet wrote the Koran, 
 — an excellent language, but a bad book." I insisted 
 on the dinner first, and a discussion of the relative 
 merits of the different languages afterwards. This 
 partially satisfied her, and she waddled off thi-ough 
 a large oaken door towards the kitchen. 
 
 In about an hour, which we lounged away upon a 
 huge sofa, covered with venerable dust, our dinner 
 was formally announced ; and though neither of us 
 ever had the character of being a gourmand, yet we 
 were a little vexed upon discovering on the table, in 
 meats, only a little poor boiled chicken ; in vegeta- 
 bles, only a plate of hard peas ; and in fruits, only 
 three or four sour oranges. But the time even occu- 
 pied in making away with these meager ti-ifles, was 
 evidently very long to Madam Julia, who was im- 
 patiently anticipating the classical discussion at its 
 close. iN'or could she wholly restrain herself till that 
 time ; but as we were picking some bone of the 
 chicken, or sucking the acidity from an orange, re- 
 marked upon its peculiarities in some strange, un- 
 known dialect. 
 
 On rising fi:-om the table, we asked for our bill. 
 " Did you say," returned om* hostess, " that the lan- 
 guages spoken now-a-days, are to be compared to 
 those spoken by the ancients V "We replied, " We 
 are now, madam, on our way to the very place where 
 the ancients lived, where we shall pick up all the
 
 116 SHIP AI^D SHORE. 
 
 little notions we can respecting them ; and upon our 
 return, should we call at Lisbon, will tell you all we 
 can gather about the matter, and in the mean, we 
 will thank you for our bill." "My charge," she 
 murmured, " is six dollars ; Lord G. has lately been 
 paying me two guineas a day for my table and some 
 instructions in the languages." We handed her the 
 moderate sum demanded, and bade her good-bye, 
 while she followed us quite out the door, requesting 
 us not to forget the literary hotel of Madam Julia. 
 
 The next place at which we called, was the store 
 of a Portuguese merchant, where we inquired for a 
 few ready articles ; but before they were handed 
 down, the keeper drawing close to us whispered in 
 our ear, " Can you tell me any thing about the move- 
 ments of Don Pedro ?" We replied, " At our last 
 advices, he was about embarking from St. Michel's 
 with his collected forces." " And how strong does 
 he number?" he whispered again. "VYe told him, 
 " From our best information, about seven or eight 
 thousand." His countenance brightened. " And how 
 long do you think before he will reach here?" he 
 continued to whisper. "We observed, " The wind is 
 now very fresh and fair, and for matter of that, he 
 may be here in a few days." " And have you come 
 to aid Miguel?" he inquired earnestly. "No, that 
 is no part of our business here." He grasped us by 
 the hand, and expressed in his look a satisfaction, 
 which language could not convey. "We asked him,
 
 EFFECTS OF DESPOTISM. 117 
 
 " How stand the political parties in Lisbon ?" He at 
 first clapped his fiiiger on his lip, and after a pause, 
 breathed half audibly, " Very well for Pedro." We 
 inquired, " How are the more wealthy, intelligent, and 
 influential classes affected." He whispered mourn- 
 fully, " Those who have not been put to death, are in 
 banishment or the dungeon." 
 
 "We purchased our articles, and bade him adieu ; 
 congratulating ourselves that we were born in a land 
 where it is not ti-eason for a man to speak his politi- 
 cal sentiments. How miserable must be the condi- 
 tion of that country, where one man can tie up the 
 very breath of millions ! Freedom is the sacred birth- 
 right of man, and yet he is plundered of it by every 
 petty despot that can reach a throne ! 
 
 Mr. C, with myself, took a cabriolet this morning 
 ■to ride out and see a celebrated section of the Alcan- 
 tra acpieduct. Midshipman L. being present, we 
 pressed him to take a seat with us ; for these primeval 
 machines can easily accommodate three, especially of 
 our dimensions. This introduction of a third person 
 roused the indignation of the postillion ; he jumped 
 from his saddle, and lustily swore he would not stir 
 an inch. We remained firm in our seats, waiting for 
 his choler to subside. After half an hour or so, he 
 grumly remounted and moved off in a slow walk ; 
 but even this was not gained till he had been severely 
 rebuked by one of the police, and we had promised 
 an additional compensation.
 
 118 SHIP AND SHORE. 
 
 The pertinacions obstinacy of these men is incredi- 
 ble. Two of our officers sent the other morning from 
 Madam Julia's hotel for a cabriolet, and after wait- 
 ing an hour and a half without seeing any signs 
 of its coming, commenced their excm'sion on foot. 
 Soon after their departure the vehicle arrived. The 
 postillion was informed by the hostess that the gen- 
 tlemen, wearied out with waiting, had left, and would 
 not return till evening ; but he remained finii at the 
 door, declaring lie would not stir till he had been 
 j)aid for his services. Through the hot day he 
 lounged about his horses, knocking oif the flies, and 
 at dusk, when the officers returned, peremptorily de- 
 manded his hire for the day. 
 
 For the sake of peace, they offered him half the 
 price demanded, which he indignantly refused, and 
 remained at the door till ten at night. Early the 
 next morning he took his stand at the door again, 
 and now demanded full pay for his second day's 
 services. He remained there till noon, when, upon 
 Madam Julia's suggesting that as she sent for the 
 cabriolet she might be held responsible for its 
 charges, the affair was settled by paying the whole 
 price demanded. 
 
 To return to our team. Our sulky postillion would 
 not move out of a walk. "We threatened to leave 
 him, and take it on foot ; but it had no effect. I 
 menaced his head with a massive stone ; but he sat 
 on his saddle with the most fixed, imperturbable ob-
 
 AQUEDUCT OF ALCANTEA. 119 
 
 stinacy. I have no doubt lie would have been killed, 
 or "made desperate fight," sooner than put his horses 
 into a trot. 
 
 This is a fair specimen of the mulish obstinacy of 
 an offended Portuguese. When he can have his own 
 way, he is remarkably kind and conciliating; but 
 when thwarted, nothing can appease or coerce him. 
 He is ardent in love, and terrible in resentment. 
 Take him in a good humor, and you may coax him 
 out of his life ; but, offended with you, he would see 
 you sink to forty graves without stirring a hand for 
 your rescue. 
 
 "We at last reached the object of our curiosity, the 
 great aqueduct of Alcantra. It is truly a magnificent 
 work, stretching across a deep valley of three-quar- 
 ters of a mile, and sustained by thirty-five arches, the 
 centre one of which is two hundred and seventy feet 
 in height — the highest arch in the world. The aque- 
 duct itself has the appearance of a majestic, substan- 
 tial gallery, running along high in air, with its white 
 walls, open windows, close roof, and frequent turrets ; 
 while the water sweeps through it in two sparkling 
 currents, leaving a space between where three may 
 move abreast. To the outside of each wall is attached 
 another ample walk, defended by a balustrade, and 
 supported upon the lofty arches. 
 
 The stupendous character of this work would lead 
 one to suppose that the Portuguese, at the time of its 
 construction, must have been ignorant of the fii'st
 
 120 SHIP AND SHORE. 
 
 principles of hydraulics ; but this was not the case. 
 The J were perfectly aware that water will recover its 
 level, and that an aqueduct laid under the surface of 
 the ground, would answer every essential purpose of 
 one reposing on the most sublime sweep of arches. 
 But they must have something that will strike the 
 eye — something that will please the vanity of the 
 multitude — something lofty and monumental. I was 
 informed by a very intelligent gentleman, who has 
 long been a resident in Portugal, that if this nation 
 were now to construct an extended aqueduct, in- 
 stead of using simj)le pipes placed in the earth, they 
 would have it run from one height to another, 
 upon a magnificent range of arches. But a nation, 
 like an individual, will have its age, decrepitude, and 
 folly. 
 
 On our return, we stopped at the Church of St. 
 Roque, where we discharged our sulky postillion and 
 his concern with three dollars. We found a priest at 
 the porch ready to wait upon us. He conducted us 
 slowly up through a dense multitude kneeling in the 
 nave — for it was some saint's day — to a small chapel 
 dedicated to John the Baptist. The embellish- 
 ments of this sacred alcove, adorned by the treasury 
 of John Fifth, display a rich profusion of precious 
 marble, amethyst, porphyry, jasper, lapis-lazuli, and 
 verd-antique. But the objects of greatest interest 
 and admiration are three pictures, representing the 
 Annunciation, the Baptism, and the Pentecost, in ex-
 
 CHURCH OF QLTEEN MAEIA. 121 
 
 quisite mosaic. They have a softness and warmth of 
 coloring, a melting delicacy of tint and shade, which 
 I did not sujopose it possible for this kind of work, in 
 its highest perfection, to reach. Three huge candle- 
 sticks of solid silver stand in front of the jewelled al- 
 tar ; and it is astonishing that they have escaped be- 
 ing coined, in the present disasters and poverty of 
 Portugal. The rest of the church has nothing re- 
 markably attractive or imposing. Handing our priest 
 a crown for his politeness, we took our leave. 
 
 Our next resting-place was in the church of Cora- 
 cao de Jesus, built by Queen Maria First, in the 
 form of a cross, of small dimensions, and surmounted 
 by a dome. This crazy queen believed she had come 
 in actual possession of the heart of our Saviour ; and 
 reared this church as a monumental shrine' befitting 
 the last deposit of this precious trust. The pope dis- 
 countenanced this article in the creed of her religious 
 insanity ; but as he could not " minister to a mind 
 diseased," permitted her to indulge her fanatical 
 whims. It is not strange that in a church, where 
 every thing spiritual is materialized, and embodied, 
 and worshi2)ped, that these wild aberrations from 
 truth and reason should occur. It is a greater won- 
 der that heaven itself is not mapped in some quarter 
 of the globe, and laid down to feet and inches in 
 fixed lines. But pluck the beam from thine own 
 eye. 
 
 Our next call was at the chm-ch of St. Domingo, 
 
 6
 
 122 SHIP AND SHORE. 
 
 which, in architectural display, is perhaps the finest 
 in Lisbon. The walls with their marble pilasters, un- 
 broken by a gallery, and sweeping up to the lofty 
 ceiling, have an imposing effect. In the centre of 
 the nave is a representation of our Saviour fainting 
 under the cross. Of the many who came and went, 
 while we were there, most of them kneeled and kissed 
 the foot of this statue. The paintings over the altars 
 are some of them happily conceived, and executed 
 with a tolerable degree of taste. In this church the 
 royal family attend mass, which they do once a year, 
 on Corpus Christi day. Their piety cannot, there- 
 fore, be said to be of the most ostentatious kind ; 
 though the extensive orchestra is now being fitted up 
 for this jjnnual occasion. Kings and their subjects, 
 masters ajid slaves, find a common level in two 
 places — the foot of the cross, and the grave. 
 
 The next place at which we brought up, to use a 
 professional term, was the Placo de Commercio, in 
 the centre of which stands the equestrian statue of 
 King Joseph. The attitude of the statue is exces- 
 sively extravagant : it looks like ambition overleaping 
 itself; and the clumsy allegorical figures, grouped 
 around and beneath the feet of the horse, add to this 
 Hotspm* expression. I wonder an equestrian statue 
 cannot be tolerated, without having the fore-feet of 
 the charger raised as high as if he were attempting 
 to leap into the moon. Why not put him on his four 
 feet, where nature puts him. But if this will not do.
 
 THE EASTIIQUAKE. 123 
 
 let liiin paw the ground ; and if any thing more is 
 necessary to express his impetuosity, let him foam at 
 the impatient bit; but do not heave up his fore parts, 
 till you are in the painful apprehension that he will 
 land on his stern and crush his rider. This is not a 
 horse rushing into battle, or out of it ; nor is it one 
 lightly prancing in the gay tournament. 
 
 From this place we rambled to that section of the 
 city which was most disastrously visited by the earth- 
 quake. The remains of temples, palaces, and towers 
 still totter over the fatal spot; yet amid these ghastly 
 ruins, where every thing seems to portend disaster, 
 many an elegant dwelling has been reared, where 
 hearts are now gay over the graves of their fathers. 
 Perhaps it is a felicitous provision of our nature, that 
 we can feel secure and be happy, where others have 
 perished unwarned. The earth itself is but one vast 
 sepulchre ; every thing that regales the taste, or an- 
 imates the eye, springs from corruption. The very 
 breeze, that is music on our ear, has been loaded 
 with the groans of millions. We should recollect, in 
 our exulting pride, that we are not exempt from the 
 laws of mortality, or that gloomy forgetfulness which 
 hovers over the realms of death. Though we should 
 sink in the ingulfing shock of the earthquake, or the 
 burning flood of a volcano, yet thousands will live 
 and smile amid the frightful monuments of our ruin. 
 The sounds of merriment and revelry have gone up 
 for ages over the tombs of Herculaneum.
 
 124 SHIP AND SHORE. 
 
 Tlie catastrophe which destroyed the fairest j)ortion 
 of Lisbon, would have been less destructive of life, 
 had the population remained in their dwellings, or 
 fled to some more open places, instead of rushing 
 into their churches. These huge piles were the first 
 to fall, and the escape of a solitary individual could 
 have been little less than miraculous. If one is to 
 die, it may be desirable, perhaps, to undergo the 
 dread event within the sacred associations of the 
 sanctuary. But if one wishes to escape destruction, 
 in an hour when his own dwelling begins to heave to 
 and fro, it is the last refuge he should seek. Yet in 
 all Catholic countries, the first impulse is to get 
 within the pictured presence of a patron saint, or of 
 the blessed Virgin, as if these dependent beings had 
 the power to suspend the action of an earthquake. 
 
 Far be it from me to trifle with the sentiment 
 which expresses itself in this form ; ignorance, unless 
 it will be wilful, is not a crime. But the disaster 
 which befell this city, in all the ruin of its work, had 
 one alleviating feature, it sunk the Inquisition — that 
 upper hell of intolerant bigotry and fanatical ven- 
 geance ! Let a man's creed rest between his con- 
 science and his God. Give him all the lights of in- 
 formation in your power, but do not torture him into 
 a confession of your particular tenets. There are no 
 engines of belief in heaven, nor in the world of un- 
 told sorrows. The arch-apostate finds no redeeming 
 creed awaiting his burning signature. Compulsion
 
 LISBON HOTEL AND HOSTESS. 125 
 
 in a man's faith is like force in his will, they both 
 violate our most sacred rights ; and the assent which 
 they compel is as destitute of virtuous merit as the 
 yielding of one's purse to a robber. Such violence 
 will always in the end react on its source — the rob- 
 ber will be sent to the gallows, and the inquisitor to 
 the devil. 
 
 But enough of this rambling. "We called at Madam 
 Julia's at six o'clock, where we had bespoken a din- 
 ner, and sat down to a plate of pea-soup, a slice of 
 broiled veal, and a few poor oranges ; for which we 
 paid eight dollars. It was in vain to question the 
 equity of her bill, unless you were prepared to carry 
 on the dispute in aU the languages into which our 
 great mother tongue was split at the tower of Babel. 
 If it be wondered why we patronized Madam Julia 
 iu her barren table and exorbitant demands, the true 
 answer is, that there is not a respectable hotel in all 
 Lisbon. Hers, with its monkeys, parrot, and con- 
 fusion of countless dialects, is after all the most 
 decent. She followed us again quite out the door, 
 descanting on the profusions of her table, the beauty 
 of her parrot, and the freshness of the classics, and 
 enjoining it upon us not to forget her and her hotel. 
 
 Forget thee ? — dear woman ! — not till all the dead 
 languages have been forgotten, and the living have 
 ceased to be spoken! — not till a chicken that has 
 perished of inanition be nutritious as one fattened at 
 the tray ! — not till an orange, eaten up of its own
 
 12G SHIP AND SHORE. 
 
 acidity, be palatable as one with its sweet juices 
 gushing through its yellow rind! Forget thee? 
 never ! — 
 
 I'll think of thee, thy parrot, and hotel, 
 
 Whene'er I see a lank, voracious shark, 
 Darting about all day from swell to swell, 
 
 And missing everywhere his flying mark ; 
 Till — finding his last hope and effort fail — 
 He turns upon himself, and eats his tail. 
 
 I'll think of thee, thy parrot, and hotel, 
 
 Whene'er I see a starving crow half dead — 
 
 Rattling his bones, and willing now to sell 
 His very soul — if soul he had — for bread ; 
 
 And croaking his despair in every tongue 
 
 That grief or madness from the lip hath wrung ! 
 
 I'll think of thee, thy parrot, and hotel. 
 
 Whene'er I see a haggard miser die, — 
 Half feeing him who is to toll the bell. 
 
 And narrowing down the grave where he must lie; 
 Nor caring whether his departing knell 
 Follow his spirit's flight to heaven or hell !
 
 A VISIT TO CINTEA. 127 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Lo ! Cintra's glorious Eden intervenes 
 In variegated ma^e of mount and glen. 
 All me ! what hand can pencil guide, or pen, 
 To follow half on which the eye dilates, 
 Tlirough views more dazzling unto mortal ken 
 Than those whereof such things the bard relates, 
 Who to the awe-struck world unlocked Elysium's gates ? 
 
 Childe Haeold. 
 
 EXCtlESION' TO CISTRA — SCENERY — MARIALVA VILLA — PETEE's PRISOX 
 
 PENH A CONVENT ROYAL PALACE VISIT TO MAFRA CASTLE ITS EX- 
 TENT RICHNESS SINGULAR ORIGIN RETURN TO LISBON ITS STREETS 
 
 AND DOGS DON MIGUEL HABITS OF THE FEMALES FRIARS AND 
 
 MONKS — PERILS OF NIGHT-WALKING IMPOSITIONS ON STRANGERS A 
 
 BLIND MUSICIAN POLITICAL DISASTERS. 
 
 A PARTY of US left the ship this morning for Cintra, 
 that little paradise of Portugal. We chartered for 
 the occasion three cabriolets, provided with stout 
 mules, and four saddle-horses. Thus seated and 
 mounted, we left the city by the Alcantra suburbs, 
 and soon emerged into a country of an extremely 
 light soil, with here and there a conical hill, upon 
 which was posted one of Don Quixote's windmills. 
 It was not, after all, so strange that this valorous 
 kniirht should have wasred mortal combat with these 
 formidable things of earth and air, for they look 
 vastly more like brandishing giants than machines
 
 128 SHIP AND SHORE. 
 
 merely for grinding corn. I will defy any one to 
 look at them for the first time, throwing their strong 
 arms about in the mysteries of twilight, and not feel 
 for the hilt of his trusty blade. 
 
 And then, it should be remembered, that the Don 
 was just establishing his character for courage and 
 chivalrous devotion, and felt it incumbent on him to 
 attack every thing that came in so questionable 
 a shape. Let Don alone ; he was not so great a 
 fool as some of his self-styled betters would make 
 him ; he was a little on the extreme ; but one-half 
 the fighting in the world hath a less show of reason 
 in it. 
 
 "On our way we passed Queluz, one of the royal 
 palaces, standing near the road, with extensive and 
 cool gardens in the rear. The building itself is long, 
 low, and without any architectural pretensions. A 
 number of troops were paraded in front, who showed, 
 in the promptitude and crankness of their movements, 
 that they were defending the person of their king. 
 A soldier guarding a monarch, and a boy in charge 
 of a baboon, are always full of pomp and circum- 
 stance. 
 
 A few miles further brought us to a wine and bread 
 shop, where our postillions brought suddenly up, de- 
 claring it impossible for man or beast to go further 
 without refreshment. Our horses were baited on 
 coarse bread, saturated with wine — their grooms on 
 the same articles ; rather a dainty provender, what-
 
 VILLA OF MARIALVA. 129 
 
 ever it may have been as a lunch. "We now resumed 
 our seats, ui'ging to a quicker pace our anti-temper- 
 ance team. 
 
 The heights of Cintra slowly appeared in soft 
 romantic relief on the sky ; and the country, as we 
 advanced, gi'adually assumed an aspect of richer 
 verdure. As we wound around a steep, obstructing 
 elevation, the sweet village of Cintra appeared nestled 
 in the drapery of a wild woodland, about half way 
 up the " mountain of its home." The very look of 
 its freshness seemed to melt into one's heart. It was 
 like a green bower, on an arid waste, under a scorch- 
 ing sky. "We stopped at the hotel of Da Costa — a 
 house finely in kee^^ing with the place. "We had 
 been over five hours on the road, though the distance 
 is but eighteen miles. This is a fine specimen of 
 Portuguese rapidity. 
 
 After an hom-'s repose, and a grateful refreshment, 
 we rambled to the palace of the Marquis of Marialva, 
 — an elegant and spacious structure, with grounds 
 rather confined, but concentrating a good degree of 
 beauty and variety. This Yilla is celebrated for the 
 Convention in which the French stipulated with 
 "Wellington to evacuate Portugal. The ink which 
 Junot scattered in his indignant reluctance, as he put 
 his hand to the instrument, still stains the floor. 
 Silence now reigns unbroken in its spacious halls ; 
 the Marialva line, so celebrated in Gil Bias, has be- 
 come extinct, loobies in death have but one advan- 
 
 6*
 
 130 SHIP AND SHORE. 
 
 tage over tlieir vassak, and that is the unenviable 
 privilege of living in the sarcastic wit of an autlior. 
 
 We now ascended to the Penha Yerd Quinta of 
 the celebrated Don John de Castro, who only asked 
 of his sovereign this elevation, in consideration of all 
 his privations, perils, and conquests in India. So his 
 tombstone on the summit declares ; and this sentinel 
 of death for once, I believe, speaks the truth. "We 
 have in the present case no great occasion to doubt 
 its veracity, for of all situations in Portugal, this is 
 universally acknowledged to be the most beautiful 
 and enchanting. We paused for a moment in a sweet 
 garden of lilies, tastefully distributed in parterres of 
 box. 
 
 We were then taken to what our guide called St. 
 Peter in prison. The dungeon is here a cool grotto, 
 lined with variegated shells, and refreshed with a 
 sparkling fountain. The saint is represented in mar- 
 ble, with the chain still clinging to him; but so quiet, 
 romantic, and wildly attractive is his situation, that 
 no one of any taste would think of running away 
 from it. Instead of a sentiment of commiseration, 
 you cannot repress the desire to exchange conditions 
 with the captive. 
 
 Higher up, a thick forest of cork, pine, elm, myrtle, 
 orange, and lemon cast their deep fragrant shade. 
 We here lost ourselves in a labyrinth of paths, and a 
 dense maze of underwood, cut by these irregular 
 alleys into every variety of shape. We emerged at
 
 THE PENHA CON^^EiSrT. 131 
 
 the tomb of the hero, which stands on a high airy 
 rock, overlooking Cintra, and commanding an exten- 
 sive view of the ocean as it rolls its world of waters 
 beyond. 
 
 Upon the very summit of the range we found the 
 conspicuous remains of a Moorish Castle, with the 
 noble tank still in a state of high preservation. Near 
 by, on the same height, stands the Penha convent, 
 which one might suppose must have got here as our 
 lady's chapel got through the yielding air to Loretto ; 
 or its materials must have been taken up before bal- 
 loons became the frail and feeble things that we now 
 find them. This convent was plundered by the 
 French. Nothing in height or depth seems to have 
 escaped their rapacity ; yet these gentlemen of love 
 and pillage robbed with such an exquisite politeness, 
 that even their victims appear to hold them in the 
 most gentle recollection. In our descent, upon ar- 
 riving at a more even and thickly shaded spot, we 
 encountered three lusty beggars, who had come with 
 two guitars and a fiddle, to give us a concert : we 
 paid them in advance, and passed on. At six, we 
 reached our hotel, and sat down to an excellent 
 dinner. 
 
 Upon rising from the table some took to the luxmy 
 of the siesta, while a few of us improved the lin- 
 gering light in a visit to the old Royal Palace. We 
 found here no guard, no king, not even a sprig of 
 nobility, but a polite old porter, happy to show us
 
 132 SHIP ATTO SHORE, 
 
 every thing, for the sake of his fee. He pointed ont 
 the room where Sebastian held his last counsel pre- 
 vious to his fatal expedition to Africa, and seemed 
 unwilling to believe that he would never return ! 
 He pointed out the room where King Alonzo Sixth 
 was imprisoned, and the pavement in which his 
 solitary steps have left a deep track, and then des- 
 canted upon it with a sorrowful earnestness that 
 almost flooded one's eyes. On our return to the 
 hotel, we found the yard ftiU of women and children, 
 with a thousand little articles of their own fabrica- 
 tion to sell. We purchased a multitude of them, not 
 from any want of the articles, or that they could be 
 of the slightest use ; but a man is always more 
 charitable in a foreign country than he is in his own. 
 The evening passed oif in easy pleasantries, and 
 we retired at a late hour to rest, — Captain Read, as 
 the Agamemnon of the party, to that chamber which 
 Byron occupied on his visit to this place. It was 
 here the youthful poet nourished those feelings which 
 subsequently flowed off in the sorrowful harmony of 
 Childe Harold, a poem which, unlike much that he 
 has written, will keep its place in English Literature 
 till the story of grief and melody shall have ceased 
 to affect mankind. The chain of sjanpathy which 
 binds him to the profound sensibilities of our nature, 
 can never be broken. He had all the elements of 
 poetic power in the most exalted degree, but failed 
 of reaching his noblest destiny, owing in part to that
 
 JUDGIVIENT OF BYKON. 133 
 
 singular fatality which often attends a consciousness 
 of great force and originality of genius, but more to 
 the want of a deep abiding sense of the responsi- 
 bility which such rare gifts and such a sway over 
 the human heart impose. Had he possessed this, it 
 would have saved him — sustained him in his lofty 
 career, nor left us as much to weep and shudder over 
 as to admire : — 
 
 He might have soared, a miracle of mind, 
 
 Above the doubts that dim our mental sphere, 
 
 And poured from thence, as music on the wind, 
 
 Those prophet tones, which men had turned to hear. 
 
 As if an angel's harp had sung of bliss 
 
 In some bright world beyond the tears of this. 
 
 But he betrayed his trust, and lent his gift 
 Of glorious faculties, to blight and mar 
 
 The moral universe, and set adrift 
 
 The anchored hopes of millions : — Thus the star 
 
 Of his eventful destiny became 
 
 A wild and wandering orb of fearful flame. 
 
 That orb hath set ; yet still its lurid light 
 Flashes above the broad horizon's verge ; 
 
 As if some comet, plunging from its heiglit, 
 Should pause upon the ocean's boiling surge. 
 
 And in defiance of its darksome doom. 
 
 Light for itself a fierce volcanic tomb ! 
 
 The morning of our second day at Cintra f und 
 us mounted upon a pack of hugely saddled and 
 cushioned donkies, on our way to Mafra Castle.
 
 134: SHIP AND SHORE. 
 
 The distance is nine miles, over a road as intolerable 
 as one can well imagine ; we were more than three 
 hours getting through it, but were amply compen- 
 sated, in the end, for all our back and leg breaking 
 toils. Mafra has been justly called the Escurial of 
 Portugal ; its proportions are all upon a lofty and 
 magnificent scale. It contains a splendid palace, an 
 extensive convent, and a church of cathedral dimen- 
 sions. I can almost believe, as Murphy informs us, 
 that from fifteen to twenty thousand men were em- 
 ployed for thirteen years in its erection and com- 
 pletion. 
 
 The church is lined and paved with marble ; it 
 contains nine altars, of a refiecting polish, glowing 
 with jewels and surrounded with statues ; and six 
 organs, the beauty of which is equalled only by their 
 richness of tone. I was never so sensible of the aid 
 which devotion may derive from external realities, 
 as when standing in the vast solitude of this church, 
 with its lofty dome, its twilight gloom, and the sol- 
 emn anthem of the organs filling and moving the 
 whole with a profound majestic melody. 
 
 The palace is as magnificently ample, as one would 
 suppose an emperor of the world might desire. We 
 were shown the luxurious couch, upon which the 
 monarch may seek in vain that repose which the 
 cabined slave freely enjoys. The marble font, which 
 almost invades the regal couch, can contain no purer 
 water than the peasant finds in the brook that mur-
 
 PALACE AICD LIBEAET. 135 
 
 miirs past Ids humble cottage ; and the miirors, with 
 their smooth, broad expanse, which line the royal 
 apartments, cannot present more perfectly one's sec- 
 ond self, than the tranquil stream into which Eve 
 first looked and " timidly withdrew." 
 
 The convent is suificiently ample to contain all the 
 monks of a moderate realm ; but the stillness of the 
 apartments is broken only here and there by the 
 steps of the solitary. The library, in its spacious 
 hall of some hundred feet, casts at once its fifty 
 thousand volumes on the eye. Tlie spectator stands 
 literally overwhelmed with the learning of the dead. 
 Few of the books are in English ; most of the an- 
 cient classics may be seen, while a great many of 
 them are on ecclesiastical subjects, whose authors 
 have long since gone to the realities of their devout 
 conjectures. 
 
 On ascending to the top of this vast edifice, we 
 found an area wide enough to furnish footing for a 
 military force adequate to the defence of the whole. 
 "While here, we were favored with a concerto from 
 fifty of the one hundred and twenty bells which 
 swing in the towers. The music of these rolling 
 organs might awaken the multitudes of a slumbering 
 city to their matins : but there is no such city near, 
 to be thus musically aroused. Mafra stands in the 
 midst of a desert ; a few humble huts only break the 
 sterile solitude. 
 
 This vast pile, in all its richness and magnificence,
 
 136 SHIP AND SHORE. 
 
 was reared and fumislied on the sanctity and force 
 of a conjectural dream. Tlie king was informed, in 
 his desponding hopes of an heir to his throne, that 
 his wishes might be realized by fomiding and en- 
 dowing a convent here. Thus were the foundations 
 laid ; the future monarch soon made his apj^earance, 
 and the king, regarding this as a divine interposi- 
 tion and sanction, the work went on, till the stupen- 
 dous whole, with convent, church, and palace, were 
 completed. 
 
 Never did the prediction of a monk cost his sover- 
 eign more. Whether, as scandal reports, the prophet 
 was concerned in the fulfilment of his own predic- 
 tion, is more than I can say ; but surely it was an 
 expensive babe to Portugal. The castle, with all its 
 appendages, is as much lost to the realm and the 
 world, as it would be if it were located in the desert 
 of Sahara. It is here visited only by the curious 
 traveller, and it would there catch occasionally the 
 glance of a passing caravan. 
 
 After the refreshments of a crust of bread and a 
 glass of sour wine, furnished in a sort of hovel — the 
 only inn-accommodations of which the place can 
 boast — we started in a drenching shower for Cintra. 
 Mrs. R. had fortunately been able to get the loan of 
 a large coarse cloak, in which, with the courteous 
 assistance of Lieutenant C, she wrapped herself into 
 the semblance of a sister of the strictest order. Her 
 transformation was so sudden and entire, as she ap-
 
 KETUEN TO CEN'TEA. 137 
 
 peared thus hooded and swathed, and holding on in 
 the drifting rain, to a little sorry donkey, not larger 
 than a good-sized sheep, that I could not at first, 
 though in a most pitiable plight myself, preserve my 
 gravity of countenance. Nothing but the irresistible 
 force of this sentiment of the ludicrous, saved it from 
 an appearance of rudeness. But the value of a dia- 
 mond is not the less for being sprinkled with dust, 
 or dashed with mud. 
 
 Cintra never appeared more sweet and beautiful, 
 than as we approached it on our return. Some por- 
 tions of its ascending range were covered with the 
 shadows of a passing cloud, while others smiled out 
 in the clear light of a warm sim. The cascade, now 
 freshly replenished by the shower, came leaping 
 down from cliff to cliff, wath life and joy in its mo- 
 tion and voice. Here tlie bold rock broke into 
 stronger relief, with its moss-covered front ; there 
 the elm and cork threw out their giant limbs ; while 
 upon elevations of a gentler genius, clusters of neat 
 cottages were seen, embowered in vines. Higher 
 up, and more in keeping with the majesty of the 
 spot, the princely villa, smTomided wdth forest-trees, 
 presented a portion of its stately walls, or the white 
 range of its gleaming pillars ; and over the whole, a 
 warm, soft tint was sprinkled, which seemed to blend 
 itself into the varied beautv of the scene. Cintra is 
 the Eden of this realm — Mafra a stupendous monu- 
 ment of its superstitious folly.
 
 13S snip AND SHORE. 
 
 The morning of our third clay at Cintra was over- 
 cast ; and frequent showers determined us to defer 
 our return to Lisbon till the evening. In the mean 
 time we formed a passing accidental acquaintance 
 with two Portuguese officers of rank and accom- 
 plishments, who were temporary lodgers with our 
 excellent landlord. They were gentlemen of the lyre 
 as well as sword. One of them touched the guitar 
 with the hand of a master, and the other had emi- 
 nently the sweet gifts of a melodious voice. They 
 played and sung at intervals for an hour or two, in 
 compliment to Mrs. R., who returned the obligation 
 by a few Italian airs in her best style. 
 
 We invited them to dine with us ; and among 
 other topics which floated around, was one calculated 
 to detect their political leaning. They were asked 
 with a jjrofound affectation of ignorance, what could 
 be the object of the English in sending, at this par- 
 ticular time, so large a naval force to the Tagus. 
 One of them promptly replied, that the English 
 were remarkably fond of the comedy, and, under- 
 standing that one was to be acted at Lisbon, they 
 had come to witness it. Never was there an answer 
 upon which a man's life may perhaps have depended 
 more quick, or guarded, than this. Such men will 
 never lose their heads, whatever may be the result 
 of the quarrel between Miguel and his brother. 
 And they are right ; I would as soon peril my life 
 upon a question of the comparative strength of the
 
 EETUEN TO LISBON. 139 
 
 square or triangle construction of a cob-house, as 
 tliat of legitimacy in sovereigns. 
 
 Taking leave of oui- wortlij landlord, whom, with 
 his ever-cheerful wife, agreeable house, and well- 
 furnished table, I would recommend to all travellers, 
 we started on our return to Lisbon. We arrived 
 quite late in the evening, and put up at Madam 
 Julia's hotel. The monkey had ceased his pranks, 
 the parrot was silent, and even Madam Julia herself 
 did not seem to speak in so many languages as 
 usual. 
 
 The servant boy of Captain Eead, whose horse 
 had run away with him, and whom we had not seen 
 for hours, now rushed in, and by way of apology for 
 his absence, told how the animal had failed him three 
 times ; while another proverb in Arabic, from our 
 hostess, settled the point, that it is safer to walk than 
 ride, inasmuch as the pedestrian has four the less 
 legs to take care of. So, having established this great 
 truth in probable accidents, we retired to rest. But 
 Cintra was all night in my dream ! — 
 
 It floated there, as some sweet fairy land 
 
 Of fragrant flowers, for bii-ds and bees to sip, — 
 
 Where crystal streams glide o'er the golden sand, 
 And fruits of nectar greet the gushing lip ; — 
 
 Where life's a careless round of rest and play, — 
 
 A childhood mid the merriest things of May. 
 
 Approaching Lisbon from the opposite side of the 
 Tagus, it has the appearance of a truly magnificent
 
 140 SHIP AND SHORE. 
 
 city. Tlie lofty buildings, with their white walls, 
 and airy turrets, stretch far up a finely ascending 
 plane. But as you approach it more nearly, and 
 wander through it, your admiration ceases, and you 
 become excessively disgusted with the rags of the 
 rabble, and the narrowness and filth of the streets. 
 
 The inclined position of Lisbon would render its 
 cleanliness perfectly feasible ; but no attention is 
 given to the matter, except what exists in some muni- 
 cipal regulations, wdiich affect the canine portion of 
 the community. Dogs are the only authorized scav- 
 engers, and for their services in this respect, they are 
 granted certain rights and immunities. They swarm 
 through the streets, especially at night, and so ob- 
 struct the narrow passages, that you are continually 
 stumblino; over them. 
 
 The French, while here, bayoneted these scaven- 
 gers by the hundreds, and compelled those who move 
 on two legs to take their place. The effect, of course, 
 was a more clean and healthy city ; but the French 
 are gone, and the dogs are reinstated in their ancient 
 rights. I have seen no personal violence offered to 
 any of them, except by the king. His majesty is in 
 the habit of riding througli the city upon a very 
 fleet horse, and carrying in his hand a prodigiously 
 long wand, with which he exhibits his muscular 
 power, and brachial dexterity, in knocking over these 
 poor Trays. His aim is sure, and his blow certain 
 death. I saw him in the course of a few minutes
 
 AN OFFENSIVE CUSTOM. 141 
 
 knock several of them entirely out of existence, and 
 tliat too — wliicli made the case rather a hard one- 
 while they were picking the filth ont of their mon- 
 arch's path. 
 
 But the dogs are now becoming extremely shy of 
 their king, and are manifesting their sagacity by a 
 timely escape from the reach of his wand. They 
 detect at a distance the rapid sound of his charger's 
 hoof, and instantly take to flight, after the true old 
 maxim — let those escape who can, and the devil take 
 the hindennost. 
 
 It is not safe for one who respects his olfactories, 
 or his ajDparel, to be in the streets of Lisbon after ten 
 at night. The goddess of Cloacina begins to reign 
 at that horn', and her ofierings are cast down indis- 
 ci'iminately from every upper window. Her altars, 
 which in every other city are under ground, are here 
 the open pavement ; and woe to the luckless wight 
 who happens to be passing at the time of oblations : 
 he will think of any thing but the sweet scents of 
 Araby and the piu'e waters of Helicon. How the 
 imgentle worship of this goddess should be thus 
 fashionably tolerated, is inconceivable ; it is enough 
 to di'ive all romance and knight-errantry out of a 
 city ! 
 
 I wonder not that poetry has ceased here — that 
 the harp is unstrung and the minstrel gone. How 
 Love should linger under the embarrassments and 
 perils of such a dodging existence, is a mystery.
 
 143 snip AND SHORE. 
 
 But this little fellow of the purple wing and laugli- 
 ing eye is somehow the last to leave any community. 
 He manages to remain, whatever may betide, else he 
 would have long since taken his departure from 
 Lisbon, and left its daughters to their desolate hearts, 
 their silent tears, and worse — their broken guitars ! 
 
 Political disasters and jealousies here have nearly 
 broken up those little intimacies, which used to pre- 
 vail in families of the same rank, and upon which 
 depend the social enjoyments of every community. 
 Ladies are now seldom seen in any considerable 
 numbers, except at worshij) ; and here they meet at 
 all hours of the day. You may pass from church to 
 church, and find in the nave of each, large groups of 
 well-dressed females. The most young and fashion- 
 able assume a position in advance of the others ; 
 coming in, they first kneel, cross themselves, move 
 their lips for a few minutes, and then assume a sit- 
 ting posture on the clean marble pavement, with 
 their small feet drawn up under them, something 
 after the Turkish fashion. 
 
 They sit here by the half day together ; and when 
 there is no public service going on, which is usually 
 the case, they amuse themselves in whispering over 
 to each other those little things of which ladies are 
 prone to be fond. To the young gentlemen, who 
 are probably attracted here more b}^ the worshippers 
 than the worshipped, they never speak, except with 
 their eyes ; but these organs with them have a Ian-
 
 FKIARS AKD MONKS. 143 
 
 guage more true to the instincts of the heart, than 
 any dialect of the lip. 
 
 These whispering and glancing assemblages are 
 more excusable here, than they would be in our 
 country. Ladies with us may meet when and where 
 they please, and almost whom they please ; but here 
 these social indulgences are not known ; and it is a 
 very natural consequence that the ladies should avail 
 themselves of the facilities which the church and 
 balcony afford, for evading these irksome restrictions. 
 
 A lady who does not dare to afford you a passing 
 look as you meet her in the street, will, in the church, 
 knock aside her mantilla with her fan, and divide 
 her glance between yon and the image of the blessed 
 Virgin ; or, if you are passing near her balcony, she 
 will dart npon you all the sweet attractions of her 
 unveiled face. Unreasonable and indiscriminate re- 
 straints promote neither the cause of religion or 
 virtue. Tliey convert the sanctuary into an ogling 
 room, and the ballustered window into an amatory 
 bower. 
 
 The friars and monks of Lisbon are, apparently, 
 the best fed j^eople in it : they have a majestic cor- 
 pulency of person, which reminds one of the good 
 cheer which Sir Jack, of sack memory, so much ad- 
 mired. You meet them at every turn, in their black 
 flowing robes, sandals, silver-buckled shoes, and hats 
 of enormous brim. They move along with that 
 gentlemanly, good-natured, slow pace, which heeds
 
 144 snir and siioek. 
 
 not the lliglit of time. They have none of that thin, 
 thinkings anxious look, which converts the closet and 
 pulpit into a befitting refuge for ghosts ; but they 
 have that full, fat, jolly cast of countenance which 
 lets the world pass for better or worse, and which 
 well becomes a man, who knows that he can shrive a 
 Sodom of its sins in a minute, or exorcise the devil 
 out of as many millions as there are sands on the 
 sea-shore. There is something in this full, well-fed 
 look of unconcern about this world and the next, 
 w^hich makes a man's conscience set easy upon him, 
 and he begins to feel the flesh thicken upon his own 
 bones. 
 
 The vow of celibacy in these fat, easy men, does 
 not — if there be any truth in scandal — seriously 
 interfere with their domestic pleasures. They have 
 no wives, it is true, but the Foundling Hospitals, 
 which are extensive and liberally endowed, have 
 within them, according to report, many a sacerdotal 
 likeness ; and these little fellows of ambiguous 
 parentage, will, many of them, come forth one day 
 to confess their betters, and run the career of their 
 worthy fathers. The thing runs round in a rich 
 voluptuous circle, far above the intrusions of an im- 
 pertinent conscience, and the insulting terrors of a 
 threatened hell. Such a life is worth having, and 
 branded be the heretic that questions its sanctity. 
 
 It is not, to be sure, in exact accordance with the 
 habits of the Apostles ; but those men of leathern
 
 DWELLING-HOUSES, 145 
 
 girdles were foolish martjTS to their self-denying 
 zeal. They lived in times when the absolving func- 
 tions of popes and priests were not known : why, 
 then, should their example be quoted in these good 
 easy times, when there is no ignorance to be en- 
 lightened, and no depravity to be restrained ? Let 
 the world turn round on its axle, and let us all jog 
 quietly along into heaven. But enough of this ! 
 The sentinel who sleeps on his post, forfeits his life, 
 and the minister of Christ, who slumbers over his 
 responsibilities, perishes with a double doom ! 
 
 The dwelling-houses of Lisbon are, many of them, 
 five and six stories in height : each loft has its family 
 and restricted accommodations ; a broad, dirty, com- 
 mon stairway leads up through the whole ; and the 
 rent decreases with the altitude. I wonder at this, 
 for so intolerably filthy are many of the streets, 
 which are continually sending up their noxious ex- 
 halations, that I would get, if possible, into the 
 highest loft, though it reached the moon. 
 
 It is as much as a man's life is worth to attempt to 
 get through the city by night. There are no lights, 
 except here and there a glimmer from some case- 
 ment, which only serves the more to bewilder; and 
 you stumble along, through dirt, and dogs, and dark- 
 ness, till you fall at last into some foul ditch, or 
 bring up against some sturdy, black visaged fellow, 
 who accosts you with a demand for your jDurse. 
 Many a poor stranger, after having thus battered his 
 
 7
 
 146 SUIP AND SHORE. 
 
 shins, lost his hat, and bedabbled himself with mud, 
 has ended the night's disasters by being robbed, and 
 then perhaps mm-dered, 
 
 I experienced one night all but the last incident, 
 and I should prefer being assassinated in any place 
 to this, for I should not have even the miserable con- 
 solation of believing that my murderer would be 
 detected, and made an example of warning to the 
 rest of his nocturnal profession. Law here runs 
 upon accidents ; it is like a wolf plunging through a 
 bramble — he may crush a snake, but he is much 
 more likely to pounce on a lamb. 
 
 The traveller in Lisbon is imposed upon in every 
 conceivable shape : he is besieged by beggars, pil- 
 fered by pickpockets, cheated by his hostess, and 
 plundered by his cicerone. I inquired this morning 
 of a cocheiro what he would charge to take me a 
 short distance, to a place which I named. He stated 
 his price in rees^ a coin with which I was not famil- 
 iar. A third individual, watching my embarrass- 
 ment, touched his hat, and observed that the price 
 named by the cocheiro was five Spanish dollars, and 
 offered very kindly to take the money, pay liim, and 
 see he did his duty. But before he had finished his 
 story, a fourth came up, and, drawing me slightly 
 aside, said that the price demanded by the cocheiro 
 was only four dollars, and that the man had stated it 
 to be five, for the sake of pocketing one himself, and 
 ofiered generously to take the sum, and pay it over,
 
 CHEATING IMPOSITIONS. l-i7 
 
 lest tliere should be some misimderstanding, and I 
 should, after all, be cheated. 
 
 I hesitated, not liking the price, or the man's soli- 
 citude, when a fifth person drawing near, whispered 
 that he had a word to say to me ; when, turning 
 away a step or two with him, he said that these two 
 men were the greatest cheats in Lisbon, that they 
 imposed on all strangers, that the price of the 
 cocheiro was simply three dollars, that he would take 
 the money, and perhaps he might be able to beat 
 him down even a trifle below that sum. I was not, 
 however, quite so green in the world as to be caught 
 yet, and observing a Portuguese merchant, with 
 whom I had become acquainted, passing, I got him to 
 explain to me the amount of the price named at first 
 by the cocheiro ; and it proved to be only two dollars ! 
 
 The reason the cocheiro did not interfere and 
 rescue me from the friendship of these interpreters 
 was, that they spoke very low and in broken English, 
 M^hich he could not comprehend ; or there might have 
 been an understanding between him and these kind 
 souls, for, after all, I got cheated, and paid about 
 twice as much as the usual price. A stranger here 
 wants an eye in every hair of his head ; and then, if 
 his skull-cap be a wng, he will lose it ! 
 
 The traveller will find but little choice between the 
 hotels of Lisbon ; they are all miserable, perhaps 
 Madam Julia's the least so. If liis linguistical hostess 
 press him too hard on the subject of ancient Ian-
 
 148 SHIP AND SHORE. 
 
 guages, he must adopt a similar expedient to the one 
 which I took refuge in last evening ; for as this rep- 
 resentative of all languages, especially the dead, 
 came waddling to a chair near my side, commencing 
 even before she had rolled into her seat, a disserta- 
 tion on the relative force of Cicero and Demosthenes, 
 I happened to look out at an open window, and dis- 
 covering a blind man with a violin, led by a lad, who 
 carried a guitar, dispatched a servant with instruc- 
 tions to invite them in. 
 
 Madam Julia declared a man must be out of his 
 wits who could prefer such music as that to the elo- 
 quence of the classics, and that she was not accus- 
 tomed to have beggars in her parlor. I told her the 
 fiddle must come or I should go, and ordered two 
 good suppers prepared for my new guests. The last 
 order partially reconciled madam to the introduction 
 of the strangers, and the sudden breaking off of the 
 literary discussion. 
 
 My new acquaintances entered : one was a man of 
 sixty, cleanly clad, and perfectly blind ; the other 
 was his son, a lad of twelve years, with a very bright, 
 intelligent countenance. I inquired of the old gen- 
 tleman how long he had been blind. He replied, 
 " From my early childhood, sir." " And do you not 
 find," I asked, " a consolation for this visual depriva- 
 tion in this violin ?" " It is the only thing," he re- 
 plied, " that reconciles me to life." " And would 
 you not," I thoughtlessly asked, " be willing to part
 
 COlSTDinON OP PORTUGAL. 149 
 
 forever with this instrument on condition you could 
 recover your sight ?" He seemed to hesitate a mo- 
 ment, and then said, " That, sir, is rather a difficult 
 question." 
 
 After supper, in which the boy betrayed a truly 
 filial and amiable disposition in assisting his blind 
 father to the coffee and different dishes, they played 
 for an hour; and I have rarely been more enter- 
 tained. Katm'e seems to have made up in music to 
 the bereaved man what misfortune had deprived him 
 of, in the loss of his sight. His voice flows into the 
 full harmony of his violin with expressive richness 
 and force. I would exchange to-day the use of one 
 eye at least for the musical gift of voice and the 
 magical power over the violin which this blind man 
 possesses. 
 
 In any country capable of appreciating and award- 
 ing merit, so far from mendicity, he would rise at 
 once to affluence ; but here the unworthy seem to 
 prosper, and the meritorious to starve. The perform- 
 ance of the lad was astonishing for one of his years ; 
 but he had been trained, as his father informed me, 
 almost from his infancy to the guitar. On parting 
 with these new friends, I put into the hand of the 
 boy what little money the extravagant charges of 
 Madam Julia had left, and only regretted it was not 
 more. 
 
 The resources of Portugal are now in a most 
 wretched condition. She has squandered her wealth
 
 150 SHIP AND SHORE. 
 
 in the prosecution of schemes which have ended only 
 in abortion— in the continuance of wars, which have 
 terminated in her disgrace — and in the support of 
 an overgrown ecclesiastical establishment, that now 
 weighs like a crushing incubus upon the poor rem- 
 nants of her strength. Her capitalists are deterred 
 from investments by the insecurity of property ; her 
 merchants have lost their enterprise in the onerous 
 restrictions of commerce; and her oppressed peas- 
 antry, discouraged and broken-hearted, have retired 
 to their hovels to die ! 
 
 Nor in a political aspect is she less degraded and 
 miserable. Her throne is the subject of a violent 
 fraternal conflict ; her towns and villages are con- 
 verted into lawless camps; and her more worthy 
 citizens are sent into exile, to the scaffold, and the 
 dungeon ! Freedom of opinion, nobleness of de- 
 meanor, national pride, and self-respect have all per- 
 ished from her soil, or survive only in some dark, 
 indignant recess ! These are the fruits of a doting, 
 drivelling despotism, that has ever manifested its 
 imbecility by the pursuit of schemes visionary and 
 impracticable ; that has long betrayed its ignorance, 
 by confounding a calm difference of opinion with 
 treason ; and that still evinces its unrelieved tyranny 
 by punishing with death an exercise of that intelli- 
 gence which alone raises man above the abject 
 brute. 
 
 But our anchor is weighed, and I must leave this
 
 ADIEU TO CINTEA. 151 
 
 land of peril and soitow. Adieu, sweet Cintra! 
 thou art a green oasis in the desert of thy realm. 
 Farewell, thou noble Tagus ! would that those who 
 dwell on thy fresh banks were more worthy of thy 
 golden tribute : and Madam Julia, farewell to thee ! — 
 the tears are in my eyes ! — farewell ! 
 
 Cherish thy parrot ; and declare to all 
 
 That this serene, exquisite bird was given, 
 
 Before the dismal discords of the Fall, 
 To bring to earth the dialect of heaven ; 
 
 The very bird from whose celestial stammer 
 
 Our mother Eve first learnt the Hebrew Grammar.
 
 152 SHIP AND SHORE. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 He is a cliild of mere impulse and passion. 
 Loving his friends, and generous to his foes, 
 
 And fickle as the most ephemeral fashion, 
 Save in the cut and color of his clothes, 
 
 And in a set of phrases, which on land 
 
 The wisest head could never understand. 
 
 PASSAGE FROM LISBON TO GIBRALTAR DIVERSIONS OF THE SAILOR HIS 
 
 TACT AT TELLING STORIES — LOVE OF THE SONG FONDNESS FOR DANCING 
 
 UNHAPPY PROPENSITIES DUTY OF THE GOVERNMENT TOWARDS HIM 
 
 GIBRALTAR A BIIFITTING EMBLEM OF BRITISH POWER ROMANCE OF 
 
 ITS HISTORY FORTIFICATIONS TROOPS MOTLEY POPULATION SUM- 
 MIT OF THE ROCK ST. MICHAEL's CAVE THE FIVE HUNDRED MON- 
 
 BODDO'S ORIGINALS — PLEASURE PARTY MUSIC AND A MERMAID. 
 
 We are again at sea, with our canvas set to a fresh, 
 fair breeze, that promises to take ns to onr destined 
 port. The evening has come in bland and beautiful ; 
 the sky, nature's great dome, is yet imlit by the 
 softer stars, but the light of the departed sun still 
 lingers on the cloud, fringing it with golden fire. 
 Such an evening as this more than reconciles one to 
 the strange, adventurous life of the sailor; yet it 
 brings with it, like the tones of recollected music, all 
 the sacred endearments of home. 
 
 The ocean traveller thinks if only that one being, 
 who dwells so brightly in his memory, could be near 
 him — could look at the same sunset, sky, and stars —
 
 STORIES OF THE SAILOES. 153 
 
 it would be all he could ask — he should be happy ; 
 and perhaps he would, for their hearts would imper- 
 ceptibly become harmonized to the same tone of pen- 
 sive sentiment, till, like the mingling note of two 
 lutes in perfect unison, their spirits would become 
 one, and the current of their thoughts would glide 
 away as from the same fres^ fount. In the solitude 
 of their situation they would cling to each other, as 
 all that this poor world contains, nor dream that 
 either could survive a dissolution of this concentrated 
 life. An hour of such confiding attachment as this 
 is worth years of that heartless intimacy which ob- 
 tains in the circles of the gay. 
 
 Such an evening as this, with its steady breeze, is 
 a pastime to the roving sailor. He has no sails to 
 reef, no yards to trim, and sits himself quietly down, 
 wliile one of his companions, blessed with a more 
 fertile imagination, spins a long yarn. These stories 
 partake vastly more of fiction than fact, and are 
 often, I have no doubt, the mere creations of the 
 individual. They do not very nicely preserve the 
 unities, but these are forgotten in a succession of 
 marvellous, ludicrous, and tragical incidents. One of 
 them will frequently be extended through several 
 nights, and apparently increase in interest with its 
 length. 
 
 I have just heard one resumed for the fourth night, 
 and how much longer it will be continued no one can , 
 conjecture. The circle seated themselves in their 
 
 7*
 
 154 SHIP AND SHORE. 
 
 wonted place on deck ; a silence ensued : " And 
 where did I knock off?" inquired the teller. " Just 
 where the gale struck the ship and she was thrown 
 on her beam's end," answered one of the listeners. 
 " No, it was where she split on the rock, just as she 
 was making a snug harbor," replied another. "That 
 was not the spot, neither," interrupted a third ; " it 
 was where that strong swimmer, with a shark at his 
 heel, made his way through breakers to the shore, 
 and then dropped on the sand with his strength all 
 spent. Don't you remember the beautiful girl who 
 came down to the beach and held his head on her 
 knee, when her blessed tears dropped on his cheek ?" 
 "Oh! that was the spot," exclaimed the story- 
 teller, " and a sweeter creature never lived : she 
 knew nothing about that man, only that he had been 
 wrecked, for she was standing on a cliff when she 
 saw the ship strike the rock and go down ; yet soon 
 as he reached the beach, and was trying to get fur- 
 ther from the wave, and kept fainting and falling 
 till he couldn't rise any more, she came at once to 
 him, sat directly down, and raised his head on her 
 knee, and then — bless her sweet heart ! — wrung all 
 the salt water out of his hair, and watched his face 
 like a sister, to see if he would breathe again. Oh ! 
 fellows, there is something in a woman you never 
 meet with in a man. She never waits to be paid 
 for her pity, — it comes at once bubbling right up out 
 of her heart. This girl knew the man had nothing
 
 SONG OF THE SAtLOK. 155 
 
 to give hei' for her kindness, for his landtacks had 
 all been wrecked with the ship; she saw he was 
 young, and handsome too, if he hadn't been so pale ; 
 but it wasn't that, that made her come to him." 
 Here I was called away ; the story, however, was 
 continued, but of the end I know as little as the 
 reader. 
 
 The song is another evening amusement among 
 our sailors, when the breeze is steady and the sea 
 smooth. They gather forward before the call of the 
 first watch in a large group, when some one, more 
 favored than the rest in melody of voice, is called 
 upon for a song. With little ado, save adjusting his 
 tarpaulin and dispensing with his quid, he strikes 
 up, — it may be the Defeat of Bm-goyne, the Battle 
 of Plattsburg, the Star-spangled Banner, the Cherub 
 that sits up Aloft, or Black-eyed Susan, — but what- 
 ever be his choice, or the selection of his comrades, 
 he sings it with a genuine earnestness, and down- 
 right honesty of heart. The music, be the words 
 what they may, has generally a touch of the melan- 
 choly, and might be classed, without any violence, 
 among those airs to which the good Whitfield al- 
 luded, when he determined that the devil should not 
 run away with all the fine tunes. 
 
 There was one among our crew, whose powers in 
 the musical line were so far above his fellows that 
 we often called upon him for a song. His fa- 
 vorite was Black-eyed Susan ; and he sung it with
 
 166 SHIP AKD SnOKE. 
 
 a fidelity to the sentiment that reached the very 
 heart. The national airs of the sailor ever breathe 
 of battle, and burn with patriotism ; they are in- 
 tensely kindled with sentiments that flash through 
 all the depths of his soul. Should the watch-fires of 
 freedom ever be extinguished on our cliffs, there will 
 still be embers in the breast of the sailor, at which 
 liberty, exiled from the land, may light her torch. 
 
 Another amusement with the sailor in the still 
 evening at sea, no less than among the diversions of 
 the shore, is dancing. Tliis elegant accomplishment, 
 as it is generally termed, belongs, I think, of right to 
 him; for without the least instructions, without 
 having ever been taught a single figure, or step, or 
 even told that he tnust tm-n out his toes, he goes 
 ahead, and keeps time with a precision and emphasis 
 of motion seldom met with in the saloon. There are 
 with him no studied bows, no mincing airs, no sim- 
 pering looks, no glances at one's own white glove, 
 and light, elastic pump, no rivalries and jealousies, 
 significant nods, nor quarrels about position, nor 
 even about partners ; for if Lucy is engaged, Mary 
 is not, and that is enough for him. He unships his 
 tai-paulin, dashes into the ranks and bounds to the 
 music with an exulting Ijfe and heart. 
 
 Nor is the presence of the other sex, however de- 
 sirable, indispensable to him in this frequent pastime ; 
 for, on the deck of his ship, and far away at sea, 
 where women may have never been, if a lip or lute
 
 HABITS OF THE SAILOR. 157 
 
 or string make the music, he is ever ready to move 
 to it with his quick step and vigorous limb ; and he 
 may sometimes be seen, when the winds are frolicking 
 and piping through his shrouds, keeping fantastic 
 time to their wild notes. Alas, those notes ! they are 
 too often the pleasing, deceptive precursors of a gale, 
 that is on its way to wreck that ship, — to sink it there 
 with all its happy hearts, and leave over the spot 
 where it went down, only the dirge of the passing 
 
 wave ! 
 
 Our life is but a tale, a dance, a song, 
 A little wave that frets and ripples by ; 
 
 Our hopes the bubbles which it bears along, 
 Born with a breath, and broken with a sigh. 
 
 Then tix, my heart, thy trust in faith sublime, 
 
 Above the storms and tempest-wrecks of time ! 
 
 "Would that the diversions and excitements of the 
 sailor never carried him more widely on the moral 
 compass from his true course than he is borne when 
 yielding to the vein of a song, or making the part of 
 his story. But he is so entirely the creature of im- 
 pulse and momentary feeling, and frequently finds 
 himself so fai- out of his reckoning, that it costs him 
 many troublesome tacks, and the most painfully close 
 sailing, to enable him to bring up the leew^ay. 
 
 No one thing contributes more to this disastrous 
 departure, than the stimulating bowl. This is his 
 darling sin — his prevailing tempter — his flattering, 
 false friend — his associate in joy, his refuge in grief^
 
 158 snip AND STIOEE. 
 
 —and the prime source of all the errors and evils that 
 befall him. Will it be credited hereafter, that the 
 government! — the kind paternal government which 
 he serves, — presents this poisoned chalice to his lips? 
 Yet this is the fact !— a fact that will fill those who 
 may wn-ite the history of these times with incredulity 
 and amazement ! 
 
 The evils to the sailor, of which this vicious indul- 
 gence is the source, are of the most affecting char- 
 acter. There is not a wave or shore where our can- 
 vas has been spread that is not darkened with the 
 graves of our mariners. There is not a circle from 
 which these bold hearts have gone, that has not been 
 filled with mourning for those who are to return no 
 more. Could the wave that has been the winding- 
 sheet of the sailor speak ; could the lonely shore 
 reveal the secrets of its frequent mounds, there would 
 be voices on the ocean, and bones on its strand, to 
 tell a tale of death, more wild and dark than any 
 that ever yet knelled its terrors through the most 
 tragic dream! It is not the tempest, casting the 
 proud ship a naked hulk on the deep, nor the rock, 
 strewn with the fragments of its perished strength, 
 that has wrought this scene of desolation, and filled 
 so many hearts with unavailing sorrow. It is that 
 cup of insidious poison, mingled and mixed, and 
 still placed to his lips by the government ! Yes, by 
 the government ! 
 
 Nor were those who had a short time since the
 
 ISIEMBEES OF CONGRESS. 159 
 
 humanity to propose, in our national legislature, a 
 discontinuance of this criminal conduct, able to 
 shield themselves even from an insulting levity. The 
 senseless jest reached them, entrenched, as they were, 
 behind this appalling mass of misery and death. 
 ^Numbers, with whose names I will not dishonor this 
 page, cast upon the earnest, impassioned appeal the 
 mockeiy of their sneers ! Such men might con- 
 sistently trifle with the despair of the dying, and 
 sport among the bones of their ancestral dead ! They 
 are a burlesque upon the solemnities of the legislative 
 hall. They are as unfit to lay their hands upon the 
 ark of power as a buffoon to administer incense upon 
 the altars of the sanctuary. 
 
 But I forbear. Let the invective light only on the 
 guilty. It is the imperative duty of those who hold 
 the restraints of national law in their hands to legis- 
 late on this subject, — to withdraw the countenance 
 and sanction which they have given, — to dash to the 
 earth the fatal cup which they are holding to the lips 
 of the sailor, — and to cut up, root and branch, this 
 deep evil in the naval service. If, by any strange 
 perversity or recklessness of heart, they fail to do 
 this, they betray the trusts confided to them — they 
 betray the interests of the navy, the interests of the 
 country, the great cause of humanity ; and tlie blood 
 of thousands will be found in their skirts in that day 
 when men shall give to God an account of their 
 deeds.
 
 160 SHIP AND SHOEE. 
 
 As we floated around the rock of Gibraltar to our 
 quiet anchorage, this morning, I found my anticipa- 
 tions of its formidable strength, and lofty, uncom- 
 promising look, fully realized. It rises, bold and 
 majestic, some fourteen hundred feet above the 
 water, and seems to cast its stupendous scorn upon 
 the menacing violence of the two oceans that rave at 
 its base. These oceans may roll on, and cast against 
 it, through ages, the shocks of their undecaying 
 power, but it will still stand firm, undaunted and 
 unshaken. The unbarred convulsions of the final 
 day will, indeed, heave it from its foundations, but 
 with it will fill! the pillars which support the vast 
 fabric of nature. 
 
 This towering and unshaken Eock is a proud and 
 befitting representative of the moral and political 
 power of the sea-girt isle ; and so long as that power 
 is wielded with the dignity, moderation, and benign 
 efiects which now characterize it, I trust it will prove 
 as indestructible as this mountain mass. It is filled 
 with a central energy, which binds to itself the con- 
 fidence of all nations that revere virtue and respect 
 the sacred rights of man. Were this empire to sink 
 from its present commanding elevation, there is no 
 community that w^ould not feel the shock, and no 
 good man who would not weep over the ruin. God 
 grant, that in my last vision of mortal realities, I 
 may see the unimpaired power of this noble realm 
 blended harmoniously with the spreading influence of
 
 FORTIFICATIONS. 
 
 161 
 
 my own country, penetrating every clime, and per- 
 vading all lands. 
 
 The lofty look of defiance which nature has 
 stamped on this rock has been rendered still more 
 formidable and threatening by the work of man. As 
 you tm-n yom' eye to it, you are met below by a 
 sweeping series of batteries, bristling with their 
 engines of destruction. As you raise your eye 
 higher up, you discover the fearful embrasures of 
 long-connected ranges of ordnance, ready at a breath 
 to convert the stupendous pile into .a blaze of terrific 
 thunder. A thousand hostile fleets, even before they 
 had time to display their impotent strength, would 
 sink here, like the bubbles that break around their 
 chafing keels. If this impregnable citadel ever 
 passes from the possession of Great Britain, it will 
 not be by force. The giant of Gaza was despoiled 
 of his strength by stratagem ; and in this form, if 
 ever, will England be deprived of her Gibraltar. 
 But Britannia is too wakeful, too full of caution, to 
 lay her head on the seductive lap of any Delilah. 
 
 The history of this mountain fortress is in keeping 
 with its native wildness and singularity. The an- 
 cients, ever fond of connecting the origin of the most 
 striking objects in natvire with the virtues of some of 
 their fabled heroes, ascribed the existence of this 
 rock to the might of their Hercules. There was 
 something in its solitary grandeur, its fearless, self- 
 relying aspect, and the depth and darkness of its
 
 163 SHIP AND SHORE. 
 
 caverned womb, that roused their imagination ; and 
 tliey cast over it the mysteries of a deathless romance. 
 This dream of wonder and worship came down with 
 a dim and thrilling interest upon later times ; and 
 whenever a prince wished to distinguish himself in 
 some perilous, romantic enterprise, he seems to have 
 laid siege to this rock. 
 
 Thus, for ages, the gallant and brave of all nations 
 appear to have regarded its possession as a sort of 
 triumph, that could set the highest and brightest seal 
 upon their adventurous valor. At length Britannia, 
 in one of her wandering excursions over the ocean, 
 being struck w^ith the wildness and strength of its 
 bold features, determined to possess it, as a sort ot 
 gorgeous and solemn outpost to her spreading power. 
 She challenged its proud occupants to mortal com- 
 bat, and won it, and gave her banner to the breeze 
 upon its highest peak. The beleaguering strength 
 of nations has since been exhausted to pull that ban- 
 ner down ; but it still waves on, pointing in triumph 
 and pride to the sea-girt isle. 
 
 Every part of Gibraltar, even that which has been 
 most aifected by the subduing power of human inge- 
 nuity, has still upon it a cast of the romantic. The 
 town itself is reared upon parapets cast against its 
 less precipitous side, and scarcely furnishes room for 
 one jostling street ; while higher up, as if half sus- 
 pended in air, hundreds of toppling habitations may 
 be seen fastened to the face of the rock. Thus fifteen
 
 VAEIETIE8 OF POPULATION. 103 
 
 or twenty thousand dwell, looking down upon tlie 
 roof of their nearest neighbor in a series so steep 
 that even the shrub, in its fear of falling, strikes its 
 roots with an unwonted pertinacity. 
 
 Where the side becomes too nearly perpendicular 
 to admit the construction of a support for the artille- 
 ry, the rock has been entered, and long tiers of gal- 
 leries cut in its solid recesses. The heavy guns, as 
 if they might be rendered giddy by their elevation, 
 scarcely look from their dark ports, except when an 
 enemy may heave in sight, and then they will speak 
 to him in a voice which the timid never mistake, and 
 even the fearless can never withstand. 
 
 There is also something strikingly picturesque in 
 the varied aspect of the population : almost every 
 nation is here appropriately represented. Here is 
 the Briton, in the substantial pomp and circumstance 
 of office ; the mercenary soldier, who perhaps never 
 knew his parentage, or knew it only to run away 
 from it, going through his evolutions with a crank- 
 ness and precision which mocks the automatons of 
 Maelzel ; the stout Moor, with his broad benevolent 
 face, and his tm-ban still true to the prophet ; the 
 bearded Jew, peddling his false jewels, and expect- 
 ing the day of his deliverance ; the Greek, with his 
 restless air, and the cunning of his ever-flashing eye ; 
 the Italian, living upon a crust of bread, and draw- 
 ing from every instrument you may name the tones 
 of its slumbering melody ; the Frenchman, polite in
 
 164 SHIP AND SHOEE. 
 
 >'^: 
 
 his last shirt, and whistling over his misfortunes ; 
 the German, silently and snugly amassing a fortune 
 for some unborn nephew ; the Irishman, drinking 
 his last penny in a health to the Emerald Isle, and 
 vowing, by St. Patrick, that it is the sweetest conti- 
 nent in the world ; and the Spaniard, with his dark 
 piercing eye, his sinewy limbs and trusty blade, 
 ready for any enterprise that the gallows and grave 
 have attempted to obstruct. 
 
 These are only a few of the more prominent figures 
 in the picture ; more retired are groups where one 
 might speculate for years. Indeed, if I wished to 
 take to a distant planet a just specimen of this world, 
 in the most condensed form, and had the Herculean 
 power requisite, I would carry off Gibraltar. I should 
 find, in my gregarious wallet, some of the best and 
 worst specimens of human nature, with most of the 
 intermediate links. All religions, trades, professions, 
 and pursuits are tolerated and thrive here. 
 
 There is no pope, it is true, but the mass is said 
 and sung with an emphasis ; there is no high vicar 
 of the prophet, but the Koran is read, and the hou- 
 ried paradise anticipated ; there is no sanhedrim, 
 but the chant of the synagogue is heard, and the 
 promised Messiah still expected ; there is no lectur- 
 ing Esculapius, but the doctors nevertheless learn 
 how to cure or kill ; there are no tread-mills or en- 
 tailed estates, but the lawyers still find fees ; there is 
 no water-fall, but the fabric still goes on, under hu-
 
 MOTTNTED GALLERIES. 165 
 
 man liands ; there is no arable earth, but the deli- 
 cious plant is still reared into maturity ; there is no 
 protection for commerce, but the din of a bustling 
 mart is incessant on the ear ; there is no court, 
 but the trappings of nobility are constantly flash- 
 ing on the eye ; there is no Draco, with his bloody 
 code, but the bailifl" gets his fee, and the hangman 
 is fed ! 
 
 The large and well-selected library of the garrison, 
 in its elegant, commodious building, with its reading- 
 room supplied with periodicals from the different 
 quarters of the world, was a retreat from which I re- 
 luctantly forced myself away. A stranger, who ex- 
 pects to spend any time here, should by all means 
 get introduced to the library. 
 
 Another object of interest here, at least as long as 
 its novelty lasts, is the beautiful Parade-ground, re- 
 tired a little to the south of the bustling town. You 
 may here listen to the music of a powerful military 
 band ; or witness, in the exact and simultaneous mo- 
 tions of the troops, how entirely a creature of system 
 and position an English soldier is ; or you may see 
 the dai-k Genoese darting by, and only casting a fur- 
 tive glance to see how her man of the red coat shows 
 on parade. Near by you will find many snug cot- 
 tages, picturesquely cast into the airy nooks of the 
 rock, shaded by the spreading fig-tree, or the more 
 majestic palm, or the ambitious vine dropping its 
 festoons around the slight corridor ; while the varied
 
 166 SHIP AND SHORE. 
 
 flowers of many climes cast up from their small par- 
 terre the perfume of their mingled sweets. 
 
 Another excursion of interest is to the excavations. 
 We were taken through these by Mr. H., our late 
 consul at this place, a gentleman of polite bearing 
 and of extensive information. The galleries were 
 sufficiently high for Mrs. 11. to ride through their 
 whole extent without once dismounting her donkey. 
 They are cut at some depth from the face of the rock ; 
 their gloom and darkness is relieved only by the 
 light which struggles past the muzzle of the guns, as 
 they look out menacing the world below, with the 
 heavy metal which lies hugely piled around them. 
 
 Looking from these lofty galleries, you feel per- 
 fectly secure from the utmost violence of a besieging 
 enemy, — which to me would be not at all disagreea- 
 ble, — and, at the same time, you feel that every 
 thing beneath you is at your mercy. If it be a fleet, 
 you see that you can send the plunging ball through 
 the deck, while not a shot can mount to your posi- 
 tion ; or if it be a breastwork, you can strike it as 
 the eagle, in his rushing swoop, strikes his prey on 
 the exposed plain. These excavations are a per- 
 petual monument of the enterprise and hardihood of 
 the English. 
 
 From these central regions we ascended a spiral 
 stairway to the top of the rock, and from thence on 
 to the signal-tower, upon its highest summit. Here 
 a corps of observation is stationed, who communicate
 
 ST. Michael's cave. 167 
 
 the arrival of ships in the straits, and who announce, 
 rrom a small battery, the rising and setting of the 
 sun. From this elevation your prospect is eminently 
 commanding. Tou see Atiica, stretching away with 
 a gloomy aspect that well comports with her history 
 of strife and disaster. On the other hand, you dis- 
 cover the nearer coast of Spain, sending the glad 
 tribute of its waters to the sea, and the wild ranges 
 of its more distant moimtains, heaving into the blue 
 sky the glittering pinnacles of their eternal ice. Far 
 over the intervening land rolls the broad Atlantic ; 
 while less remote lies the Mediterranean, in all the 
 brightness and beauty of that hour when the morn- 
 ing stars first sang together over its unveiled face. 
 
 From this position we w'andered to St. Michael's 
 cave, whose winding depths lead down among the 
 foundations of the rock. You enter by a small aper- 
 ture, half concealed by shrubs, and which really 
 promises but little in compensation for your pains. 
 But when you have got fairly within, and see the 
 outline of objects dimly revealed in the light that 
 strays through the narrow opening, — the stalactites 
 descending in columned beauty from the fretted 
 vault to the well-formed pedestal, — the arch, sweep- 
 ing from pillar to pillar with architectural symmetry 
 and precision, — the dark portals of other caverns 
 leading down to regions unknown, — you are as much 
 surprised at the inward as outward structm-e of this 
 singular mass.
 
 168 SHIP AND SHORE. 
 
 It was here that the devoted live hundred con- 
 cealed themselves through a long anxious day, till 
 the shadows of night again concealed their invading 
 movements from the enemy. They had vowed never 
 to return, till they had won back this Rock to the 
 Spanish crown. They had taken the sacrament, 
 been shrived by their priest, and were thus doubly 
 armed — not having before them the fear of this world 
 or the next. They succeeded during the first night 
 in climbing to this cave, where they remained un- 
 discovered through the succeeding day. Upon the 
 following night, they drew up, by the help of rope- 
 ladders, other bold companions to their aid, and were 
 now ready for the decisive blow. 
 
 But a trifling misunderstanding occurring at this 
 critical moment, they were discovered, — attacked by 
 a powerful detachment from the garrison, — driven 
 over the precipice, or slain on the spot — battling it 
 to the last breath. I could not but feel, as I stood on 
 that spot, an indescribable sentiment of sympathy 
 for the disastrous fate of those gallant men. The 
 question of their success, or failure, appears to have 
 been suspended upon a hair. But valor in this world 
 seems to be destined to an early grave, while skulk- 
 ing cowardice lives out its lengthened life of shame. 
 
 Monkeys in considerable numbers, at certain sea- 
 sons of the year, make their appearance among the 
 heights above. They come, as report says, from the 
 AMcan shore, under the rushing straits, in a tunnel.
 
 HTMAN ORIGINALS. 
 
 169 
 
 — probably less magnificent than that beneath the 
 Thames — and reaching some of these lowest caverns, 
 mount through them to the upper regions of light. 
 They manifest such a degree of sagacity and cunning, 
 that I should advise any one, who thinks of adopting 
 Monboddo's theory of man's original formation, to 
 come here and strengthen his incipient convictions. 
 
 These gentlemen of the tail are sometimes pursued 
 by some of their two-legged neighbors ; and on such 
 occasions, when hard pushed, they are prone to turn 
 a quick, short corner, upon the giddy verge of the 
 rock, and let their eager pursuer, who is unable in 
 like manner to arrest his momentum, plunge off the 
 fatal steep. Though this is not exactly destroying an 
 adversary by giving him battle, yet it is killing him 
 in a much handsomer way. 
 
 I recommend, also, all molesters of society to come 
 
 here, and leani how easy it is even for a monkey to 
 
 out-wit a disturber of the public peace. Say what 
 
 we will, the monkey has many of the traits which 
 
 belong to a modern-cut gentleman. He carries, it is 
 
 true, no quizzing-glass ; but then he keeps looking 
 
 and winking and staring, just as he would, were he 
 
 using that elegant ocular aid. His tail, to be sure, is 
 
 rather an embarrassment, but this is no fault of his ; 
 
 and I always feel, when surveying his person, a pity- 
 
 ino; regret that nature should have thought it neces- 
 
 sary to afflict him with this most singular, and wholly 
 
 superfluous appendage ! 
 
 8
 
 170 SHIP AND SHORE. 
 
 On tlie day of our departure from Gibraltar, we 
 were favored with tlie company of an engaging party 
 of ladies and gentlemen, who came on board at the 
 invitation of Capt. and Mrs, Head, with whom they 
 dined. In the course of the day we sailed across the 
 bay to Algeciras, where we obtained a clean bill of 
 health from its kind governor, for the purpose of 
 evading the quarantine laws of Malaga. 
 
 There is a sort of family understanding here, that 
 a ship passing from one port to another of the same 
 nation, shall be exempted from all lazaretto embar- 
 rassments. It was an amiable act in the governor, 
 and I wish it were in our power to return it. The 
 company appeared in excellent spirits, and the occa- 
 sion passed off with unusual animation. Mr. P., our 
 present consul, and his lady, to our regret, were ab- 
 sent. But we could scarcely grieve over the absence 
 of the best of friends, while listening to the music of 
 a Spanish lady who composed one of the company. 
 Her deep and elastic voice, full of sw^eetness and 
 energy, passed through the wide compass of its 
 powers with a thrilling force. In its lowest tones, it 
 had a singular fulness and strength, and yet ap- 
 peared to lose none of its expressive melody, even 
 in that light and vanishing strain in which the music 
 seems to linger when the lips have ceased to breathe. 
 Her light and easy hand would now just touch the 
 strings that answered in soft unison ; and now sweep 
 them as if calling up their harmonies from some
 
 DREAM OF A MEEJIAID. lYl 
 
 profound slumber. I could have listened till anotlier 
 sun had risen; but the one now setting compelled 
 our friends to think of the shore ; and so we parted 
 — thej to their cheerful homes — we to the winds and 
 waves of the Mediterranean. 
 
 Whether it may be ascribed to that apprehension 
 of disaster, which we ever experience on parting with 
 friends, or to the tragical cast of the music to which 
 we had been listening, I know not, but — 
 
 That night I dreamed while in my hammock swinging, 
 Our ship had suddenly become a wreck ; 
 
 The booming wave was in my dull ear ringing, 
 As I went downward from the parted deck ; 
 
 While far above, the hoarsely sounding surge 
 
 Was murmuring to the rocks my funeral dirge 
 
 A mermaid gliding from her coral cave. 
 And bearing in her hand a scallop-shell. 
 
 Hovered around me in my sea-green grave, 
 And played the air, on earth I liked so well. 
 
 It is an air which he who sings or hears, 
 
 However gay, will find himself in tears. 
 
 She breathed it through her sweetly sounding shell ; 
 
 And as she reached that closing, tragic strain, 
 Where wildly dies away Love's last farewell, 
 
 So long did her reluctant lips retain 
 The parting sound in their melodious breath, 
 I quite forgot the agonies of death. 
 
 And there I lay upon my watery bier. 
 Enchanted by this minstrel of the deep : 
 
 The strain had ceased, yet still she hovered near, 
 And seemed, as with a sister's love, to keep 
 
 A tender vigil o'er the troubled slumbers. 
 
 Which she had soothed with her celestial numbers.
 
 172 SHIP AND SHORE. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 The morning stars, that hymned the Earth's creation 
 In melodies which charmed the listening spheres, 
 
 Now fading into dawn, desert their station, 
 
 But leave in dew-drops round their farewell tears ; 
 
 "While Cynthia pales at young Aurora's painting, 
 
 Like timid bride, at nuptial altar fainting. 
 
 MALAGA COMING TO ANCHOK CATHEDRAL TOMB OF MOLIANA FIDDLES 
 
 AND ORGANS IN CHURCHES CASTLE OF THE MOORS HOURS OF A MALA- 
 
 GUENA — TRAITS OF A SINGULAR BANDIT — A SPANISH LADY TWILIGHT 
 
 AND THE PROMENADE A FUNERAL. 
 
 "We dropped anclior in the bay of Malaga at a 
 late hour last night, and fully experienced that illu- 
 sion of distance, which objects discovered at sea, and 
 especially by star-light, never fail to create. I would 
 have ventured any thing on the conjecture, that we 
 were not more than a good cable's length from the 
 landing, when, as it afterwards proved, we were over 
 a league. 
 
 This is a happy provision in nature, for otherwise 
 we might, under a quick wind, a rapid sea, and per- 
 haps a nodding watch, be carried against the rock 
 before we had time to haul our wind, whereas we 
 may now apparently strike it with our jib-boom, and 
 still have room to wear ship. Those who are prone 
 to regard the imperfections of man in a light that
 
 TOlffi OF MOLIAITA. 173 
 
 impugns the divine benevolence, may here find, even 
 in our infirmities, the means of our safety. 
 
 One of the first objects to which we directed our 
 steps upon reaching the shore, was the cathedral — a 
 magnificent, stately pile — towering, in splendor and 
 pride, far above the humble habitations around. The 
 style of its architecture is a mixture of the Koman 
 and Gothic — a union which has here been efiected 
 upon a colossal scale, with a happy and impressive 
 efiect. The interior presents an oblong spheroid, with 
 a double row of Corinthian pillars, rising in marble 
 richness and stability from the centre of the nave to 
 the dome, which sweeps down in well-turned arches 
 upon the lofty entablatures. The high altar and 
 pulpit are of fine flesh-colored marble, and the choir 
 of exquisite workmanship. It contains about fifty 
 stalls, richly wrought in mahogany, and several 
 statues of saints, by celebrated artists. 
 
 The monument of the late bishop Don Jesse de 
 Moliana is well conceived, and tastefully executed. 
 The dying prelate is represented on his tomb, in an 
 inclined posture, leaning faintly on his hand, and 
 looking calmly up with that serene confidence which 
 triumphs over the terrors of death. The meekness 
 and fidelity with which he is reported to liave dis- 
 charged his sacred functions, and his munificent 
 donations to this church, might well secure for him a 
 lasting memorial. 
 
 Though this cathedral is seldom mentioned by
 
 174 SHIP AND SHOKE. 
 
 travellers, yet it is well worthy of being classed 
 among tlie marvels of modern architecture. The 
 area embraced within its walls is four hundred feet 
 in length by two hundred and sixty in breadth, with 
 a hundred and forty to the height of its arches, — giv- 
 ing it dimensions approaching those of the temple 
 which has brought so many thousand pilgrims to 
 Home. 
 
 The two organs, with their deep, rich tones, gave 
 an air of solemnity and inspiration to the place more 
 impressive than the spreading incense of the altar, 
 the majesty of the pillared dome, or the hallowing 
 twilight, which softly bathed each object. While 
 listening to these noble instruments, in the sublime 
 part they bore in the anthem, I could not but feel a 
 mortifying regret at the mistaken hostility with which 
 so many in my own country regard these moving 
 aids to the devotions of the sanctuary. In some ot 
 our churches even a sober bass-viol is not tolerated, 
 and a wind instrument is looked upon as the very 
 hornpipe of the devil. I do not suppose that our as- 
 pirations will be very much deepened or elevated by 
 the trills of a reed or the quavers of a string. But 
 this is no reason why an instrument, which can in- 
 deed " discourse eloquent music," and especially the 
 organ, with its solemnity and power, should be ex- 
 pelled from our worship. 
 
 True, it has not an innate sense of its melodious 
 vocation^or a soul of conscious penitence or praise ;
 
 CASTLE OF THE MOOES. !""> 
 
 nor has the human voice ; yet both may easily aid 
 and express, in some degree, the fervors of our rever- 
 ent homage. David, whose inspired harmonies still 
 live in the church, and will while there is a grateful 
 penitent upon earth, celebrated the " loving-kindness 
 and faithfulness" of his benevolent Preserver " upon 
 an instrument of ten strings, upon the psaltry and 
 upon the harp, with a solemn sound." "When our 
 sanctity shall exceed his, it may perhaps be an ad- 
 ditional indication of piety and wisdom to dispense 
 with all these auxiliaries in our religious services. 
 
 Our next object of curiosity was a castle built by 
 the Moors, on an elevation, from which it subter- 
 raneously communicates with the city, and commands 
 the harbor. It is still in a state of good preservation, 
 and from several inscriptions found on the blocks, of 
 which its foundations are composed, evidently occu- 
 pies the site of a Roman temple, and has been reared 
 to some extent from the materials of that classic edi- 
 fice. This is one of those strongholds in which the 
 power of the Moors took its last stand ; and where it 
 w^as finally compelled to surrender to the superior 
 force of Ferdinand. 
 
 The castle is now useless to its friends and harm- 
 less to its enemies, though a few appendages of mod- 
 ern fortifications might easily render it a source ot 
 safety to the one and terror to the other. But Spain 
 appears to be satisfied with her past achievements ; 
 she is now impotent at a thousand points, where the
 
 176 snip AND SnOEE. 
 
 least energy and enterprise might render her invul- 
 nerable. Nations, like individuals, when they have 
 begun to fall, neglect the easiest means of preserving 
 their tottering dignity and influence. The proud 
 throne of the Ferdinands now exists only by the for- 
 bearance of many a power upon which it once looked 
 down in contemptuous scorn. " How are the mighty 
 fallen, and the weapons of war perished !" 
 
 In our rambles about Malaga we found all her 
 streets narrow, but many of them preserving a decent 
 regard to cleanliness. Her buildings are usually of 
 two stories, with balconies, where pots of delicious 
 plants and flowers cast their fragrance, and where 
 sometimes the black-eyed Malaguena may be seen 
 lingering around them with a lightness and gayety 
 but half concealed by the lattice of the cool veranda. 
 There she sits by the side of the rose, whicli is not 
 more fresh and fair than is her cheek, and near her 
 canary, whose musical voice is never hushed save 
 when her own is heard ; and she passes oflf her light- 
 some hours in casting the rich figure upon the em- 
 broidered veil, or touching her guitar to one of those 
 strains which convert the dull realities of life into a 
 sweet romance. She is not disturbed by your listen- 
 ing ear ; her music still breathes on like that of the 
 nightingale, which the hushed w-oodland catches and 
 returns in mellow echo. 
 
 How difierent this from that unrelaxed gravity, 
 that never smiles when it is pleased, and never weeps
 
 TEAITS OF AN OUTLAW. IT 7 
 
 when it is sad ! Give me the human heart with all 
 its susceptibilities, sympathies, and emotions, un- 
 chained and unblighted, and then diffuse through its 
 quick nature the hallowing and harmonizing in- 
 fluences of religion, and earth has not an object of 
 more thrilling interest and beauty. 
 
 Malaga, though it embraces a population of sixty 
 thousand, and in commercial importance is ranked 
 the third city in Spain, yet it presents not many ob- 
 jects of curious interest to the stranger. But what it 
 wants in objects which usually interest the traveller, 
 it seems to atone for in the bold adventurous charac- 
 ter of the outlaws who occasionally disturb the peace 
 and safety of its borders. The most conspicuous of 
 these freebooters is Jose Maria, whose history will 
 hereafter, I doubt not, furnish the elements of some 
 absorbing romance. He considered himself, as it 
 appears, wronged out of that political j)osition to 
 which his talents and services justly entitled him, 
 and in his indignant mortification determined to pun- 
 ish the neglect and ingratitude by assuming and en- 
 forcing an attitude that might set the prejudiced 
 decisions and partial laws of the times at defiance. 
 He collected a band of faithful, fearless spirits, and 
 proclaimed himself general-in-chief of Granada and 
 king of the roads. If a thorough maintenance of as- 
 sumed authority can establish it in respect and ap- 
 probation of mankind, then no one will feel disposed 
 to question the-titles of Jose Maria. 
 
 8* m
 
 178 SHIP AND SHORE. 
 
 He is a chivalrous reformer, a gallant leveller of 
 those invidious distinctions which the inequalities of 
 property never fail to create. A fundamental princi- 
 ple in his innovating code appears to be, that as 
 wealth is generally an adventitious circumstance, a 
 participation in its benefits should not be denied to 
 those who have been less favored of fortune. Ac- 
 cordingly, in his disposal of all the contributions 
 which he levies upon the traveller and citizen, he 
 manifests a scrupulous regard to the demands of the 
 poor, reserving to himself only a sufficiency for the 
 support of his hardy clan. 
 
 His mode of operation has none of that creeping, 
 skulking meanness and cruelty about it, which so fre- 
 quently disfigure the character of the outlaw. He 
 rides in broad daylight into the neighborhood of some 
 town or village, summons individually the more 
 wealthy portion of its inhabitants to appear before 
 him, and then names a definitive sum, which they 
 must deliver to him in a specific number of hours. 
 They do not dare to disregard the summons or refuse 
 the amount demanded. This levy, reaching in some 
 instances a very large amount, he distributes, with 
 a slight reserve for himself, among the poorer classes 
 of that community. 
 
 He has never been known to shed blood, nor is he 
 often under the necessity of resorting to violent 
 threats. The traveller discovers at once that resist- 
 ance would be vain, and yields with as good a grace
 
 TRAITS OF AN OUTLAW. 1T9 
 
 as he can. Tet the gallant robber will by no means 
 deprive hira of his last farthing, bnt leave him 
 enough, with due economy, to reach his destination, 
 or some place where he may replenish his funds. 
 Sometimes, when the individual happens to be a 
 wealthy citizen of Spain, travelling perhaps a short 
 distance, without much encumbrance of specie about 
 his person, Jose Maria furnishes him with pen, ink, 
 and paper, and a suggestion — rather an embarrassing 
 one, to be sure — for him to draw on his banker for a 
 few thousands, and then politely entertains his guest 
 till the draft has been presented and the funds pro- 
 cured ; and even then he is not discharged without 
 an allowance sufficient for his comfortable retm-n 
 home. 
 
 In this manner he detained, not long since, in his 
 little encampment, even the governor of Malaga. 
 The only consequence was, that his excellency re- 
 turned from his morning ride with a pile or two less 
 of doubloons in his drawer than what he possessed 
 upon mounting his steed ; and many widows and 
 orphans had another donation to expect from their 
 wild benefactor. 
 
 Another striking trait in the character of Jose Ma- 
 ria is his uniform courtesy to the ladies. So far from 
 offering them the slightest indignity, it is an offence 
 which he punishes in his ranks with death. He 
 does, indeed, require them to aid him in the support 
 of the numerous objects dependent on his bounty ;
 
 180 SHIP AKD snoEE. 
 
 hilt lie makes his demand with so much politeness, 
 with snch a gentlemanly^ bearing, that they could 
 hardly have the disposition to refuse, even were it in 
 their power. But when the intercepted lady proves 
 to be destitute of funds, he generously supplies her 
 with the means of pursuing her journey, and parts 
 with her upon such terms that she will smile in her 
 sleep as she dreams of him through many a night 
 afterwards. 
 
 A lady of large fortune, wishing recently to travel 
 from Malaga to Madrid, sent out to Jose and ob- 
 tained a passport, for which she paid fifty dollars ; 
 but it so happened, owing to some very natural mis- 
 take on the part of the courtly king of the roads, that 
 she was stopped on her route. She had, however, 
 only to present her passport, when a handsome apol- 
 ogy was made for the interruption, and she was 
 allowed to proceed on her way with many kind 
 wishes. The gallant freebooter never violates his 
 word. 
 
 Several Englishmen, recently travelling through 
 Spain, were intercepted by this gentlemanly robber, 
 who exercised considerable liberty with their heavy 
 purses, but allowed them to retain sufficient to take 
 them to a town where they could draw on their 
 bankers. Upon parting with them, he good-humor- 
 edly remarked, that as English travellers were in the 
 habit of writing and publishing joimials, he trusted 
 they would speak of him in those terms of respect to
 
 TKAIT8 OF AN OTJTLAW. 181 
 
 which he was justly entitled. They might call him 
 a robber, an outlaw : to these appellations he had no 
 objections ; but they must not write him down a 
 bloody blackguard ; for his reputation was much 
 dearer to him than his life. John Bull then depart- 
 ed, in vexation, to be sure, for the loss of the money, 
 but with an admirino; astonishment at the ooen and 
 courtly manner in which it had been exacted. 
 
 Another redeeming characteristic in Jose Maria is 
 his ardent love of liberty. When a person has fallen 
 under the ban for the freedom of his political opin- 
 ions, this friend of the oppressed frequently effects 
 his entire release. The expedients by which he ac- 
 complishes this are novel and various ; but they all 
 bespeak a singular shrewdness of intellect and ener- 
 gy of conduct. 
 
 A man of considerable distinction was recently 
 condemned to the gallows, as entertaining sentiments 
 too republican for the despotical nature of the times, 
 Jose therefore just took into custody, as hostages, 
 three or four monks, and informed the proper au- 
 thorities, that in case the capital sentence should be 
 executed on the prisoner, the heads of these monks 
 should roll after him to the grave. The menace had 
 the intended effect. The captive was released ; and 
 the men of saintly garb were allowed to return to 
 their books and beads. Sometimes he even enters 
 the place of execution, and rescues the noble victim 
 while ascending the scaffold. His very name strikes
 
 182 SHIP AISTD SHORE. 
 
 a terror into tyranny, and disarms the miscreants 
 that riot in its cruelties. 
 
 Many efibrts have been made by the Spanish au- 
 thorities to take Jose Maria, and bring him to an ig- 
 nominious death ; but they have proved unsuccessfuL 
 The mountain fastness, the blades of his trusty fol- 
 lowers, the voice of the thousands he has fed, and, 
 above all, his own exhaustless genius, have been his 
 defence. He has his regular brokers in Malaga to 
 facilitate his operations ; and he has also a timid 
 Medora here, whom he frequently visits in the stormy 
 night, and with whom he talks over the perils of his 
 present condition, and a hope of better days to come. 
 It is presumed by many that her gentle influence 
 will induce him at length to abandon his adventur- 
 ous life, and accept a situation under a government 
 that is already willing to purchase his alliance, at 
 almost any price. 
 
 Before leaving this ancient town of Spain, I must 
 pause a moment at the Alameda, the most attractive 
 spot in Malaga. This green promenade, shaded with 
 orange and oleander trees, occupies a spacious place 
 in the most elegant portion of the city. It is orna- 
 mented with a superb fountain, ever showering its 
 refreshing waters among groups of marble statues, 
 which have all the frolic and garmentless glee of the 
 bath ! This fountain was a present from the repub- 
 lic of Genoa to the emperor Charles Y. ; and after 
 having passed through the vicissitudes of being cap-
 
 THE SPAlflSH LADY. 183 
 
 tnred by an Algerine corsair, and of fortunately be- 
 ing retaken, was brought to this port, and finally 
 placed where it now stands. 
 
 But the Alameda, at the purpling twilight, has a 
 still lovelier sight than this. It is not beauty in the 
 changeless representations of marble, but in the full 
 pulse and play of real life. At this mellowing hour, 
 the fair Malaguena may be seen, gliding away with 
 the family group from the restricted corridor, to this 
 more ample and animating promenade. Her man- 
 tilla falls in light flowing folds over the glossy clus- 
 ters of her raven locks, and seems so attracted by 
 the charms which it half conceals, that it scarcely 
 needs even the delicate confinement of the jewelled 
 hand that now and then adjusts its condition. Her 
 basquinia, with its deep tasselled festoons, falls from 
 the cinctm-e of the slight waist, in spreading adapta- 
 tion to the fuller developments of her form, down to 
 an ankle, over which it scarcely consents to extend 
 the obscuring veil of its drapery. Her small round 
 foot, which seems at every moment in the act of 
 leaping from its little slipper, leaves the earth, and 
 lights upon it again, with most exquisite grace and 
 precision. Her countenance, ever partaking more of 
 thoughtfulness than mirth, has the carnation melting 
 through the transparent cheek, the slumber of a 
 smile around the lip, and the. tender light of a full, 
 black, overpowering eye. 
 
 As she floats along, she casts upon you, if an inti-
 
 184 SHIP AND SHORE. 
 
 mate, a look of the most glad and sparkling recogni- 
 tion ; if a stranger, a look that lingers on your heart 
 long after the beautiful being herself may have passed 
 away. It is precisely such a look as one would wear 
 who is pleased that there is just such a being as 
 yourself in the world, and is hapj^y in passing you 
 this once, though she may never meet you again. It 
 may, perhaps, be owing to my unfamiliarity with the 
 world ; but I did not suppose it possible for a person 
 to find, in a land of strangers, that which could so 
 allure him to the spot, and strike to his inmost sensi- 
 bilities, as what one must experience who puts his 
 foot within the sweet environs of Malaga. 
 
 But there are other engaging objects at sunset in 
 this Alameda. Groups of sweetly clad children frolic 
 hand in hand up and down its floating area ; while 
 the little miss of ten, under a less reserve than her 
 senior sister, smiles up to you with a countenance 
 full of light and gladness. You feel half disposed to 
 recognize this infantine pleasure in the liberties of a 
 kiss, but not venturing so far, you pass on, only to 
 encounter again the same captivating scene. You 
 meet also, at every turn, a cleanly clad individual, 
 ready to help you to a glass of fresh water, a rich ice 
 cream, or one ready, with his little flambeau, to light 
 your cigar. 
 
 Under the shade of the orange and oleander you 
 pass social groups, on their circling chairs, holding 
 their free tertulia, where every topic takes its light
 
 rUNEEAL PROCESSION. 
 
 185 
 
 and transient turn. From every thing that yon see, 
 y^our impression is, that the little embarrassments 
 imposed by adventitious superiority are here laid 
 aside ; that artificial restraints are forgotten ; that 
 heart meets heart, and that many, without being the 
 less wise, are rendered the more happy by such pas- 
 times. 
 
 We had taken leave of these gay groups, and 
 turned to depart for om- boats which were waiting at 
 the beach, when another scene, and one that strangely 
 contrasted with those around, arrested our steps. It 
 would seem as if it had come only to remind us of 
 the fleeting nature of the objects that we had been 
 admiring, to tell us that all this brightness and beauty, 
 which onr feelings had almost exempted from tears 
 and decay, must pass down under the cloud of the 
 grave ! It came nearer, and now with a step mourn- 
 ful and slow entered the Alameda. This place, but a 
 moment since so full of life, voices, and mirth, was 
 now hushed, while every ear was tm-ned to the low 
 anthem of the dead. 
 
 The youth and drapery of those who numerously 
 followed the bier, told that it was to a sister's worth 
 that they were paying these last sad rites. It seemed 
 as if I had known that young being, — as if I had 
 often encountered her youthful face, heard her voice, 
 and seen her die. 
 
 But yesterday, and thou were bright 
 As rays that fringe the early cloud ;
 
 186 SHIP AND SHORE. 
 
 Now lost to life, to love, and light, 
 
 Wrapt in the winding-sheet and shroud ; 
 
 And darkly o'er thee broods the pall, 
 While faint and low thy dh-ge is sung; 
 
 And warm and fast around thee fall 
 Tears of the beautiful and young. 
 
 No more, sweet one ! on thee, no more 
 
 Will break the day-dawn fresh and fail- ; 
 No more the purple twilight pour 
 
 Its softness round thy raven hair ; 
 No more beneath thy magic hand 
 
 Will wake the lyre's responsive lay ; 
 Or round its rings the wreath expand, 
 
 To crown a sister's natal day. 
 
 Yet as the sweet surviving vine. 
 
 Around the bough that buds no more 
 Will still its tender leaves entwine, 
 
 And bloom as freshly as before ; 
 So fond affection still will shed 
 
 The light on thee it used to wear, 
 And plant its roses round thy bed. 
 
 To breathe in fragrant beauty there.
 
 PASSAGE FROM MALAGA TO MAHON. - 18Y 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 No breath from mountain, cloud, or cavern creeps 
 Along the water's hushed expanse ; the wave 
 
 Unbroken in iis tranquil aspect, sleeps 
 Serene as Beauty in her sunless grave ; 
 
 Nor moves a tide, unless its silent flow 
 
 Be through the caves and coral halls below. 
 
 PASSAGE FROM MALAGA TO MAHON TEDIOUS CALMS — RELIEVING INCI- 
 DENTS — VISIT OF A BIRD CAPTURE OF AN OMINOUS SHARK — INTRU- 
 SIONS OF A GHOST UNFAIR TAKING OFF OF A BLACK CAT PETTED 
 
 HEDGE-HOG MORGAn's SPECTRE AT NIAGARA MAHON HARBOR FORT 
 
 ST. PHILIP ADMIRAL BYNG LAZARETTO NAVi'-YARD HABITS OF THE 
 
 MAHONEES EFFECTS OF A CERTAIN VICE ON MAN GRAI^D ORGAN 
 
 SAILORS ON SHORE — JACK AND THE OPERA — ENTERTAINMENTS. 
 
 We have been fifteen days on our passage from 
 Malaga to Mahon, — a distance frequently run in less 
 than three. Most of the time we have been encoun- 
 tering a light head wind, or have been lying in a mo- 
 tionless calm. The sun has been intensely oppress- 
 ive, and we have had nothing to temper its burn- 
 ing ray except a sight of the snow-clad mountains 
 of Granada. I have sat by the hour together, looking 
 at these icy pinnacles ; and as my fancy ranged among 
 their shapeless halls of frost, I have felt, or imagined 
 that I felt, the palpitating pulse become more calm 
 and cool. Philosophers may say what they please,
 
 188 SHIP AND SHOEE. 
 
 but a man's imagination has nearly as much influence 
 over the temperature of his body, as it has over the 
 habitudes of the mind. Who ever in his dream of 
 the avalanche cast another blanket from the covering 
 of his couch ? 
 
 A calm at sea, on board a man-of-war, is not utterly 
 unrelieved by incidents. It is indeed devoid of the 
 peculiar excitement which a storm brings with it. 
 No spar is broken — no shroud is rent — no sail casts 
 its tattered form upon the wind ; but some novelty of 
 a lighter and less perilous character is constantly oc- 
 curring. Some wandering bird will rest its weary 
 wing on the mast ; or some hungry shark that has 
 been hanging around the ship for days, will at last 
 come within the deadly reach of the harpoon ; or 
 some evil genius that has haunted the ship in the 
 shape of a ghost, or the less imposing form of a black 
 cat, will be detected in the mysterious windings of its 
 iniquitous errand. We have experienced these inci- 
 dents, trifles in themselves, but which, with many 
 others of a similar nature, tend incredibly to relieve 
 the monotony of a calm at sea. 
 
 The bird lighted on one of our spars just at sunset, 
 and wearied with its long wanderings, sunk instantly 
 to sleep. We sent up a sailor, had him brought down 
 into the cabin, where he was hospitably entertained 
 through the night, and in the morning, after attach- 
 ing a small silk thread to him was permitted to de- 
 part, with many warm wishes for his safety. But the
 
 VISIT OF A BIRD, 189 
 
 nfext day, at sunset, he lighted again on one of our 
 top-gallant yards ; we received him with a cordial 
 welcome, and parting with him the succeeding morn- 
 ing, we attached to him a slight label, upon which 
 was delicately printed the name of our ship, with her 
 latitude and lono-itude. 
 
 Thus intrusted and commissioned, he winged his 
 way off, with the directness and speed of an aerial 
 envoy ; and when we next heard of him, he had 
 lighted at an immense distance on one of our armed, 
 ships ; conveying on the label information equally 
 strange and unexpected. I would travel leagues to 
 see that bird again ; but it has gone, like most of the 
 beautiful things of this earth, which only seem to 
 cross our path, and then vanish away forever ! 
 
 They flutter round in airy mirth, 
 
 And pour their little stave, 
 As full of glee, as if the earth 
 
 Contained no grave. 
 
 And thus when I shall sink to rest. 
 
 The crowd will still move on, 
 And be as gay above my breast, 
 
 As naught had gone ! 
 
 But He who hears the raven's cry, 
 
 And marks the sparrow's fall. 
 Will ne'er forget me, though I die 
 
 Unmourned by all. 
 
 The shark shared none of these feelings of hospi- 
 tality and fiiendship. His very company is regard-
 
 190 SHIP ANT> SHORE. 
 
 ed as an extremely ill omen ; especially when there 
 is a person sick on board. Sailors believe that this 
 fearful fish has what they term the instinct of death, 
 and that his appearance is good evidence that the 
 body of some one is about to be committed to the 
 deep. They also look upon him as in some meas- 
 ure instrumental in bringing about the melancholy 
 event ; and are therefore as anxious to secure his de- 
 struction, as a threatened city to arrest the invading 
 progress of the cholera or plague. 
 
 A favorite of the crew was now apparently lying 
 at the point of death ; and this shark had been hang- 
 ing around our ship for several days. The harpoon 
 had many times been poised to strike him ; but the 
 wily fellow had ever managed to escape the plung- 
 ing steel. At length an old seam.an, who had been 
 accustomed to strike the whale on the coast of Green- 
 land, and who still betrayed the characteristics of his 
 rude profession, in the peculiar fierce fixedness of his 
 eye and the muscular energy of his arms, taking the 
 harpoon, stationed himself on the ship's bows, and 
 declared he would never quit his post till he had 
 "backed the topsails of that lurking devil in the 
 water." 
 
 He had not been long on his watch before the 
 wished-for opportunity arrived ; and never went an 
 arrow to its mark with more directness and celerity, 
 than the harpoon to its victim. It struck him di- 
 rectly between the fore-fins, and with such desperate
 
 VISIT OF A GHOST. 191 
 
 force, that extrication and escape were impossible. 
 A sliout of satisfaction and triumpli announced the 
 victory. The sick man soon became convalescent ; 
 and it would be difficult to persuade many of the 
 crew that his recovery is not attributable to the de; 
 struction of this ominous shark ! 
 
 The ghost appeared in a still more mysterious 
 character. One of the young gentlemen who slept 
 in the cock-pit, was observed rapidly to waste away 
 in his strength ; while his countenance suddenly as- 
 sumed an aspect of melancholy wildness. He was 
 naturally of a taciturn temperament, little disposed 
 to obtrude his private fears and apprehensions upon 
 the attention of others. Perhaps a silence on the 
 present occasion, was the more strongly suggested by 
 the philosophical habits which' he had early and de- 
 votedly cultivated. He was often questioned as to 
 the cause of the wasting illness, which had now be- 
 come alarmingly apparent in the sunken, pallid ex- 
 pression of his features, and the fitful nervousness of 
 his frame. But no reply could be obtained, except 
 what might be conveyed in a mournful look or an in- 
 voluntary sigh. 
 
 At last, however, he acknowledged that something 
 appeared nightly before him, the most unearthly in 
 its shape ; and which, in spite of his utter disbelief 
 in supernatural appearances, struck a chilling terror 
 to his heart; and that on such occasions the ham- 
 mock in which he reposed was violently agitated,
 
 192 snip AND SHORE. 
 
 and swuus: a2;ainst the bulk-head with a force which 
 no motion of the sea could create. 
 
 The rush of the hammock against the bulk-head 
 had for several nights awakened the alarm of his 
 companions in the cock-pit. This fact, together with 
 the known character of the individual for veracity 
 and sound sense, induced us to set a watch to detect, 
 if possible, the mysterious agent of these alarms. 
 This watch, consisting of three faithful and intelli- 
 gent individuals, in the first place, searched the 
 apartment in which the invalid slept, carefully clos- 
 ing and securing every door which led into it ; and 
 then waited, with dead-lanterns in their hands, for 
 the nocturnal visitant. As the clock struck the hour 
 of twelve, a low, vacant moan w^as heard ; and the 
 patient, who had till now rem.ained composed on 
 his pillow, starting up, exclaimed, — " Tliere it is !" 
 " there it comes !" — " Merciful heaven, protect 
 me !" 
 
 His hammock, at the same instant, rushed against 
 the bulk-head with a violence which no mortal arm 
 could impart. Large drops of cold perspiration 
 stood on the forehead of the patient ; his eyes wxre 
 starting from their sockets, and every nerve in his 
 frame was shaking with a strange, unnatural fear. 
 Search was immediately made, but no vestige of any 
 living thing could be discovered, nor any clue to the 
 convulsive movements of the hammock, or hollow 
 moan of the voice, or ghastly form of the apparition.
 
 VISIT OF A GHOST. 193 
 
 The watch was exchanged for many nights in snc- 
 cession, and the same mysterious phenomena wit- 
 nessed by each, till even the most skeptical regarded 
 incredulity no longer an evidence of superior saga- 
 city or philosophical wisdom. 
 
 ITor were these strange appearances confined to 
 the cock-pit ; but the men stationed in the tops ob- 
 served a singular form, in a dress of spotless white, 
 moving among the rigging — now pausing upon one 
 of the yards, now ascending to mast-head, and then 
 again balancing itself upon some of the lighter tra- 
 cery of the ship. Tlie unsubstantial movements of 
 this spectre among the shrouds and loftier apjDend- 
 ages of the ship, awakened in the susceptible mind 
 of the sailor the most alarming apprehensions. 
 
 You would see him, as he was ordered to take his 
 watch aloft, squaring off towards the ratlines with 
 the looks and attitudes of one doubtful of results, 
 but at least resolved to die manfully. " Let him 
 come," Jack would murmm-, "like something that 
 has common honesty about him, and smite my tim- 
 bers, if I don't knock daylight out of him ; but this 
 jumping about on the ropes, half the time in the air, 
 and half the time on nothing, is foul play, and bodes 
 no good." The imaginations of the crew soon be- 
 came so excited, that nothing was thought or dreamt 
 of among them but ghosts, spectres, hobgoblins, and 
 blood ! Tliese alarms not only gave rise to many 
 frightful stories, but they called up, from the smoth- 
 
 9
 
 194 snip AND SHORE. 
 
 ered graves of memory, tales terrific enough, to startle 
 the dead in their shrouds ! 
 
 The incantation, from which these ghostly terrors 
 emanated, has now been sufficiently traced to remove 
 all apprehensions of a supernatural agency. It was 
 the jugglery of a young man, the apparent artlessness 
 of whose disposition had subjected him to many a 
 ludicrous hoax from the junior officers and some of 
 the crew. But he has enjoyed a most ample retalia- 
 tion : 
 
 The luckless subject of the merry trick 
 Became himself the master of the spell, 
 And rolled the laughter back. 
 
 Tlie fate of the black cat was one which the ad- 
 mirers of the tabby tribe will sternly disapprove. 
 This restless domestic is looked upon by the sailor, 
 especially when afflicted with a black visage, with no 
 kindly or tolerant feelings. There is no bad luck 
 about the ship which is not ascribed to some evil in- 
 fluence which she is supposed to exercise. Hence, 
 in a storm or dead calm, poor tab has a tremendous 
 responsibility. Our unfortunate puss had been taken 
 on board at Malaga, and since her embarkation we 
 had not been visited by one favorable breeze. This 
 calamity was attributed to her universally among the 
 crew. 
 
 There needed no language to tell what their senti- 
 ments were, for as puss came upon deck, so far from 
 being petted, she encountered everywhere looks of
 
 THE BLACK CAT. 195 
 
 the most threatening aversion, "l^ever," said an old 
 tar to me, " did any good come to a ship that had a 
 black cat in its concern. I have sailed," he contin- 
 ued, " on every sea and in every kind of craft, and I 
 never yet knew a ship make a good voyage that went 
 to sea on Friday, or had on board one of these black 
 imps. These are facts, sir ; land-lubbers may laugh 
 at them, but they are facts, and true as my name is 
 John Wilkins." 
 
 It was of no use to question the convictions of the 
 old seaman's experience ; he was as confident and 
 deeply earnest, as a man testifying to the indisputable 
 evidence of his senses. It was for this reason that 
 he, with some others, formed that shocking purpose 
 so fatal to poor tab. For on that very night, in the 
 middle watch, a quick plunge was heard in the calm 
 sea, and the next morning puss was missing ! They 
 had attached to her a heavy shot, and she sunk at 
 once to the centre of the great floating realm, where 
 she remains unapproached by the animosity of man, 
 or the footsteps of the reckless rat ! 
 
 Sterne would have written her epitaph in tears ; 
 but I am not penning a sentimental journal, nor am 
 I now in the lachrymal vein ; yet I would not have 
 purchased by such a deed even the fine breeze which 
 visited us the next day, and which was regarded by 
 the tabby-cides as a sanction of their sanguinary con- 
 duct. We should never forget that many a man has 
 atoned by his death for a life of crime, which com-
 
 196 snip AND 8H0EE. 
 
 menced in the destrnction of a harmless insect. We 
 should also bear in mind the irremediable deprivation 
 of life and happiness which even in these trifling in- 
 stances we inflict ; for 
 
 " The poor beetle, that we tread upon, 
 In corporal sufferance finds a pang as great 
 As -when a giant dies." 
 
 Though the antipathy of the sailor to the shark and 
 black cat is so unqualified, yet his friendship and 
 affection are extended to objects nearly as numberless 
 and ill-favored as those to which the superstitious 
 Egyptian paid the homage of his promiscuous wor- 
 ship. The favorite pet on board, at the present time, 
 is a hedge-hog ; who moves about with an air of 
 freedom and independence which is truly enviable. 
 Notwithstanding his bristling quills and inimical at- 
 titudes, he is cherished by the crew with as much 
 solicitude as if he were a cherub, destined one day to 
 herald their spirits to a brighter and better world. 
 
 They have already initiated him into some of our 
 earthly sciences ; and though he may not be able 
 now to solve a deep mathematical problem or sing 
 an exquisite song, yet he appears to be daily taking 
 observations of the sim, and setting his organs for a 
 melodious burst. He will not probably at first do 
 justice to some of the more touching strains of a 
 Eossini, yet he will doubtless far surpass many of our 
 ladies, who afiect a contempt for all music except 
 these difiicult compositions. .
 
 BELIEF m GHOSTS. 19*? 
 
 I return to ghosts : not that I would intimate the 
 presence of any on board our ship at this tune, or 
 maintain, by an introduction of stern evidence, the 
 credibility of their existence. I consider this question 
 as settled conclusively among all enlightened un- 
 prejudiced minds. A few, indeed, may still with- 
 hold their assent, but their skepticism evinces only 
 their want of philosophy, their weakness and vanity. 
 They refuse their belief, as they inform us, because 
 no one of these mysterious beings has ever appeared 
 in the daytime. N^ow, what a fool a ghost must be 
 to make his appearance in broad daylight, subjecting 
 himself not only to the imj)udent cui'iosity of man- 
 Mnd, but to the riddling rays of the sun, when even 
 the moonbeams cast through him their sickly 
 light. 
 
 But it is not a fact, as stated, that no one of these 
 spectres has appeared in the daytime. When Mor- 
 gan was put to death on the strand of Niagara for 
 his treachery, and his body sunk in that stream, there 
 appeared hovering around the place an uncorporeal 
 being, so like him in every look, that no one ques- 
 tioned the identity or doubted the tragic deed. The 
 discovery filled everj^body with consternation, and 
 the whole land shook like the bones of a skeleton 
 under a galvanic battery. Thousands not only ab- 
 jured masonry, but renounced their political faith. I 
 made myself a palpitating pilgrimage to Niagara. 
 Ay — and I never shall forget that vision !
 
 198 SHIP AND S1I0EE. 
 
 There walks o'er steep Niagara's wave 
 A ghost, whose form hath found a grave, 
 
 Deep in those wlielming tides ; 
 Its feathered footsteps scarcely seem 
 To bend the surface of the stream, 
 
 O'er which this phantom glides. 
 
 Around it there is cast a shroud, 
 That seems more like a folding cloud, 
 
 Than aught that mortals wear ; 
 Its downcast eye, its faded cheek, 
 Its pale and trembling lips bespeak 
 
 A spirit of despair. 
 
 It moans a hoarse and hollow wail, 
 That mingles with the gusty gale. 
 
 And with the rumbling flood ; 
 It points toward the crimsoned shore, 
 And shrieks, as if it felt once more 
 
 The knife that drank its blood. 
 
 Its wail is echoed wild and wide, 
 
 From rock, and steep, and bounding tide, 
 
 Around that haunted coast ; 
 And fearful mothers, trembling, tell 
 Their little ones how Morgan fell. 
 
 And of this wandering ghost. 
 
 Along that fatal shore is heard 
 No more the song of merry bird, 
 
 Or sound of hunter's horn ; 
 The faithful watch-dog seems afraid 
 Of every sound that stirs the shade. 
 
 And bays till peep of morn.
 
 FOET ST. PHILIP. 199 
 
 No more can sun, nor lunar beam, 
 Erect a rainbow o'er that stream, 
 
 From which the tish have fled ; 
 But there a little cloud appears. 
 And sheds its unregarded tears. 
 
 Like one that weeps the dead. 
 
 We are now riding at anchor in the harbor of Ma- 
 hon. This harbor cuts its narrow way between bold 
 and broken shores for several miles into the island ; 
 affording through its whole length a most secure an- 
 chorage. The waters in this deep channel lie as still 
 as the fabled river of Death, but they are much less 
 gloomy than the tideless flow of that sullen flood. 
 They are relieved by a picturesque shore — by the 
 frequent ship reposing proudly on her element, and 
 the traversing speed of innumerable boats, leaving 
 behind their hastening keels a long train of phos- 
 phoric light. ISTothing can surpass the sentiment of 
 quietude and security which one feels riding here at 
 anchor, while the chafing ocean is fretting against 
 the rocky barrier without. It is like a snug seat by 
 the side of a cheerful fire in a cold winter's night, 
 while the storm and sleet are driving against your 
 secure casement. 
 
 On entering this harbor you pass upon the left the 
 ruins of Fort St. Philip ; a fortification that, in the 
 day of its pride and strength, might have looked 
 with scornful defiance upon the menaces of any in- 
 vading foe. Tlie endming parapet, the winding gal-
 
 200 SHIP AND SHOKE. 
 
 leries cut in tlie solid rock, with the heavy bastion 
 above, may still be traced, though they are but the 
 dim and broken outline of ruined strength. This 
 work of demolition is not the effect of time, but the 
 condition of a treaty founded in weakness and folly. 
 The once impregnable character of this fort owed its 
 existence to British skill and hardihood ; and in the 
 possession of that sagacious power, it would have 
 preserved this character, but every thing was lost by 
 a lamentable want of judgment or courage in Admi- 
 ral Byng. 
 
 The French, in their war of conquest, had fixed a 
 determined eye on this spot ; they had hovered around 
 it with their fleet, and cut oft' all foreign supply of 
 provisions. The islanders, with a most unaccountable 
 insanity, withheld the few supplies which it was in 
 their power to afford, and consequently the garrison 
 was reduced to a state of starvation ; still the be- 
 sieged held out with incredible self-denial and per- 
 severance. At last the fleet of Admiral Byng hove 
 in sight, bringing with it the relief for which so many 
 were famishing and fainting in death. But how ap- 
 palling must have been their feelings, their despair, 
 when they saw this fleet, after manoeuvering in sight 
 of an enemy to which they were superior in force, 
 bear oif and leave them to their melancholy fate ! 
 It is no wonder, that in their mortified pride and in- 
 dignation at this desertion, and in the extremities of 
 their famishing condition, they snrrendered.
 
 THE FOET AXD LAZAEETTO. 201 
 
 They were compelled to yield to the enemy or the 
 grave. In the excitements of a desperate conflict 
 men may prefer the latter, but without this absorbing 
 passion, there are but few who may not be slowly tor- 
 tured by famine into a surrender of temporary power. 
 For this act of seeming treachery and its disastrous 
 consequences, the Admiral atoned by an ignominious 
 death. I can never think of his last end, however, 
 without some sentiments of compassion. Perhaps his 
 conduct flowed less from cowardice than irresolution, 
 and that strange bewilderment, into which the minds 
 of some men are cast, by the impetuous approach of 
 a trying and perilous moment. If penalties can 
 atone for indiscretion or crime, the memory of this 
 unfortunate man should be allowed to rest without 
 reproach. 
 
 Upon the opposite bank are the remains of Fort 
 Marlborough ; but there is now no terror or majesty 
 about it except what lingers in its name. How are 
 the most formidable works of man cast aside, like 
 weeds which the wave sweeps from the rock ! If 
 man, in the phrensy of his passions, does not destroy 
 his own works. Time soon comes with his levelling 
 wand, and leaves only enough to puzzle the antiquary. 
 
 Not far from the relics of this fort stands the Laza- 
 retto, a noble monument of wisdom and humanity. 
 In the extent and convenience of its apartments, it is 
 surpassed in Europe only by that of Marseilles. It is 
 about fifteen hundred yards in circumference, and so 
 
 9*
 
 202 SHIP AND SHOKE. 
 
 arranged in its interior construction, that tlie most 
 malignant or contagious diseases cannot spread from 
 one ward to another. Its accommodations are suffi- 
 ciently ample to meet any emergency that may arise 
 among the squadrons which frequent this sea. How 
 much wiser is it in a nation to expend its treasures 
 in the construction of establishments of this kind, than 
 in the erection of sumptuous monasteries for the ac- 
 commodation of indolence and infamy ! 
 
 Higher up the harbor, and near the right bank, 
 emerges from the wave the quarantine island. 
 Around this may be seen, moored in security, the 
 ships and craft of various nations undergoing their 
 purifying penalties. Directly opposite stands the vil- 
 lage of Georgetown, whose kindly inhabitants, it is 
 said, extend their liospitality even beyond that line 
 where virtue should pause, and beauty veil the win- 
 ning aspect of her charms. Still ascending, we pass, 
 near the right shore. Hospital Island, with its infirm- 
 ary; where the diseased may be fitted to join the 
 living, or the innumerable dead. 
 
 Hi "-her up still, on the same shore, and near the 
 head of deep water, we find the navy-yard, with its 
 small octagonal islet, warehouses, and the countless 
 facilities which the mutable habits of a ship's exterior 
 render so desirable. Here you may see the majestic 
 ship reduced in a few hours, as by the demolishing 
 stroke of a wizard's wand, to a mere hulk ; and then, 
 as if by the same magical influence, suddenly as-
 
 TOWN OF MAHON. 203 
 
 suming again all its wonted stateliness and beauty. 
 The dexterity and force of nautical science is no- 
 where more strikingly displayed than in the extent 
 and rapidity of these metamorphic exhibitions. I 
 would as soon attempt to construct a world as to re- 
 turn a tenth portion of the disengaged upper works 
 of a ship to their puzzling places. 
 
 Opposite the navy-yard stands the town of Mahon, 
 with its narrow quay, scarcely affording a foundation 
 for the range of storehouses which wall the low 
 shore ; while far above, in giddy elevation, the more 
 advanced dwellings of the place appear to nod from 
 the toppling crags. Ascending to their airy position 
 by paths cut in the rock, or secured among the spiral 
 clefts, you find yourself in a quiet town, \vith clean 
 streets, unambitious but neat dwellings, and a popu- 
 lation characterized for their industry, honesty, fru- 
 gality, and amiable deportment. I have seldom been 
 in a community where there is so much to pity, and 
 so much to admire. 
 
 Their poverty is attended by a simplicity and self- 
 relying straggle at alleviation, which move your 
 heart. It is not poverty in a cottage, sm-rounded 
 and alleviated by rural delights. There are here no 
 rushing streams, no waving forests, no flocks that 
 skip the hills, or luxuriate in the vales ; no lay of 
 nightingales to charm in the purple evening, or song 
 of early birds to usher up the rosy morn. It is pov- 
 erty unrelieved by any of these romantic incidents.
 
 204 SHIP AND SHORE. 
 
 It is poverty in a city ; in a confined town, and 
 among a people whose commerce has been crushed ; 
 whose resources have been cut off by a despotism that 
 disgraces the age in which it is permitted to exist. 
 Mahon, with its due privileges of trade, might be a 
 place of great enterprise and wealtli ; but under its 
 present onerous and prohibitory restrictions, it is 
 doomed to languish on in a life of hopeless poverty. 
 
 Though the encomagements to industry here are 
 miserably slender — such as in our country wou.ld be 
 regarded as a mere mockery — yet I have seldom 
 been in a community of more active habits. I have 
 seen the mother rising with the earliest dawn, as- 
 siduously plying her task till a late hour of rest, and 
 gaining but a few farthings, scarcely suflicient to pur- 
 chase a loaf of coarse bread for her helpless offspring. 
 There was about her, in her toil and deprivations, 
 a cheerfidness and alacrity, which affected me far 
 more than all the dismal complaints and solicitations 
 of indolent mendicity. It may be a weakness, but I 
 could cheerfully divide my last penny with such an 
 individual, I never before so deeply regretted the 
 narrowness of my means. I could hardly wish for 
 a greater earthly felicity than being placed in a pop- 
 ulation of this description, with the power of relieving 
 their wants, and making them happy. 
 
 If, in the more dependent sex, aberrations from 
 rectitude here are too frequently to be met with, it is 
 ascribable, in my apprehension, less to the want of
 
 EFFECTS OF A VICE. 205 
 
 virtue than the jearning instigations of want. Pov- 
 erty in this frail world is a prolific source, not only 
 of wi'etchedness, but of moral turpitude ; and though 
 it cannot sanction guilt, yet perhaps it ought to soften 
 down the severity of our denunciations. We know 
 not what we are made of till tried in the furnace of 
 adversity ; we should all probably come forth from 
 such an ordeal, with a vast diminution of pride and 
 self-complacency. TVTien we leave our plentiful 
 boards for the crumbs of a precarious subsistence, 
 we may then speak of temptations and the force of 
 virtue. 
 
 Competence is one of the strongest securities against 
 crime. Treason to the wholesome institutions of so- 
 ciety, and the moral sense of mankind, is seldom a 
 wanton act. A wise legislator aims to make men 
 happy, and thus to make them better. "Would to 
 God that those intrusted with the dispensation of 
 law, might realize the extent of joy or sorrow, good 
 or evil, that must flow from an exercise of their 
 prerogatives. Acting under an adequate sense of 
 theii" responsibilities in this respect, they would lay 
 the foundations of a fame which time could not im- 
 pair, or marble monuments prolong. Their memorial 
 would be the transmitted happiness of millions. 
 
 Tliough the consequences of a ruined virtue in the 
 other sex may be more immediately disastrous than 
 in our ow^n, yet in the latter case they are of a most 
 destructive character. They benumb and destroy all
 
 206 SHIP AND SHORE. 
 
 the finer sensibilities of tlie soul. They convert tlie 
 heart into a grave, in which its delicate emotions lie 
 blighted and dead. The soft beinor that could once 
 move and melt it by the moral charm which rested on 
 her beauty, cannot now quicken its perished sympathy'-. 
 
 Purity is not only mdispensable to the more refined 
 susceptibilities of our nature, but also to that quietude 
 of conscience which is the sunshine of the soul. I 
 envy not that man his di*eams, who seeks his pillowed 
 repose while he has left another to blush and to weep. 
 He may indeed be callous to his crime — and for a 
 time slumber on in his remorseless guilt, but his hour 
 of sorrow and shame will inevitably come ; nor will 
 its anguish and bitterness be mitigated by its delay. 
 If there be pangs which strike deeper into the soul, 
 they must be his portion who has betrayed the con- 
 fiding and ruined the innocent — who promised only 
 to deceive, and cherished only to destroy. 
 
 JSTor is purchased, advised, and consenting crimi- 
 nality without its fearful penalties. A man who 
 yields himself to vice, even in this form, nourishes a 
 plant whose fruit will be wormwood and gall : 
 
 And partake of this fruit, though he loathe it, he must, 
 Till the world has his sharae, and the grave has his dust. 
 
 But I was speaking of Mahon. There is another 
 feature in the population of this place, which betrays 
 their kindly disj)ositions. Sailors here are allowed 
 to go upon shore on leave, — and on such occasions,
 
 THE sailoe's amusements. 207 
 
 they are apt to float wiclelj from salutary restraint. 
 They make meiTy, pass round their social circles the 
 wild glass ; promenade the streets, break out in the 
 jovial song, or address the passers by with as much 
 familiarity as if they were all shipmates on board the 
 same craft, and bound to the same delightful haven. 
 Instead of resenting this freedom, or construing it 
 into insolence, I have seen the most respectable 
 citizen take the proffered hand of Jack, wish him a 
 prosperous voyage, and a happy home wherever it 
 might be. 
 
 How different this from the treatment which the 
 unceremonious Tar would meet with in one of our 
 cities ! — He would probably be knocked down, or, at 
 least, thrust aside with a rebuking severity. Not so 
 here : if too meny, it is excused ; if impertinent, the 
 best construction is placed upon it ; if unfortunately 
 out of his reckoning, he is taken within-doors till his 
 senses and his gratitude return. I do admire, beyond 
 the power of language to convey, this kind, forbear- 
 ing, and hospitable disposition, I would not exchange 
 the feelings and reflections of such an individual, for 
 all the importance which wealth and power can be- 
 stow. The consciousness of having restored the wan- 
 dering, and relieved the distressed, will commend the 
 dying man to the grateful remembrance of his fellow- 
 beings, and even the mercy of his final Judge. 
 
 The amusements usually indulged in hei'e, are the 
 opera, the masquerade, music and dancing. Among
 
 208 snip AND snoEE. 
 
 these, the officers of our navy are prone to while off 
 some of their long winter evenings. They are seldom 
 carried to excess ; they are occasional escapes from 
 the tedium vitae incident to winter-quarters, and are 
 secured, in a measure, from abuse, by the mediocrity 
 of their splendor and attraction. Entei^tainments of 
 this character, to possess an enduring interest, even 
 for the gayest heart, must be sustained by an expense 
 incomj)atible with the restricted resom-ces of Malion. 
 How an intelligent community can be fervently 
 devoted to objects of this natm-e, and find in them 
 their principal excitements, is to me inconceivable. 
 I would much sooner sit down in a chimney corner 
 with some scarred veteran of the field, who has sur- 
 vived the continental wars, and listen to his tale of 
 conflict, rout, or victory ; or with some old sailor, who 
 has unfurled his canvas in each sea and clime, and 
 whose thoughts run on the breeze, the gale, or wreck ; 
 or with some prying antiquary, who has sifted the 
 dust of a perished city to find an unintelligible coin ; 
 or most especially with some village mate unseared 
 by the world, — 
 
 Whose thoughts run warmly back to early childhood ; — 
 
 The airy swing, the nested bower, the wild-wood, — 
 
 The stream, the darting trout, the little boat, 
 
 With mimic guns and mariners afloat ; 
 
 The bounding ball, the balance on the rail, 
 
 The dog that watched the sport, and wagged his tail ; — 
 
 A sister's bird that came at break of day, 
 
 Carolled its merry song, and flew away.
 
 THE sailok's taste. 209 
 
 The entertainment of the opera is too refined for 
 the rude taste of the sailor. A company of fifty or 
 sixty were permitted, not long- since, to attend one of 
 these musical performances. They cheerfully paid 
 the highest price for their tickets, and took their seats, 
 expecting a rich treat. But it was soon evident that 
 they had mistaken their port. Yon might see them 
 glancing about for a moment when they would be 
 less observed, and then skipping out as one escapes 
 from the presence of a person whom he would not 
 oflend, and yet in whom he takes no interest. 
 
 In less than an hour they all disappeared. In the 
 porch and court some of them ventm-ed their criti- 
 cisms on the performance. " Did you ever hear such 
 singing as that?" said Jack, "such backing and 
 filling — such veering and hauling — such pufiing and 
 screaming — there is as much music in a boatswain's 
 whistle ! And then the language — such a jingling 
 jargon — such a hanging on, and spinning out in each 
 word — it had no more meaning in it than the sound 
 of the water behind a shij)'s keel." So they agreed 
 to put up the helm ; and striking up one of their old 
 nautical songs, steered by many ambiguous tacks for 
 the ship. 
 
 But the theatre, in the tragic or comic, seldom fails 
 to affect or amuse this singular class of men. A 
 number of them went to see Othello acted ; they de- 
 tected at once the diabolical deceit of lago, and mut- 
 tered their indignation. They became at length so
 
 L'lO snip AND SHORE. 
 
 absorbed in the performance, especially in the char- 
 acter and fate of Desdemona, that when the jealous 
 Moor came out to murder her in her sleep, they in- 
 stantly sprang upon the stage, crying out "Avast, 
 there, you black, bloody rascal ;" and were in the act 
 of seizing him, when the cm-tain dropped, amid con- 
 fusion and applause. 
 
 This incident did not occur here, or under my ob- 
 servation ; but the anecdote was related to me by an 
 eye-witness. It discloses striking traits in the charac- 
 ter of the sailor — his credulous propensity — his quick 
 and deep susceptibilit}'' — his electrical promptitude in 
 rescuing the helpless. He would throw away forty 
 lives to protect an innocent being, and even an enemy 
 he scorns to injure, when taken at a disadvantage. 
 
 There is here, however, one source of entertainment 
 — if that term maybe applied to anything belonging to 
 the sanctuary — which must ever arrest the most care- 
 less ear, and which, though it make man no better, it 
 surely cannot make him worse. It is the splendid 
 organ of the cathedral. I could cheerfully sit on the 
 cold pavement of that church, and listen to it till the 
 hio-hest candle that ever lit the shrine of the blessed 
 
 en 
 
 Virgin flickered in its socket. In compass, power, 
 and richness of melody, it is said to have no com- 
 petitors, except one in Haarlem, and one in Catania. 
 Almost every musical instrument is here represented, 
 and so closely do some of its tones resemble the hu- 
 man voice, that when it was first set up, many of the
 
 ORGAN AT MAHON. 211 
 
 audience, in their sudden wonder, ruslied out of tlie 
 cathedral. 
 
 From the solemn and stately anthem, it passes 
 with melodious dignity and ease through all the 
 varied expressions of the dramatic chorus, to the 
 national ode, the capricious song, the vanishing 
 air. At one time it astounds and overwhelms you 
 with a bm-st of thunder ; you involuntarily look up, 
 and expect to find the bolted cloud blackening 
 over your head ; and then again, in the terminating 
 range of its matchless transitions, you imagine your- 
 self listening to the dying strains of an ^olian 
 harp. 
 
 I could not accuse Lord Exmouth of a foolish prod- 
 igality in his ofier of a hundred thousand dollars for 
 this noble instrument. But it was not thus to be ob- 
 tained. An Arab and his barb, a devotee and the 
 auxiliaries of his devotion, are seldom parted. But 
 it needs not pride or superstition to make one unwil- 
 ling to part with such a treasure as this. I would 
 almost as soon relinquish some inborn som'ce of hap- 
 pmess and hoj)e. 
 
 "We were concerned on reaching this port to learn 
 that the health of Commodore Biddle had not im- 
 proved since our last advices. Tlie duties of his sta- 
 tion, as Commander-in-chief of the Squadron, require 
 a degree of physical activity and energy which it is 
 difficult to dispense with, even where, as in his case, 
 there is found great elasticity and vigor of mind.
 
 212 SHIP AJSTD SHORE. 
 
 But tliongli oppressed mtli these outward disabilities, 
 he is not unmiudful or negligent of the interests con- 
 fided to his care ; for we had scarcely let go our an- 
 chor, when an order came for us to get ready to 
 proceed to sea with all dispatch. In the mean time, 
 he honored us with an entertainment, where the 
 choicest luxuries and delicacies of the island were 
 served, and where the light and terse remark went 
 sparkling round, accompanied by many endearing 
 recollections of home. 
 
 Tliere was at this table dignity without reserve, 
 and ease without a gregarian license ; — there was 
 also an unabused Idomeneusan privilege extended to 
 each guest, such as Homer thought not beneath the 
 melody of his muse : — 
 
   vydov iizas, aid 
 
 EoTJJx', (ooirep ifioi, iniuv, ore 6u/j3s avdyoi. 
 
 The compliment of this dinner was handsomely 
 returned by Capt. and Mrs. Read, who well under- 
 stand how to impart interest and pleasure to such 
 occasions. I can never leave one of these entertain- 
 ments without a boding thought of the time when 
 these interchanges of sentiment will be intercepted, 
 the gratulations of friendship cease, and this breath- 
 ing frame, inanimate and cold, be laid in its last sad 
 receptacle, to mingle as it may with its native dust. 
 Tlie slight memorials that may remain, and the few 
 who may remember and grieve, must soon follow ;
 
 PAKTING THOUGHTS. 213 
 
 while the thronging multitudes of earth will move 
 on, indifferent to what is gone, as the mighty forest 
 to the silent lapse of a solitary leaf Then what is 
 life ! and what its pursuit ! 
 
 " An idle chase of hopes and fears, 
 Begun in folly, closed in tears !" 
 
 But no, better than that, and more in the spirit of 
 Christianity was it said by the grave poet of the 
 " :N"ight Thoughts :"— 
 
 " This is the bud of being, the dim dawn, 
 The twilight of om- day, the vestibule : 
 Life's theatre as yet is shut, and Death, 
 Strong Death, alone can heave the massy bar, 
 This gross impediment of clay remove. 
 And make us embryos of existence free."
 
 -l-i snip AJTD sno-RE. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 " All hands unmoor !" — the captain's brief command — 
 The cable round the flying capstern rings; 
 The anchor quits its bed, the yards are manned ; 
 
 The gallant ship before the quick breeze springs. 
 Three parting cheers the noble tars send back, 
 Ere yet the shore sinks in her foaming track. 
 
 PASSAGE FKOM MAHON TO NAPLES LIFE AT SEA — CHEST OF A SAILOE 
 
 POWER OF A POET TR,\CK. OF THE SHIP NAPLES FROM THE HARBOR 
 
 UNREASONABLE QUARANTINE — GRIEVOUS DISAPPOINTMENT — PREMA- 
 TURE DEPARTURE EBULLITION OF SPLEEIV PASSAGE FROM NAPLES TO 
 
 MESSINA VOLCANO OF STROMBOLI DEAD CALMS — UTILITY OF WHALES 
 
 — PASTIMES IN CALMS — FARO DI MESSINA CHARYBDIS AND SCYLLA — 
 
 ANCIENT WHIRLPOOL CURIOSITIES OF THE SEA — MESSINA FROM THE 
 
 STRAIT. 
 
 Three days since we weighed anchor from Mahon, 
 in company with the Brandywine, bearing the broad 
 pennant of Commodore Biddle. The breeze has 
 been extremely light and baffling ; and the passage, 
 though relieved occasionally by an interchange of 
 signals, has nevertheless been thus far unusually des- 
 titute of exciting incidents. ITo bickering ghost has 
 apjjeared in the cock-pit, or on shroud, or spar ; no 
 mermaid has tuned her scallop-shell on the wave or 
 rock ; no water-spout has burst in deluge and thun 
 der; no sea-serpent has troughed himself between 
 the combing billows ; indeed, there have been no bil
 
 PASSAGE TO NAPLES. 215 
 
 lows that could for a moment shelter this mysteiious 
 monster of the deep — whose sworn existence has been 
 a greater source of curiosity and wonder, than were 
 all the discoveries of Columbus. 
 
 Where was it that he was last seen ? Ay, I recol- 
 lect ; it was in the polar seas, where he was trying to 
 split up an iceberg with his tail. Every stroke was 
 followed by flashes of fire that lit the whole heaven, 
 and were taken by those living near the line as the 
 most splendid and extraordinary exhibitions of the 
 aurora-borealis. Every astronomer through our land 
 had his instruments newly cleaned, and watched the 
 burning phenomena, predicting not only that the 
 north passage would be reduced to one vast lake of 
 fire, but that the north star, set in conflagration and 
 motion at the same time, would rush this way for a 
 cooler atmosphere, and, coming in contact with the 
 earth, reduce the whole to ashes ! It is astonishing 
 what this Sea-Serpent may do with a few strokes of 
 his tail ! But — I was speaking of the calm and slow 
 progress we were making towards Naples. 
 
 The sea has scarcely afforded a w^ave that would 
 have dangerously rocked a log canoe; but then as 
 a negative compensation for this delaying calmness, 
 we have not had that ceaseless surging motion which 
 afflicts the Atlantic, and which sickens a ship without 
 helping her onward. We have had the bursting 
 splendors of a sun, wdieeling up in resistless energy 
 from a crimsoning waste of waters that still slum-
 
 21G SHIP AND SHOEE. 
 
 bered and slept. We have had the soft beauty of 
 twibght mingling its purple charm with the rosy 
 depths of sea and sky ; we have had, through the 
 early watch, the song of the mariner, breathing in 
 mipolished numbers a patriotic fervor that will kindle 
 on, when all the set forms of speech are cold and 
 forgotten ; we have had also the frequent cloud, which, 
 though it often disappointed us in its apparent prom- 
 ise of a breeze, yet reminded us in the evanescent 
 nature of its own being, that the life of man itself is 
 only a " vapor, that appeareth for a little time, and 
 then vanisheth away." 
 
 Would that these delicate admonitions in nature 
 might never pass unimproved. But few things, even 
 of the highest moment, produce a permanent effect 
 on the mind of the sailor. Even the gale and wreck 
 are half forgotten, if they but leave him a good plank 
 upon which he may reach the distant shore. He 
 knows not what a day may bring forth, yet sings his 
 jocund song, and sleeps soundly every night wdth but 
 a plank between him and a fathomless grave. 
 
 Yet he is not incapable of being moved, strongly 
 moved, on subjects of a religious character. His 
 heart is not the impervious rock ; it more resembles 
 the element on which he moves, and like that, loses 
 the impressions it may receive. He will listen to a 
 sermon with an attention that might be a model to 
 any congregation of Christians, and then within one 
 hour, if some new impulse strikes him, he is off per-
 
 TRAITS OF TIIE SAILOR. 217 
 
 haps on another tack. He respects religion and its 
 consistent professors ; the good man has always his 
 confidence and esteem. 
 
 The Bible is with him, what it ought to be with 
 every person — the book of books. Yet I have seen 
 him take this blessed volume from his clothes-bag, 
 leaving there, close to where it lay, a grape-shot at- 
 tached to a strong lanyard, with which he will, per- 
 haps, the next time he goes ashore, knock over a 
 dozen insolent Goliaths. 
 
 Observing a sailor one day overhauling his effects, 
 I inquired, " Where, Smith, are those tracts I gave 
 you the other day ?" " Here they are," he replied, 
 producing them, " all but that one on stealing ; I 
 gave that to Joe Miller — I never steal myself; but it 
 struck him exactly between wind and water." " And 
 w^hat book is that stowed away there, Smith?" I 
 inquired again ; " Oh, that is my Bible," he replied, 
 lifting it up, with a cordial shake of the hand, " given 
 me by my mother the first time I went to sea, when 
 I was only a youngster ; I promised her I would read 
 it every Sunday on shore, and every day when out 
 sight of land. You see I have steered as close to my 
 promise as any fellow can with squalls, and a head 
 sea knocking him off; but I hope I shall yet make 
 that blessed port where she has gone. For she was 
 the best mother that ever had such a wild chap of a 
 son as I have been." He had evidently been pretty 
 true to his word ; for the traces of his fingers were 
 
 10
 
 218 SHIP AKD SHORE. 
 
 upon nearly every page of the book, while the leaves 
 of the more historical parts had been thumbed over, 
 till they were scarcely legible. 
 
 " And what is that thing stowed away down there. 
 Smith, next the tracts ?" I inquired. " Oh, sir, that is 
 a gouger." " But you do not take out a man's eyes, 
 I hope ?" " Not unless a rascal is after mine, and 
 then I blind one side of his face ; but I always leave 
 him one eye standing." " Yes, but you take away 
 the other, and what good can that do you ?" " Why, 
 sir, he will have one the less to look after me with the 
 next time." I persuaded him at last to throw the 
 unseemly thing overboard ; but it will probably be 
 replaced by something else, not a whit the less ob- 
 jectionable. Such is the mixture of shrewdness, filial 
 regard, higher hopes, and moral obliquities which 
 enters into the character of the sailor. He is an 
 ocean which no one can fathom, unless he is able to 
 sound the lowest depths in human nature. 
 
 I know not why it is, but somehow, the moment I 
 get on the deck of a ship, and am out at sea, it seems 
 as if I had suddenly been introduced into some ele- 
 ment rife with poetry. If any thing could reconcile 
 me to a sea life, it would be the enjoyment of this 
 sentiment. I reverence in the profoundest emotions 
 of my soul, the gifted poet. He is intellectually, in 
 my opinion, the most interesting object in the world. 
 He awakens and wields at will, all the finer feelings 
 and master passions of om* nature. His art is of a
 
 rOWEK OF THE POET. 219 
 
 far higlier and more effective order than that of the 
 sculj)tor or painter. He not only represents, but he 
 imparts life ; and this, no one can so thoroughly effect 
 with the pencil or chisel. 
 
 We may, to some extent, animate the canvas with 
 the featm-es of one we love ; we may cast upon the 
 changeless brow, the calm sunshine of her gentle na- 
 ture ; — we may elicit from the expressive eye, the 
 speechless tenderness of a confiding affection — we 
 may curl around the lip the smiling pledges of re- 
 ciprocal fondness — we may spread behind her glow- 
 ing cheek, the richness of her flowing tresses — we 
 may cast around the symmetry of her form, the soft- 
 ness of her graceful drapery ; and we may give her 
 the air in which romantic devotion ever beholds the 
 angel of its vows. We may represent, near at hand, 
 the favorite glen in which she strayed — the moonlit 
 arbor in which she sung — the silvery lake on which 
 she sailed. We may look on this representation of 
 life and nature, and deem it reality. We may gaze 
 till bewildered sense reels in rapture. But look again 
 — the floating vision becomes more calm — ^the asso- 
 ciations less vivid — the emotions in our breast sub- 
 side. But look again — here and there a new shade 
 may be developed, here and there an unfamiliar ex- 
 pression be caught. But look again — it is what you 
 have seen before — it is a mass of changeless, pulse- 
 less shadows ! 
 
 But give this glowing subject to the poet, smTender
 
 220 SHIP AND SHORE. 
 
 it to the magic of his genius — the changeless object 
 lives — the motionless object moves — the silent object 
 speaks. The heart where quenched existence had its 
 grave is kindled, and renovated life gleams through 
 its shroud, as the warm sun through its light vesture 
 of clouds. The fount of feeling is stirred, and its 
 currents come forth, fresh as the overflowings of a 
 spring, when it melts away the icy fetters of winter. 
 The features lose their fixed expression, and are ra- 
 diant with a bright train of passing thoughts, and 
 glad imaginings. Ho^^e is there, mingling its colors 
 with the shades of doubt ; — confidence is there, ban- 
 ishing distrust; — afiection is there, lighting up ad- 
 versity. Every feature lives, every look tells. 
 
 We not only see the glen, but hear the soft whis- 
 pers of the breeze, the mirthful voice of the brook ; — 
 we not only see the arbor, but hear the echoes, waking 
 from their slumbers, repeat the favorite strain ; — we 
 not only see the lake, but hear the light drip of the 
 suspended oar, and the soft murmur of the breaking 
 wave. Every object is animated, and lives before us 
 in palpable reality. We may gaze — and turn away 
 — and gaze again — but new images, new sounds, new 
 feelings, and new associations crowd upon us like 
 stars on the steadfast vision of the astronomer. 
 
 Or we may shape the marble to the features of the 
 man we venerate ; we may render these features ra- 
 diant with the qualities of his mind and heart ; we 
 may make the ruling passion brightly appai'ent upon
 
 POWER OF THE POET. 221 
 
 the majestic brow ; we may give the cornitenance 
 that peculiar cast which calls up the lofty, and the 
 tender recollection ; and we may imagine the de- 
 parted sage still existent and before us in undecaying 
 strength ; but lay our hand on this faultless resem- 
 blance — the clay of the grave is not colder — it is 
 death with its icy chill ! 
 
 But commit this departed saint to the gifted spirit 
 of the poet : the veil of the grave is rent — the silent 
 sleeper called up from the couch of corruption, and 
 dressed in the garments of immortality. His actions 
 are grouped around him in the brightness of their first 
 appearance ; his feelings recalled in the freshness of 
 their infancy ; his secret motives are revealed in the 
 purity with which they were conceived ; and his 
 generous purposes, which perished in the bud, re- 
 vived and expanded into fragrant life. You see the 
 whole man, not in cold marble, not in awful ab- 
 straction from his fellow-beings, but within the 
 warm precincts of friendship, love, and veneration, 
 invested with the sympathies and attributes of real 
 existence. Such is tlie power of the poet — such 
 his mastery over life and death ! He stands, prophet- 
 like, over a vast ocean of thought, passion, and 
 sympathy, that heaves and rolls at the stroke of 
 his wand. 
 
 The breeze for which we have been long and anx- 
 iously looking has come at last. It is light, but fair, 
 and promises to take us to our port ; for before this
 
 222 SHIP AND SHORE. 
 
 watcli goes out we are expecting to hear the cry of 
 "laud" from mast-head. 
 
 It is now one of those soft and brilliant days, which 
 are no strangers to the clime of Italy ; and our ships, 
 imder a light, easy sail, are passing ^^p the splendid 
 bay of Naples. This bay circles up bold and beauti- 
 ful into the land; where it lies quietly imbosomed 
 within a sweeping range of green and picturesque 
 elevations. The city, from the shelving shore, ascends 
 majestically this amphitheatre of hills, presenting at 
 a glance its palaces, domes, temples, and towers, with 
 all the fresher luxuries of the garden and the grove. 
 More remote, and towering far above all, stands Ve- 
 suvius— a magnificent " pillar of cloud by day, and 
 of fire by night." 
 
 All the nobler elements — earth, air, flame and 
 flood — have mingled the romance of their richest 
 triumi^hs, above, beneath, and around Naples. And 
 then, as if to excite the last degree of admiring won- 
 der and awaken an insatiable curiosity, the veil of 
 centm-ies has been rent, and the embalmed remains of 
 a Herculaneum and Pompeii brought up from their 
 long mysterious repose ! Thus the present and the 
 past, the charms of the living and the hallowed beau- 
 ty of the dead move before us, in the centre of a scene 
 that might of itself almost induce an angel to pause 
 on his earnest mission. 
 
 But it is our privilege only to look and admire ; for 
 all communication with the shore has been cut ofi" by
 
 PAINS OF QUAEANTINE. 223 
 
 the imposition of a quarantine ; though there is not 
 the slightest disease, or scarcely a case of indisposi- 
 tion on board ; nor have we been where it was possi- 
 ble for us to reach any exposure. There would have 
 been as much sense in Adam's quarantining Eve, 
 when he saw her first come in blushing beauty to his 
 bower. And I have no doubt that our fair mother 
 would have borne the restrictions, had our noble 
 progenitor unaccountably imposed them, with vastly 
 more good-nature than it is possible for us to muster 
 on this occasion. 
 
 Our quarantine is for seven days ; but before we 
 can ride it out, we shall be obliged to leave for the 
 Levant ! This is a draft on a man's resignation, heavy 
 enough to shake the self-complacent credit of any Chris- 
 tian or philosopher. Here we lie, only a few cables' 
 length from the shore, seeing the picturesque mul- 
 titude passing on their unknown errands — the pleas- 
 ure party floating off for some rural retreat, in gayety 
 and glee — the monarch and his court moving with 
 all the ensigns of royalty — the wandering minstrel 
 tuning his reed, and turning even his sorrows into 
 melody — hearing through the long evening the loud 
 cheei*s of some festive hearts, or the bursting chonis 
 of St. Carlos, as it comes wafted on the wind ; while 
 the frequented gardens gleam with the radiance of 
 their countless lights, and the flame of Vesuvius 
 fringes with fire the wings of the passing cloud. 
 
 All these are to be left unrealized — unapproached !
 
 224 snip AND SHORE. 
 
 and this, too, in compliance with the mockeries of a 
 senseless quarantine ! But this scene, so bright, so 
 gay, and seemingly so full of happiness, I know full 
 well is all an illusion — a fleeting phantom. It is a 
 flower that springs from corruption — a laughter at the 
 g]»ave. 
 
 How darkly changed this world since that first hour, 
 When o'er its brightness sung the morning stars ! 
 
 Time, death, and sin, and sorrow had no power 
 Upon its beauty : man, who madly mars 
 
 His Maker's works, has swept it with a flood 
 
 Of tears and groans, and deluged it with blood. 
 
 It has become a Golgotha, where lie 
 
 The bleaching bones of nations : every wave 
 
 Breaks on a shore of skulls ; and every sigh 
 The low wind murmurs fortli, seems as it gave 
 
 This mournful tribute, unobserved and deep, 
 
 To millions — for whom man has ceased to weep. 
 
 It is a dim and shadowy sepulchre, 
 
 In which the dying and the dead become 
 
 The hearse of all the living ; yet the stir 
 And sting of serpent-passion, and the hum 
 
 Of jocund life survive, with but a breath 
 
 Between this reckless revelry and death. 
 
 It is a rolling tomb, rumbling along, 
 
 In gloom and darkness, through the shuddering spheres • 
 And filled with death and life, and wail and song, 
 
 Laughter and agony, and jests and tears ; 
 And — save its heartless mirth, and ceaseless knell — 
 Wearing a ghastly glimmering type of hell !
 
 VOLCANO OF STEOISIBOLI. 225 
 
 Our anchor was again weighed, our lighter sails 
 unfmied, and, swinging round near the Brandywine, 
 we received the parting benediction of three cheers, 
 which were returned more in sadness than mirth. 
 All our canvas was soon spread to a light breeze 
 which began to prevail from the northeast ; and, 
 passing out the ample bay, we held om- course along 
 the soft shores of Italv, for the straits of Messina. 
 "We met with no objects calculated to leave a distinct 
 and abiding impression till we reached the lofty 
 steeps of Stromboli. AYe passed the burning mount 
 of this lonely island in the night; it was still kin- 
 dling its magnificent w^atch-fire in the sky. It has 
 been termed, with significant propriety, the light- 
 house of the Mediterranean. 
 
 How triumphant is nature, in all her works, over 
 the achievements of man! He lights his anxious 
 beacon on the verge of some troubled coast, and, by 
 unremitted watcliings, is able perhaps, for a little 
 time, to sustain its poor perishing ray. But nature, 
 at once, without an effort, kindles up a beacon-flame 
 that lights an ocean, and burns on through ages un- 
 dimmed and unexhausted ! The tempest may prevail 
 above, the earthquake rock beneath, navies sink, and 
 nations perish ; but this flame burns on with a serene 
 and lofty splendor — quenchless as the light of the 
 sun ! 
 
 We are again in a dead calm — like a politician in 
 disgrace ; but the misfortune is, we have not his fa- 
 
 10*
 
 226 SHU' AND SHORE. 
 
 cilities for getting out of it. He lias only to go over 
 to the other party, and his very blots become hon- 
 orable scars. It requires, to be sure, a little flexibil- 
 ity of conscience ; but what a fool a man is to be 
 sticking to principles, when office, honor, and wealth 
 lie in a difierent quarter ! It is like keeping " Poor 
 Julia's Ring," and watering the flowers at her grave, 
 when living damsels with their beauty and their 
 bowers invite one away. Remembrance cannot 
 bring back to life the one that has perished from 
 our bosom ; nor can fidelity to j^rinciples that have 
 become unpopular reinstate them in the humor of 
 the age. 
 
 Most men seem to think the better way is to leave 
 them to their fate, and take after those where some- 
 thing may be got besides the stale credit of believing 
 this year what we did last. It shows no march of 
 mind. It is merely repeating the past ; it is chasing 
 the rainbow in om* gray hairs, because we did it in 
 the sunny locks of childhood. Is the nurse's tale of 
 the silver spoons always to be believed ? No ; the 
 better way is for a man to change his creed, and his 
 character too, when the times require. A coat that 
 is often turned will outwear ten that never undergo 
 this revolution ; and, what is more, it will never be 
 rusty. It may have in the end a variety of colors, — 
 but so has the peacock, and who thinks the less ot 
 that bird for the numberless dyes which sprinkle the 
 beautiful spread of its tail ? But what have pea-
 
 CALM AT SEA, 22' 
 
 cocks and politicians to do with our getting to the 
 Levant ? 
 
 We are still in this dead calm. I wonder that in 
 this age of moon-touching balloons, steam shaving- 
 machines, and patents for prolonging life, it has 
 never occurred to anj one that the whale may be 
 tm-ned to a most excellent account, I allude not to 
 his blubber — I leave that to poets and all who burn 
 the midnight taper ; I refer to his strength — his 
 power of going ahead. Just catch about forty of 
 these fellows — by some process similar to that used 
 in catching the wild horse of our prairies — and har- 
 ness them, two abreast, to a man-of-war, with a 
 taut rein in the hand of father IN^eptune, who, I 
 have no doubt, could be prociu-ed as postillion, and 
 then good-by to your steam, though it have a mil- 
 lion horse-power, and a thunder-cloud for its safety- 
 valve ! I intend applying to Congress for funds to 
 make the experiment, or at least for some special 
 privileges on the subject. But the difficulty would 
 be, if that body were to get upon a discussion of its 
 merits, the Nantucket boys, seeing that in the event 
 of my success, " Othello's occupation's gone," would 
 harpoon every whale before Congress had finished 
 their speeches, or I had obtained my patent, I must 
 therefore hit upon some expedient that may expe- 
 dite the delivery of these speeches. The thought 
 strikes me —
 
 228 SHIP AND SHOEE. 
 
 To save at once this fatal waste of time, 
 I'll get a gun that works by fire and steam ; 
 
 And then let every member load and prime, 
 With all the speeches he can write or dream ; 
 
 For Perkins being right, this patent power 
 
 Will shoot off ninety thousand in an hour. 
 
 The steep rocks of Stromboli are still in sight : 
 wlien they will sink in the distance I know not : we 
 have not logged a fathom for several watches ; our 
 sails hang idlj against the mast ; our dog- vane has 
 gone to sleep ; we are in a motionless calm. 
 
 Sated with gazing on this sleeping sea. 
 
 Some seek their lines and set themselves to angling ; 
 
 Some take to politics, and, being free 
 
 Of fact and full of feeling, foil to wrangling ; 
 
 While some, reckless alike of soul and body. 
 
 Practise at fisti-cuffs, and drink their toddy. 
 
 While others, more sedate, lie stretched at length, 
 Yawning on coils of rope, the deck, or cot ; 
 
 A few while off their time in feats of strength ; 
 Wliile here and there one, restless of his lot, 
 
 Thinks only of a distant eye and lip, 
 
 And rues the day on which he saw a ship. 
 
 Some look up to the sky and watch each cloud. 
 As it displays its faint and fleeting form ; 
 
 Some o'er the calm begin to mutter loud, 
 
 And swear they would exchange it for a storm, 
 
 Tornado, any thing — to put a close 
 
 To this most dead, monotonons repose.
 
 STRAITS OF MESSIXA. 229 
 
 Wliat if that oath were heard ? what if the gale, 
 Rashly invoked, should lift the surging sea — 
 
 This noble ship be swept of mast and sail, 
 And breakers lift their voice beneath her lee ? 
 
 Those lips might only breathe the strangling tone 
 
 Of one expiring gasp and bubbling groan. 
 
 Death is a fearful thing, come how it may — 
 Fearful when it comes on like some repose 
 
 In which our breath and being ebb away 
 As music to its mild, melodious close, 
 
 And where no parting pangs a shadow cast 
 
 On that sweet look, the lovliest and the last. 
 
 Not in this form the shipwrecked sailor dies, — 
 
 A sudden tempest, or a latent rock, 
 And on the gale his fluttering canvas flies. 
 
 Or down he sinks in one engulfing shock ; 
 While through the closing wave is heard his prayer 
 As now he strikes his strong arms in despair. 
 
 The breeze at last came, and Stromboli sunk in the 
 horizon. On reacliing the Straits — the Faro di Mes- 
 sina — we realized but few of those obstructions and 
 perils which so threatened and impeded the naviga- 
 tion of the ancients. It is true, that what may have 
 carried dismay and disaster to their frail galleys, 
 which seldom ventured out sight of land, may be 
 perfectly harmless to our keeled masses of daring and 
 conquering strength. But still, it is inconceivable 
 how even their diminutive ships, with their double 
 banks of oars, and muscular arms to manage them, 
 could have found such a serious source of difficulty
 
 230 SHIP AND SHORE. 
 
 and apprehension. The man who should now, like 
 the hero of Yirgil, circumnavigate the island of 
 Sicilj^, to escape the dangers of these straits, would 
 be an object of merriment. But ^neas must be for- 
 given ; he not onlj followed the warning voice of an 
 oracle, but Palinurus, his pilot, was little skilled in his 
 profession, and had also an unfortunate tendency to 
 slumber on his watch. 
 
 Tlie oft-quoted proverb, which so briefly dooms a 
 man to ruin, tm-n which way he will — 
 
 Incidit in Scyllam, qui vult vitare Charybdem, 
 
 may flourish very well as a figure of speech in a 
 younker's first oratorical display ; but it has no foun- 
 dation in truth. A log canoe, paddled with a decent 
 degree of skill, may shun Charybdis without falling 
 upon Scylla. Yet story relates how enormous ships 
 have been dashed to fragments upon this mountain 
 rock ; or, in their escape of this disaster, have fallen 
 within the sweep of the opposite whirlpool, where, 
 after being carried about in helpless plight upon the 
 absorbing circle, they have gone down and disap- 
 peared forever. If there be beneath these devouring 
 waters mermaids of taste and a piratical conscience, 
 doubtless their fair fingers are now adorned with 
 many a jewelled ring that once flashed on the hand 
 of Grecian beauty. What mysteries doth not the 
 sea contain, which will never be unfolded or even 
 conjectured !
 
 CHAEYBDIS AND SCTLLA. 231 
 
 I have often thought that of all revelations in na- 
 ture, an exhibition of the secrets of the sea would 
 possess the most thrilling interest. Were I j^ermitted 
 to explore but one untra versed realm, I should pre- 
 fer that vast empire of cm-iosities which lies within 
 and beneath the ocean. How little do we know of 
 it ! "We catch a luckless fish and classify it, because 
 •it has fins like something which we have seen be- 
 fore ; we draw up a lobster, and because he has wide 
 claws, determine that he may either crawl or swim ; 
 we detach a bit of coral from its low mound or tree, 
 and because it has cells, decide that some insect-bee 
 of the water must have formed it ; or we pick up a 
 few shells which the returning tide has left on the 
 beach as unworthy of its care, and because they are 
 not fovmd on the roofs of our houses, declare them 
 most rare curiosities. 
 
 Thus ends our knowledge, but not our pride and 
 prattle ; for those who can utter the most absurdities 
 about these strange things are dubbed philosophers ; 
 and the whole world is expected to do homage to the 
 depth, extent, and minuteness of their learning. 
 How entirely the greatness of one rests on the igno- 
 rance of another! Strike away the foundation and 
 the fabric falls. 
 
 But I forget the straits and their poetical terrors. 
 Homer describes Scylla as a steep mass of rock, 
 towering so near the sky that even a thin cloud can- 
 not shove itself between without having its drapery
 
 232 SHIP AND SUOEE. 
 
 raked oif ; when in truth, it has scarcely an elevation 
 of two hundred feet, with a little fort on the top, 
 harmless alike to the bird that floats above and the 
 ship that sails beneath. As for the monsters which 
 Yirgil or his muse heard howl so terrifically around 
 the base of the rock, they are nothing more than the 
 echoes of the waves entering rather unceremoniously 
 a few low caverns ; but which have not a fierceness 
 of accent sufiicient to startle a young duck from its 
 slumber. 
 
 The whirlpool of Charybdis — from whose devour- 
 ing vortex Ulysses escaped alone to tell the tale of 
 his lost ship and perished crew — exhibits now only 
 a broken disquietude of wave, without even a uni- 
 formity of circle, much less an absorbing centre. 
 Brydone, to vindicate the nautical skill of the hero, 
 and the sober veracity of the muse, would fain make 
 us believe that a deluge of rocks has been carried 
 into this vortex, and that thus it has become the 
 tame thing we now see. This learned skeptic could 
 not 3'ield his faith to the reasonableness of the Mo- 
 saic history, and yet conceives that rocks may float 
 around like slabs, and finally fill up a pit which was 
 deemed almost bottomless ! How admirably the 
 creed of a man may adapt itself to his pride and 
 prejudice! He creates a w^orld from accidents to 
 sustain a theory, and destroys it by the same agency 
 to establish a conjecture ! 
 
 On the projecting land, to which Charybdis is a
 
 ASPECT OF MESSESTA. 233 
 
 sort of threatening outpost, we observed a scattered 
 collection of dwellings, the appearance of which 
 would seem to intimate that the fabled horrors of 
 this pass had still power not only to intimidate the 
 mariner, but even to drive happiness and hope from 
 the hearth of the peasant. But I do not wonder that 
 men should hesitate to build there, or tremble over 
 an hour's delay on that spot ; for it was here that in 
 the dreadful earthquake of 1783, two thousand per- 
 ished. The waters of the strait were violently 
 heaved from their bed over their natural boundary, 
 and the returning sm-ge left but here and there one, 
 even to weep over the desolation. 
 
 But Messina, as we glided slowly up to it through 
 the channel, mainl}'' fixed our attention. It lies in 
 the form of a crescent, sweeping up an easy eleva- 
 tion of hills, with a backgi'ound of bolder eminences, 
 and the clustering depths of forest shade. The har- 
 bor lies deep and tranquil, embosomed within the 
 circling shore and a salient reach of land, whose fal- 
 cated form stretches nearly round it, protecting it 
 from the invading currents and rushing surge of the 
 strait. The busy aspect of the quays, and the varied 
 flags which floated above the anchored craft, showed 
 that Messina had not yet lost its consideration in the 
 commercial world. It has been the most unfortunate 
 of cities. The earthquake and plague have alter- 
 nately made it their victims. It has been the sad
 
 234 SHIP AND SHORE. 
 
 arena where, through centuries, foreign avarice and 
 despotism have played their bloody game. 
 
 How fallen is Sicily ! once the granary of Europe, 
 now almost begging her bread ; once giving laws to 
 nations, now the veriest slave of a petty prince ; 
 once the source of science and freedom, now without 
 light to discover her own rights, or courage to main- 
 tain them. 
 
 Land of a past and perished greatness, wake ! 
 
 Let sire and son now draw the battle-glaive, 
 Their long-endured, disgraceful fetters break, 
 
 And strongly strike for freedom or the grave; 
 Swear not to clank the chain, to blush and weep 
 On those proud hills in which your fixthers sleep.
 
 EXGUESION TO MOUNT ETNA. 235 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 O WHAT a glorious sight ! — the sweet mom blushing 
 Through drops of night, more beautiful appears 
 
 Than any damsel with the rich blood flushing 
 
 Her modest cheeks, while they are batlied in tears : — 
 
 Ton httle cloud, that spent the night in weeping. 
 
 Now upward soars, as into heaven creeping. 
 
 EXCURSION TO MOUNT ETNA SLEEPING IN A CORN-FIELD INCIDENTS OF 
 
 THE ASCENT STORM AT NIGHT VIEW FROM THE SUMMIT DESCENT 
 
 CATANIA GAYETY OF THE LIVING ABOVE THE DEAD MUSEUM OF THE 
 
 PRINCE OF BISCARI FRANCISCAN MONK PASSAGE FROM MESSINA TO 
 
 MILO MURAT AND NEY TIDES OF THE STRAIT ISLAND OF CANDIA 
 
 ISLAND OF CERIGO ASPECT OF MILO HISTORIC INCIDENTS GREEK 
 
 PILOT MEDICINAL SPRINGS NATURAL GROTTOES ANCIENT TOMBS. 
 
 We were now on shore at Messina — not to survey 
 and admire its monuments, or weep over its political 
 degradation. "We were charterino" two vehicles of 
 sufficient strength to take us to the foot of Moimt 
 Etna. Some of mj comj)anions suggested the pro- 
 priety of first visiting the cathedral, as the stately 
 columns which support its gilded roof once belonged 
 to a proud temple of Neptune ; but being in a state 
 of negotiation with this aquatic charioteer to drive 
 my whales as soon as I should get them fairly har- 
 nessed, and knowing how compliments in such cases 
 always increase prices, I declined. Others mentioned 
 a beautiful being in the nunnery of St. Gregorio, but
 
 236 enip AiHD shore. 
 
 the face of her who dwells in Santa Clara was yet too 
 bright and perfect in my thoughts — that sweet image 
 shall rest there unmixed and unmarred. I was for 
 Mount Etna, though every leaf of the forests that 
 stretch between should become a timid nnn. 
 
 We left in two hackney coaches, and with Etna in 
 our thoughts, took but little notice of objects by the 
 way : — a man in piu*suit of a whale never stops to 
 harpoon a porpoise. We paused for a few moments 
 to dine, but whether on fowl or fish, I know not ; nor 
 can I speak of the characteristics of the host or host- 
 ess : the huntsman tracking the lion, is not expected 
 to notice the squirrel that chatters and cracks his nuts 
 on the limb. Kight came on, but we bade our pos- 
 tillion not to stop while man or beast could keep the 
 road, or find it if lost. Yet, strange as it may seem, 
 we fell asleep ; but the hero of Marengo and Auster- 
 litz slept before the battle of Waterloo : 
 
 " He sleeps ! — wliile earth around him reels, 
 And mankind's million hosts combine, 
 
 Against the sceptre-sword which seals 
 Their fate from Lapland to the Line — 
 While, like a giant roused from wine, 
 
 Grim Europe, startling, watches him, 
 The warrior lord of Lodi's field — 
 O'er Jena's rout who shook his shield — 
 
 Is hushed in slumber dim !" 
 
 We slept also ! — not to awake like him, amid thun- 
 der, conflagration, and carnage, but to a situation
 
 TRAVELLIKG INCIDENT. 2-? 7 
 
 seemingly as full of peril. Our horses had stopped ; 
 it was the hush of midnight ; and what but the strong 
 arms of robbers could be at the bit ! One seized a 
 pair of pistols, another an old broadsword. I levelled 
 a blunderbuss — knowing its bell-muzzle to have a 
 scattering faculty that must strike some one, however 
 tremulously untrue the aim. We discovered, how- 
 ever, no enemy, no daring demander of life or purse. 
 The fact was, our postillion had long since sunk to 
 sleep ; the reins and whip had fallen from his hands, 
 and the horses, which had been hard pushed through 
 the day, not partaking of our enthusiasm, had wan- 
 dered — probably to look out for the feed which our 
 impatience had denied them — far away into an old 
 corn-field : 
 
 " In a corn-field, high and dry, 
 
 There lay gun-boat number one, 
 Wiggle wiggle went its tail, 
 And popit went its gun." 
 
 But our craft did not even wiggle ; and my blun- 
 derbuss, so far from being in a condition to give no- 
 tice of our distress, had no flint in its lock, — indeed, 
 the lock itself was among the missing ! How this 
 fact should have escaped me, when I levelled at what 
 I supposed to be a robber, is a thing which I cannot 
 fully explain ; but I did then suppose that a pull of 
 the trigger would be fatal to somebody. I am thank- 
 ful, on the whole, that there was no robber and no 
 lock ; for I never liked the idea of killing a fellow-
 
 23S SHIP AND snoRE, 
 
 being; I should prefer, but for the reflection it luiglit 
 bring on mj courage, to be robbed. I always admired 
 one trait in Falstalf — he never injured living man ; 
 even on the field of battle his assaults were upon 
 those, who, without the least pang, derived from every 
 blow he dealt only another evidence that they had 
 fought bravely — he wounded only the dead ! 
 
 Such indeed were his principles of humanity, his 
 nice sense of honor, that sooner than draw his sword 
 upon any living being, he would, where a reputation 
 for courage required that blood should be drawn, 
 wound himself. I present him to those who have 
 renounced the riglits of self-defence, as the best ex- 
 emplar I have ever yet met with of their self-sacri- 
 ficing nonentities. 
 
 Where was it we brought up ? — ay, I recollect — it 
 was in the corn-field. Our postillion with his head 
 rolled over on to one shoulder, and his idle arms 
 resting before him, was still in deep slumber ; while 
 his brutes were making, at drowsy intervals, their 
 long and slowly recovered nods. Take them as a 
 group, they were the very type of sleep. To rouse 
 them at once and effectually, I determined, upon the 
 impulse of the moment, to discharge the blunderbuss, 
 kill whom it might. But then that want of a lock — 
 it was a poser ; besides, the barrel had no powder in 
 it — a thing which, I am told, contributes considerably 
 to the noise. At last I raised several tremendous 
 whoops — a faculty which I acquired diu'ing my resi-
 
 APPROACH TO MOUNT ETNA. 239 
 
 dence among the Potawattamies, on the shore of 
 Lake Michigan. It had the effect — man and beast 
 awoke from their sea of dreams, and even Night, 
 startino; from his ebon throne, let fall his leaden wand. 
 
 After boxing about some time among the bushes to 
 find a substitute for our lost whip, we started — re- 
 covered the road, and though anxious to make up by 
 a forced speed for the time lost in the corn-field, yet 
 we did not reach Catania till a late hour of the morn- 
 ing. Here we took thirteen mules — five as substi- 
 tutes for our own legs, five as sumpters, and three 
 for the accommodation of the guide and muleteers. 
 Thus equipped, with provisions for three days, and 
 with greatcoats and blankets sufiicient to protect us in 
 a region of ice, we started a little before midday for the 
 top of Etna. We were determined to see the next 
 sun rise from the summit of that mount. 
 
 Om' road lay, for fifteen miles, among the rugged 
 reefs of lava disgorged in the last irruption. Every 
 thing around had the appearance of a vast lake, tum- 
 bled in a storm, and suddenly changed to solid black- 
 ness. The sides of the mountain, as we approached 
 it, presented features of a still bolder fierceness. The 
 huge rock, the toppling crag, the protruding blufi", 
 stood forth in frightful wildness from the channels 
 and chasms which past torrents of fire had left be- 
 hind. The summit, with its cloud of smoke and 
 shaking cone, crowned the whole with a dark befit- 
 ting terror.
 
 240 SHir AND SHORE. 
 
 At sunset, having reached the verge of the woody 
 zone, we alighted for rest and refreshment. We here 
 changed our summer apparel for that of winter ; the 
 greatcoats which had been put on our sumpters bj 
 our trusty guide, and which we should wholly have 
 neglected, were now in eager requisition. Thus pro- 
 tected, and with spirits and strength renovated by 
 the repast, we mounted again and renewed the ascent. 
 Daylight had gone, but the sky was clear, and the 
 light of the stars was sufficient for our practised guide. 
 Our mules were sure-footed, and we had only to re- 
 linquish ourselves to their superior sagacity. 
 
 At a little before midnight, while approaching the 
 foot of the great cone, where we were to part with 
 our faithful animals, and where indeed we were to 
 wait for the break of day, things began to wear a 
 fearful change. Frequent clouds swept past us ; but 
 there was one at some distance which seemed more 
 stationary — gathering in bulk and blackness. Our 
 guide anxiously watched it, as it collected its strength 
 and threw out its snagged iiukes, and quickly leading 
 the way up a steep ledge, called vehemently upon us 
 to follow. We had only gained the ridge when the 
 tempest came. 
 
 It appeared to me to be the last position one should 
 seek under the tornado which now swept us, for we 
 were obliged instantly to dismount and hold on to the 
 sharp points of the rock. Our mules placed them- 
 selves instinctively in a posture presenting the least
 
 ASCENT OF THE MOUNT. 241 
 
 resistance to the rushing element. It was soon ap- 
 parent why our guide had taken refuge on this un- 
 sheltered steep ; for, as the cloud struck the side of 
 the mountain, its enfolded lake descended in deluge 
 and thunder. Rocks and large masses of ice, dis- 
 engaged by its ^dolence, rolled down on each side of 
 us, and over the very track on which we were moving 
 but a few moments before. Though separated from 
 each other but a few feet, yet no one could make him- 
 self heard ; the torrents around and the thimder above 
 overpowered even the loudly vociferated admonitions 
 of our guide. 
 
 There was at one moment a darkness that might 
 be felt ; and then at another the lightning, flashing 
 down through the rifts of the cloud, would make the 
 slightest pebble visible in its searching light. An 
 hour of these dread alternations, while torrents and 
 rocks were rolling on each side of us, and the storm 
 went past. We were drenched to the skin, while our 
 outer garments began to be stiff with ice, yet, with a 
 shivering accent, we could speak to each other once 
 more. It was the language of one spirit rallying and 
 animating another. Capt. Eead, with characteristic 
 energy, was the first to mount. 
 
 Nil actum reputans, si quid superesset agendum. 
 
 The reader, without undergoing our fatigue, or 
 being wearied with a detail of incidents, will now 
 conceive us about two thousand feet above the point 
 
 11
 
 242 SHIP AND SHORE. 
 
 where we had encountered the storm — in a substan- 
 tial shelter at the foot of the great cone — around a 
 grate of coal, which we had brought with us from 
 Catania — warming our fingers — snapping the ice out 
 of our coats — toasting Etna in a bumper of its own 
 wine — and watching for the break of day. 
 
 That horn- comes : and now let him take his stand 
 with us on the highest point of the cone, ten thousand 
 feet above the level of the sea, and imagine the whole 
 island of Sicily, with its peaks and glens, its torrents 
 and valleys, its towns and forests, with the broken line 
 of its bold shores stretched beneath in one vast pano- 
 ramic view — the sun, wheeling up out of the distant 
 sea — the heavens flushed w^ith its splendor — the 
 mountain pinnacles burning in its beam — the great 
 cone shaking with the throes of the unresting ele- 
 ment within — the crater sending up its volumes of 
 steep cloud — and the central lake of fire flashing up 
 through the darkness, like terrific glimpses of the 
 bottomless abyss ! But the reality overpowers all 
 description ! I drop my pen, and half accuse myself 
 of rashness in having made even this brief attempt. 
 
 We efifected the descent without any serious injury, 
 though I had myself rather a narrow escape. My 
 mule made a misstep — the only fault of the kind he 
 had committed dming the excursion. I fell over his 
 head, and turned many somersets : on looking back, 
 I saw my mule standing on the verge of the slope, 
 and disregarding every thing else, directing his
 
 RETURN TO CATANIA. 243 
 
 anxious look to me. There was sorrow and self- 
 accusation in that look — I forgave him. Beckoning 
 to him, he came dowm, snufied about my mangled 
 hat, and when 1 lemounted, pricked up his ears, and 
 started on with the most assured tread. From that 
 time I have never seen this animal receive a stroke 
 of the lash, without a feeling of disquietude. 
 
 We reached Catania at sunset, in fine spirits, and 
 not the least so, Mrs. E., who had sustained all the 
 perils and hardships of the expedition with wonderful 
 courage and energj^ That night we slept soundly, 
 as well we might, for we had been up two nights 
 without any sleep, except the nap in the corn-field, 
 and that would have been less long had there been 
 any powder in the barrel of my blunderbuss ; for I 
 have a wonderful tact at getting any thing off that is 
 loaded. My first exploits in gunnery were with the 
 pop-gun — the dear little thing ! 
 
 I do advise those who propose to fight 
 
 A duel, when they feel their honor pricked, 
 
 To use this pop-gun — 'tis so very light, 
 
 And what is more, so safe : none ever kicked, 
 
 Or burst, unless it had too thin a shell. 
 
 And then the little thing does just as well. 
 
 The Etna fever, which hurried us blindly past all 
 other objects on our way to the mount, having sub- 
 sided, Ve determined to defer our return to the ship, 
 and glance at some of the features of Catania. This 
 is a beautiful city, though built upon one vast field of
 
 24-i smp Am) shoee. 
 
 lava, with the dead beneath, a Tolcano above, and 
 the frightful monuments of the earthquake around. 
 [ know not why it is, but somehow in this strange 
 world beauty, danger, and death are always in the 
 same group. The sweetest violet I ever saw, bloomed 
 among wreaths of snow on a sister's grave. 
 
 The amphitheatre, where the ancient Catanians 
 held their sports, and where they may have been 
 suddenly engulfed in a flood of fire, stands seventy 
 feet beneath the gay promenade of the present 
 town. This gigantic sti'ucture is built itself of lava, 
 and for aught we can tell, may have been reared over 
 playhouses, entombed in some eruption of a still 
 earlier date. Thus it ever is in this world ; on land, 
 the votary of pleasure indulges his mirth over the 
 bones of a perished race ; and on the ocean, the mar- 
 iner lightly hums his song on a wave, through which 
 have sunk thousands to reappear no more. We pre- 
 sent to heaven a picture of life and death, mirth and 
 madness, over which angels might wonder and weep ! 
 
 Xatm'e often atones for the fierceness of present 
 calamities in the beauty of remote results. The 
 ashes that fall in the burning breath of the volcano, 
 nourish plants which are to bloom above those they 
 have buried ; and the forest, which now encircles 
 Catania, waves more luxuriantly than the one char- 
 red beneath. The vegetable life and bloom which 
 followed the subsiding waters of the great deluge, 
 were not less fresh and fair, than what had been
 
 MUSEUM OF BISCARI. 245 
 
 swept away. But man covers tlie world with his 
 slain — ^leavino' their flesh to the vulture, their bones 
 to the accents of the last triimp, and his own guilt to 
 the disposal of a final Judge ! 
 
 We \asited, while at Catania, the museum of the 
 Prince of Biscari — the largest and most richly stored 
 private cabinet in the world. I pass by the statues 
 of the ancient deities, for time and disaster have been 
 as fatal to their forms, as inspiration has to their wor- 
 ship. I pass by the collection of shells, for none, in 
 all their vast variety, has the tone and rainbow beauty 
 of the one through which the mermaid breathed my 
 dying dirge. I pass by the vases which held the 
 wines, and the lamps which lighted the festivities of 
 the ancients ; for who would gaze on the nail of the 
 coffin in which youth and affection have sunk fi'om 
 light and life? I pass by the countless minerals and 
 gems — they shed no rays of such living light as those 
 which beam fi-om the eye of the bright gazelle. I 
 pass by the million of embalmed insects — others 
 swarm the field and forest, happy in the life which 
 these have lost. I pass by — no, I will not — the ex- 
 pressive statue of Cleopatra. The heart throbs be- 
 neath its beauty — the eye swims when lifted to that 
 last look of suicidal despair. 
 
 Leaving the museum, we encountered an humble 
 Franciscan in his simple attire — his imcovered head 
 and sandals. _ He presented us with some flowers, 
 and received in his thin pale hand our little charities.
 
 246 SHIP AKD SnOEE. 
 
 Poor pilgrim! what is this worid to thee? Thou 
 hast renounced its wealth, its pleasures, its restless 
 spirit of enterprise : thy home is not here — is it in 
 heaven ? Art thou indeed going to that better land, 
 where the strife and vanities of earth never come ? 
 May the privations of thy lot atone for the mistaken 
 virtues of thy creed. 
 
 If I determine to become a monk, I will come here 
 and join the Benedictines. They have a splendid 
 monastery, richly endowed — luxuriant gardens, sump- 
 tuous fare, nothing to do — they live like gentlemen. 
 If any one questions the usefulness of such a life, I 
 can only say, let him attend to his o"v^ii business. 
 What concern is it of his, if, like a silkworm, I wind 
 myself up in my own web ? Let him not attempt to 
 wind my house on to his bobbin. 
 
 Cicisbeism prevails among the higher classes in 
 Catania. It passes as a pure platonic affection — in- 
 fringing no marriage obligation, no law of morality, 
 no rule of rigid propriety — merely a chaste friendshij), 
 innocent as a new-born babe. It does, to be sure, 
 encourage a peculiar intimacy, and may perhaps di- 
 versify the features of the younger members of the 
 family ; but what of that ? 'No sentiment of delicacy 
 has been publicly shocked, and no one dies before 
 his time comes : let the exquisite arrangement alone. 
 Never was there a charmer of the bird with so beau- 
 tiful a skin, so bright an eye, and so venomous a fang ! 
 It is the devil himself disguised as an angel of light !
 
 KETITKN TO MESSINA. 247 
 
 Leaving Catania — the excellent hotel of the atten- 
 live Abatti — and travelling the remaining half of the 
 day and the succeeding night, we arrived at Messina 
 at the break of dawn. The leaves were wet with 
 the dew, and the first rays of the sun were among 
 them, while yet the day-star could be seen over the 
 hills. 
 
 Lone star that lingerest still on yon steep height, 
 Dost not perceive that thou art wondrous pale ? 
 
 Why keep untiring watch in deep daylight ? 
 Come, spread thy pinions on the morning gale, 
 
 And haste away — thy sisters all are gone — 
 
 Earth will not hear thee singing there alone. 
 
 Sweet star, though morn hath blanched thy cheek and brow. 
 
 Thy glancing eye is full of tearful mirth ; 
 With thee my softened heart would meekly bow, 
 
 And own the Power that ruled thy heavenly birth — 
 But, hark ! — thy sisters call again to thee : 
 Haste, haste away, and meet me on the sea. 
 
 Weighing anchor from Messina, we passed, on the 
 opposite side of the strait, the small village of Reg- 
 gio, which would have hardly arrested om* attention 
 but for its beino; the last retreat of the unfortunate 
 Murat. There is over the whole career of this splen- 
 did officer a warmth of generosity, a depth of en- 
 thusiasm and romance, which should have secured 
 him from the inhuman and unmerited death which 
 his miserable foes decreed. His last look, as he sunk 
 alone, unarmed and unbefriended, beneath the mortal
 
 248 SHIP AND SnOEE. 
 
 aim of his executioners — and the last words of his 
 brave companion in arms, the gallant ^N'ey, as he 
 kneeled down to die — may perhaps have been re- 
 garded by some with exultation ; but a man of the 
 slightest magnanimity would have turned away with 
 indignant shame and regret. 
 
 The errors of such men meet with an adequate ret- 
 ribution when the reverses of the field divest them 
 of their splendor and power ; and let Us not insult 
 their misfortunes and human natm'e, by sending them 
 to the hands of the common executioner, or chaining 
 them, like their captive chief, to a desolate rock in 
 the ocean. 
 
 But I have wandered unintentionally to St. Helena, 
 and must come back to take a parting look at the 
 strait. A current sets here alternately north and 
 south, at the rate of three or four knots an hour. It 
 is strictly a tide, influenced by the moon, with a 
 strong ebb and flow, though the rise and fall are not 
 great. When the current sets in from the north, it 
 first encounters the point of Pelorus, which stiU per- 
 petuates the name of Hannibal's pilot ; it is here 
 headed ofi*, and sets towards Scylla, where it is 
 again deflected in an opposite direction, and drives 
 towards the isthmus, which protects the harbor of 
 Messina. 
 
 On its return, it pursues essentially the same 
 track, but rarely in either direction seriously annoys 
 a ship, unless there be a calm, a strong head-wind, or
 
 ISLE OF CAimiA. 249 
 
 one of those traversing gusts wliicli frequently issue 
 ffom the gorges of the mountains. But, like the re- 
 nowned Argonauts, we have escaped the disasters of 
 the pass ; so adieu to its counter currents, whu'lpools, 
 and rocks. They have ever had more poetry in them 
 than peril. 
 
 Our next sight of land rested on the island of 
 Candia. Mount Ida, which claims the proud pre- 
 eminence of being the birth-place of Jupiter, stri- 
 kingly sustains its pretensions in its own lofty and 
 solitary grandeur. It is a place befitting the infancy 
 of one destined to reign over the hopes and fears of 
 this poor world. It would seem that the infant 
 Thunderer began to exercise his frightful functions 
 even before leaving the place of his nativity ; for Ida 
 has all the blight and barrenness which the fiercest 
 lightning leaves behind. 
 
 The presiding divinity must also, in some measure, 
 have molded the character of the inhabitants ; for 
 they have ever been distinguished for valor and vice, 
 skill and falsehood. They exhibited their courage 
 and resolution in their resistance to the Romans, and 
 in the memorable siege of their principal city by the 
 Ottoman power in the seventeenth century. Their 
 vices, aside from the passages of Strabo, live in many 
 a lewd tale, and their piratical audacity still thrills 
 through the story of the mariner. Tlieir skill in 
 archery aided Xenophon in his celebrated retreat, 
 and assisted Alexander the Great in his conquests. 
 
 IP
 
 250 SHIP AND SHORE, 
 
 Their proneness to falsehood passed into a proverb, 
 and even shocked the satirical muse of Ovid : 
 
 Ifon hoc centum quae sustinet urbes, 
 
 Quamvis sit mendax, Greta negare potest. 
 
 Tlie next island that we made was Cerigo — the 
 ancient Cithera, and favorite isle of Yenns. ITear its 
 sweet shore this goddess rose from the wave in the 
 full perfection of her soft entrancing beauty. Her 
 being, no less than her birth, betrayed her celestial 
 origin, "With a form molded in all its developments 
 to the most rich and exquisite symmetry — a counte- 
 nance lighted up with the earnestness of serene and 
 passionate thought — a soul breathing through her 
 very frame the warmth and kindling fondness of 
 love — with a step that could dispense with the earth, 
 and a look that could make a heaven, — ^it is no won- 
 der that she filled and fascinated the human heart; 
 and that the prince and the poet, the warrior and the 
 Bage, laid their richest offerings upon her shi-ine. 
 
 But her worship is now passed — her temples are 
 tottering in ruins — her altars are forsaken— her foun- 
 tains unvisited — and even this sweet isle where she 
 once dwelt, has only the murmuring wave to mourn 
 over the dream of her perished beauty. Some glimpses 
 of her loveliness may linger still in the triumphs of 
 the chisel and pencil, but her soul of surpassing sweet- 
 ness and j)0wer is not there ; and the spell of her 
 charms will never return, while the spirit of a holier
 
 ISLE OF MILO. 251 
 
 revelation continues to chasten do^vn the voluptuous 
 imagination of man. 
 
 Passing Cithera, we held our course for Milo, and 
 soon came to anchor in its well-sheltered harbor. 
 The first sentiment that occurred to me, in looking at 
 the form and aspect of this island, turned to the in- 
 justice which has been done to it, in the purposes 
 which it has been compelled to subserve. It ap- 
 peared as if, from some motive of curiosity, it had 
 merely looked up out of the wave, to see what was 
 going on in this strange world — had been caught in 
 that situation and detained, as an adventurous travel- 
 ler peeping into an Arab encampment, is sometimes 
 held there in lawless bondage. 
 
 Yet there is no cast of grief or violence upon it ; 
 indeed, it seems as cheerful as if it never had endured 
 a compulsory servitude ; though, so far from having 
 escaped the ignoble task of contri?yUting to the main- 
 tenance of man, it has at one time sustained a popu- 
 lation of twenty thousand upon its own resources. 
 It was first made a captive by a Lacedaemonian colo- 
 ny, and like a true knight, enabled them, for seven 
 hundred years previous to the Peloponnesian war, 
 to preserve their independence. 
 
 With more gallantry than selfish wisdom, it refused 
 in that long struggle to aid the designs of the Atheni- 
 ans, who revenged this neutrality by visiting it with 
 the heaviest desolation in their power. This wicked 
 act has been sketched by Thucydides in one of his
 
 952 SHIP AND SHORE. 
 
 terse sentences. The men, it appears, who were able 
 to bear arms were put to death — the women and chil- 
 dren earned off into exile. 
 
 In the recent struggle between the Greek and Turk, 
 this little isle saved itself from Moslem vengeance by 
 its peaceful demeanor, and better served the interests 
 of humanity in thus becoming a partial asylum, where 
 the oppressed and despairing might recover strength 
 and resolution. It is now what it was in earlier times 
 — a sort of resting-place for the mariner. In weari- 
 ness and storm, he has only to drop around into this 
 quiet harbor, and then he may tune his reed, or 
 traverse his deck, and let the tempest without rave, 
 till it frets itself to rest. 
 
 But our object here was not to shelter ourselves 
 from a gale, but to procure the aid of those whose 
 knowledge of the intricate passes of this sea might 
 perhaps save us from that last disaster which some- 
 times befalls a ship. The skill of the pilot here is 
 very much confined to occasions when there is the 
 least necessity for it. It is to be relied on when perils 
 are distinctly visible ; but when storm, and wave, and 
 night mingle in conflict, the Greek pilot has no re- 
 source but to faU on his knees and supplicate the 
 assistance of the blessed Yirgin. 
 
 Could that sweet saint send out the light of those 
 stars which once lighted her solitary path in Judea, 
 it would be eminently wise to invoke her aid. Far 
 be it from me, however, to quench the hope and trust
 
 GROTTO OF MtLO. 253 
 
 which even a dekisive confidence may awaken. Yet 
 in a storm, I would sooner trust to a strong cable, or 
 a good offing with a close reef, than to any miracu- 
 lous preservation within the power of the compassion- 
 ate Madonna. But enough of these heterodox senti- 
 ments. 
 
 Mounting some little stunted ponies, which were 
 but a trifle larger than goats, we went in quest of 
 some of the natural curiosities of the island. A short 
 ride brought us to the tepid springs, which rise quite 
 up the harbor near the water's edge. These springs 
 are strongly impregnated with sulphur, and are much 
 frequented by those afliicted with scrofulous diseases, 
 — maladies which are often met with here, and which 
 are ascribed to a noxious property in the honey with 
 which the Cyclades abound. There is no sweet with- 
 out its bitter — ^no rose without its thorn. But nature 
 sometimes, as in the present case, furnishes an anti- 
 dote for the ills which she brings. "Would that man 
 could do the same ; but his wi'ongs strike so deeply, 
 that a reparation is frequently not within his power. 
 A broken heart can never be revived and restored ; 
 it may perchance smile again, but its smiles will be 
 like flowers on a sepulchre. 
 
 From the springs we rode to a singular cave near 
 the entrance of the harbor. After winding down a 
 narrow and difiicult passage, we found ourselves in a 
 large hall, beautifully vaulted with crystallized sul- 
 phur. This mineral, in the hands of man, has a bad
 
 254 SHIP AND SnORE. 
 
 name, and a worse association ; but left to nature, she 
 converts it into brilliant gems, with which she studs 
 the glowing domes of her caverned palaces. 
 
 Here was one of her halls in which even an Egeria 
 might have dwelt, and sighed for nothing earthly, 
 unless it were the footsteps of her mortal lover. And 
 perhaps it was in other times the abode of some sweet 
 romantic being, whose devoted love flew the crowd, 
 to cherish in solitude and silence its fondness and 
 trust. For there is something in the spirit of this 
 mysterious passion which takes the heart away from 
 the empty bustle and prattle of the multitude. It is 
 this which sanctifies the private hearth, and garlands 
 the domestic altar with flowers that can never die. 
 One that looks away from the companion of his 
 bosom for solace and delight, has mistaken the path 
 to true happiness and virtue. 
 
 But I am again on a theme that has little to do 
 with the present fountains and grottoes of Milo. We 
 were struck, on riding over the island, with the num- 
 ber and variety of its caverns, and with the beautiful 
 results of the chemical operations which are con- 
 stantly going on in these natural laboratories. These 
 singular results are produced from rich mineral sub- 
 stances, abounding in the hollow hills, dissolved and 
 sublimated by the agency of a volcanic flame, which 
 appears to live in the heart of the island. 
 
 Let this isle alone — it needs no forge, retort, blow- 
 pipe or galvanic battery, to aid its chemical experi-
 
 ANCIENT TOMBS. 255 
 
 ments. To its lectures Pliny listened, and thousands 
 since have wisely imitated the docility of his example. 
 We observed in our rambles the constant occurrence 
 of excavations, which were once immense reser- 
 voirs for the reception of rain-water, — there being no 
 fresh springs in the island, and which, though now 
 neglected and partially filled by falling fragments, 
 attest the former denseness of the population. 
 
 "We spent some time among the Catacombs, the 
 most perfect of which are just being opened, and 
 may be found near the site of the ancient capital. 
 These chambers of the dead are cut in the soft rock, 
 being eight or ten feet square and as many in height, 
 with narrow cells opening around them, in which the 
 bodies were deposited. In the cells are discovered 
 the jewels and ornaments of the deceased, and in the 
 chambers lachrjmiatory vases, in which the bereaved 
 preserved their tears, as sacred to the memory of the 
 departed. Among the ornaments a massive ring was 
 recently discovered, which w^as purchased here for 
 fifty pounds, and subsequently sold for five hundred. 
 
 The vases are some of them of glass, brilliantly 
 colored in the material ; others of an argillaceous 
 substance, pencilled with a delicate and unfading 
 force. They are now searched for and sold by the 
 natives to the antiquary, or to any one who may feel 
 or affect an interest in the arts and habits of the 
 ancients. 
 
 How every thing in this world tends to ruin and
 
 256 SHIP AND SnOEE. 
 
 forgetfulness ! We are not only to die — to be placed 
 in the earth — but the violets are to be plucked from 
 our graves — these narrow mounds perhaps to be 
 levelled down to gratify the pride of a village, and 
 furnish a promenade for the gay — and then, as if this 
 were not enough, should the place of our burial in 
 after ages become known, our ashes may be disturbed, 
 and though the tearless grief of our friends may save 
 the search after lachrymatories, yet our very dust 
 may be sifted in search of a gainful trinket. What 
 has been will be ; for " there is nothing new under 
 the sun." Then let me be spared all mockery of 
 grief, all eulogies written and forgotten by the same 
 individual — ^let my resting-place be unknown. 
 
 When ye shall lay me in the shroud, 
 
 And look your last adieu, 
 Ye shall not tell it to the crowd, 
 
 Nor to the friendly few; 
 And when ye place me on the bier. 
 
 Ye shall not wail a word, 
 Nor let your eyes confess a tear. 
 
 Or e'en a sigh be heard. 
 
 Much less shall there be funeral knell, 
 
 Or roll of muffled drum, 
 Or, when ye leave where I must dwell, 
 
 The peal of parting gun. 
 Bear me away at dead of night. 
 
 And let your footsteps fall 
 As soft and silently, as light 
 
 The moonbeams on the pall —
 
 DISTURBING THE DEAD. 257 
 
 Till ye shall reach some desert shore, 
 
 Or some secluded glen, 
 Where man hath never been before, 
 
 And ye will not again ; 
 Inter me there, without a stone 
 
 Or mound to mark the spot, — 
 A grave to all but ye unknown. 
 
 And then by ye forgot.
 
 258 SHIP AND SHORE. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 The early lark from out the thicket springing, 
 NoTv like an angel lures me to the skies ; 
 
 The waking warblers from the hill-top singing, 
 Hail the sweet morn — notes various as their dyes. 
 
 TOWN OF MILO — STEEPNESS OF THE STREETS ADVICE TO DISTILLERS — 
 
 STATUE OF VENUS VIEW FROM THE TOWN GREEK WEDDING DRESS 
 
 AND PERSON OF THE BRIDE — FICKLENESS OF FASHIONS IN DRESS — ANEC- 
 DOTE OF FRANKLIN PASSAGE FROM MILO TO SMYRNA CAPE COLONNA 
 
 TEMPLE OF MINERVA PROFESSION OF PIRATES — ISLAND OF IPSARA 
 
 ASPECT OF SCIO — MASSACRE OF THE INHABITANTS CONDUCT OF THE 
 
 ALLIES GULF OF SMYRNA — ANCIENT CLAZOMENjE — TRAITS OF THE 
 
 SAILOR. 
 
 We left the sliip this morning for the purpose of 
 visiting the town of Milo, which is built around the 
 conical summit of a mountain, and sufficiently ele- 
 vated to look down on Mahomet's coffin, high as it 
 floats even in the fanatical dream of a Mussulman. 
 This giddy position was chosen as a refuge or protec- 
 tion from pirates ; but the corsair has reached it — • 
 not in search of a Medora (I could almost excuse him 
 for that), but in quest of a treasure far less lovely, 
 though of deeper fascination to a sordid heart. 
 
 On our ascent, we turned aside to the remains of a 
 theatre, which has been discovered within a few years 
 past. The rubbish and earth with which it was cov- 
 ered have been partially removed ; and the relic pre-
 
 STATUE OF VENtrS. 259 
 
 sents an entireness of preservation rarelj to be met 
 with even where, as in the present case, the material 
 has the durability which belongs to marble. The 
 theatre, soon after its discovery, was purchased by 
 Baron Haller, under whose direction the excavations 
 were vigorously prosecuted, until a treacherous wave, 
 as he was crossing the harbor, terminated his career, 
 and deprived the world of the fruits of his enterprise. 
 The object of his munificent curiosity remains ; and 
 the rent cornice and coknnn will long be surveyed by 
 the stranger, as the touching emblems of his broken 
 hopes and purposes. 
 
 On returaing to our path, we passed the spot where 
 the celebrated statue, the Yenus of Milo, was discov- 
 ered. It has since been purchased by the French 
 government, and is now exhibited in the Louvre, 
 where doubtless many a Parisian belle is studying 
 its air and attitude, and endeavoring to mould her 
 yielding form after its perfect symmetry. But cor- 
 sets and studied positions will never make a 
 Yenus. 
 
 This peerless prototjqDe looked and moved just as 
 she came from the soft hand of nature ; and those 
 who would approach her, in the power of their 
 charms, must listen to an oracle that talks not of airs 
 and stays. "Were Praxitiles to come from his rest- 
 ing-place, and a modern beauty to present herself 
 before him, to stand for her statue, in all the narrow- 
 ing and disorganizing appendages which fashion now
 
 260 SHIP Am) SHORE. 
 
 sanctions, the astounded artist would drop his chisel 
 and hasten fast as j)ossible back to his grave ! 
 
 But enough of this censorial criticism on the false 
 taste of the ladies. They will, I have no doubt, re- 
 gard my strictures as extremely querulous and im- 
 pudent ; but I can assure them I am one of the most 
 modest and peaceable men in the world, and little 
 disposed to give offence in that quarter, where I may 
 perhaps one day be seeking the happiness which 
 heaven has righteously denied to the cynanthropy 
 and selfishness of the single state. I trust that this 
 confession, if it fail to secure me their favor, will at 
 least obtain me their forgiving tolerance; and I 
 will engage not to oflend again, though nature pants 
 and dies under the constricting tortm-es of the cord 
 and steel. 
 
 We recovered the path to Milo, from which we 
 had diverged, by beating our way through several 
 small plats of ground, surrounded with hedges of the 
 aloe, whose lance-like thorns wound a man's flesh as 
 much as scandal does his character. Our way now 
 lay up in a rambling zig-zag line, rendered necessary 
 not only by the steepness of the actual ascent, but 
 the frequent occurrence of the insurmountable bluff 
 and projecting crag. 
 
 It aj)peared to me, while twisting my sight and 
 strength through the exhausting tortuosities of this 
 path, that Satan would have never found his way 
 from Tartarus to Paradise, on a road as crooked and
 
 ADVICE TO BISTILLEES. 201 
 
 laborious as tliat wliicli we were threading. But 
 here, I hope, will end all supposed parallel between 
 the situation, climbing fimctions, and errand of his 
 Satanic majesty and myself. I was bound to Milo — 
 he was in search of Eden ; I went to bless a new- 
 married couple, as will presently appear — he to make 
 miserable the only wedded pair on earth ; I was on, 
 to say the worst of it, a fool's errand — his was that 
 of a fiend. But to close this contrast, so severe upon 
 Milton's hero, without perhaps being honorable to 
 myself, we at last reached the town. 
 
 We found all its streets extremely narrow, for the 
 want of room to make them wider, and decently 
 clean, from their precipitancy ; for the contents of a 
 dish-kettle or wash-bowl would hardly stop till they 
 had reached the harbor ; and as for a stumbling 
 drunkard, he would roll down with increasing mo- 
 mentum, plump into the wave. There are, conse- 
 quently, no " Temperance Societies " here — no an- 
 noyances from those who will not allow others to 
 drink, because they have ceased to drink themselves. 
 
 I would therefore advise the distiller, as he appears 
 to be particularly obnoxious to these men who have 
 forsaken their bottles, to come and work his worms 
 here, where he will cease to be annoyed, not only by 
 those who do not take a drop at all, but by those who 
 take a drop too much. For instead of having the 
 grounds about his establishment disfigured by an 
 unseemly group, one trying to knock off another's
 
 2G2 SHIP AND SHOKE. 
 
 nose, another blinking and sleeping in the sun, an- 
 other zig-zagging a plain path, another casting his 
 sickly smile on the stranger, another cocking his eye 
 ahead, as if levelling at a partridge, and another 
 looking as if about to assume the functions of a stool- 
 pigeon — instead of this, the moment a fellow has 
 taken a glass too much, and attempts his first step, 
 he tumbles, and rolling downward about two miles, 
 conies souse into the bay. 
 
 This cleverly cools him off, quenches all the burn- 
 ing rags on his back, and he is ready to mount again, 
 fresh as a fish. The distiller, therefore, escapes all 
 annoyance from those who do not drink, and all dis- 
 gust from those who do ; and as for that being who 
 goes about as a roaring lion, seeking whom he may 
 devour, if there be any virtue in friendship, any 
 merit in good service, he has naught to fear from 
 him. 
 
 The roofs of the houses, we observed, were all flat. 
 This may have been from a prudential anxiety to 
 present the least possible exposure to the violent 
 winds which occasionally sweep these heights, or to 
 lessen the weight, which only aggravates the toppling 
 propensities of the dwelling ; or, from motives of 
 economy, which I do not assuredly know, as I never 
 made the inquiry. But whatever may have been the 
 inducement, they afford a good protection from all 
 inclemencies of weather, and the only promenade of 
 which this cloud-capped town can boast.
 
 TIEW OF THE TOWJT. 263 
 
 Under the guidance of an intelligent native, who 
 had been engaged as a pilot for our ship, we con- 
 tinued our climbing till we reached the roof of the 
 church, which rightly crowns the summit. The wide 
 panorama of wave, and isle, and mount which now 
 spread around us, would have rewarded much greater 
 fatigues than. we had undergone in the ascent. 
 
 Milo itself, with the soft oval sweep of its shores, 
 the picturesque prominency of its hills, the green 
 depth of its valleys, and above all, the slumbering 
 beauty of the harbor, as it lay with the repose and 
 brilliancy of an inland lake, was enough to chain the 
 eye and fill the heart. But the charms of the pros- 
 pect rested not here — a multitude of isles like this lay 
 within the circling range of our vision, bright as the 
 waves in which their shadows were enshrined, and 
 soft as the skies that covered them. They seemed as 
 if formed for the most fond, fraternal alliance, yet 
 capable each one, in an hour of ingratitude or indig- 
 nity, of leaning upon its own resources, 
 
 I like this self-relying aspect, both in nature and 
 man; it imparts dignity, respect, and confidence, 
 without detracting in the slightest degree from the 
 obligations and advantages of friendship. In this 
 selfish and treacherous world, a person should never 
 place his happiness at the mercy of another ; betrayal 
 and ruin are too apt to be the consequence. This 
 remark, however, must not be extended to that sacred 
 alliance on which the marriage seal has been set, for
 
 264 SHIP AND SHORE. 
 
 the greater tlie confidence here, the less liable per- 
 haps is it to abuse ; and not only so, but without this 
 unreserved confidence, love's lamp would burn dim, 
 even before the first night had waned on its middle 
 watch. 
 
 Since I have touched on this delicate theme, my 
 narrative may as well descend at once under its light, 
 from the roof of the chm-ch to the new-married couple, 
 whose first day of a happy date hundreds had now 
 come to witness and to bless. To this festival we had 
 been invited, and though unable to discourse in mod- 
 ern Greek, yet we determined to see with what pecu- 
 liarities Hymen might still hold his court in this an- 
 cient Melos. 
 
 We found the assembly about a third of the way 
 down the declivity, on a small green, sustained by a 
 bold range of rock, which served it as a natural par- 
 apet. The aged were seated under the fruit-trees, 
 eating sweetmeats and drinking sherbet ; the children 
 were in scattered groups, wildly at play ; the youth 
 of both sexes were more in the centre, dancing the 
 Romaika. Li performing the evolutions of this ori- 
 ental dance, the parties begin with a slow and solemn 
 movement, and gradually accelerate the action as the 
 music becomes more lively. 
 
 The conductress of the figures, who on this occa- 
 sion was the bride, led the company by easy and 
 natural gradations to the most rapid evolutions, in- 
 volving them constantly in a maze of intricacies,
 
 A gkeciajn' beide. 265 
 
 through which they followed her, without once break- 
 ing the chain or losing the measure. The music 
 consisted simply of the Balaika, which accorded with 
 the rural and romantic aspect of the scene. Some- 
 thing like this, blended perhaps with still stronger 
 fascinations of personal beauty, drew from the author 
 of Evenings in Greece the passionate and sprightly 
 strain commencing with the lines — 
 
 " When the Balaika is heard o'er the sea 
 I'll dance the Romaika by moonlight with thee : 
 If waves then advancing, should steal o'er our track, 
 Thy white feet, in dancing, shall chase them all back." 
 
 The dress and appearance of the bride were pecu- 
 liarly native and striking. She was crowned with a 
 wreath of white flowers, which contrasted beautifully 
 with the jet-black locks of her hair floating behind in 
 glossy ringlets ; her dress was of white satin, with 
 short sleeves, and cut low in the neck ; over this ap- 
 peared a stomacher of scarlet, richly embroidered, 
 encircling and sustaining the round bust. Her dress, 
 with its deep and well-adjusted folds, descended only 
 a little below the knee, where it was more than met 
 by a white silk stocking, that betrayed a small round 
 ankle, and an instep that seemed bounding from the 
 light shoe. Her necklace was of pearl ; her ear orna- 
 ments and bracelets of cameo, delicately wrought and 
 Bet in gold. 
 
 She appeared to be about sixteen years of age— 
 
 12
 
 266 SHIP AND SHORE. 
 
 witli a round cbeek of deep carnation — a countenance 
 of brunette complexion — eyes black, sbaded with 
 thick silken lashes, and of sparkling brightness — an 
 upright forehead, though not high — a neck of smooth 
 and graceful cm-ve — a stature rather low — a form 
 not slight but symmetrical — and a hand on whose 
 tapering fingers glittered the tokens of love and friend- 
 ship. 
 
 She had the air of one who has just passed that 
 period of life w^here the lightness and gayety of tlie 
 heart give place to sympathies of deeper tone, and 
 feelings of stronger power. Her manner, costume, 
 and person alike riveted our attention, and though 
 she could not be said to reach the perfection of grace 
 and beauty, yet I was not surprised on being told 
 that the commander of a squadron in this sea had 
 recently employed a limner expressly to sketch her 
 picture. But to be rightly appreciated, she would 
 require more than lies in the power of the artist. 
 There was something in the flowing of the full soul, 
 as it lighted and filled her countenance, which no 
 pencil could express. 
 
 The bridegroom was a good-looking Greek, of 
 twenty-three or four ; slightly below the medium 
 stature, with a compact muscular frame, and counte- 
 nance that needed not the aid of the mustaches, that 
 curled from the upper lip, to give it expression. His 
 dress was the flowing Turkish trowsers of white, con- 
 fined suddenly and closely about the ankle, and a
 
 GREEK COSTUME. 267 
 
 coat of blue, in the form of the spencer, deeplj em- 
 broidered in front. His manner was manly, frank, 
 and affable. On being presented to him, he imme- 
 diately introduced us to his fair bride, and invited us 
 into his well-fm-nished house, which opened on the 
 small green. We were here served with fruit, cake, 
 sherbet, coffee, and the cordiality of the pipe. 
 
 Our conversation was carried on through an inter- 
 preter, which left the ladies, who composed a ma- 
 jority of the circle, quite at leism-e to ponder the dress 
 of Mrs. R., which they evidently thought very singu- 
 lar, wondering no doubt why it descended so low — 
 why her head was protected by a bonnet instead of a 
 veil — and how it was possible for her form to possess 
 its symmetry, without the visible aid of the stomacher. 
 
 But they were not more surprised at a novelty of 
 costume than we were ; though, had the bride been 
 mine, I should have anticipated with no pleasure, in 
 any country or communit}", the necessity of an essen- 
 tial change in the style of her dress, bating the short- 
 ness of the petticoat. This dress, in its outline, is 
 what it was two thousand years ago, and what it will 
 probably be two thousand years hence. 
 
 What a contrast to the whimsical fickleness of 
 taste in my own country ! Our garments instead of 
 being comely on some future generation, the caprices 
 of fashion render ridiculous even on our own backs. 
 Indeed, fashions change with such an electrical ra- 
 pidity with us, that if the boy who brings a dress
 
 '2GS SHIP AND SHOEE. 
 
 from the milliner's be slow on the leg, it will have to 
 be sent back to be conformed to some new freak of 
 fancy, or some more newly discovered model. Our 
 taste in dress, so far from aiding a permanent nation- 
 ality of character, is a mere bubble, 
 
 " Which a breath can break as a breath hath made." 
 
 It is a servile imitation of the fooleries and fopperies 
 of some foreign metropolis ; and worse than this, it is 
 sometimes a serious submission to a quiz, played off 
 for the merriment of others upon our aping vanity. 
 
 I have often admired the good-humored reply of 
 Franklin to his daughter, on her request to be grati- 
 fied with an article of fashionable inutility. While 
 that philosopher was embassador to the court of 
 France, his daughter wrote him that ostrich feathers 
 were all the go in the head-dress of the ladies, and 
 requested him to send her out some of the first quality. 
 The honest Republican replied — " Catch the old 
 rooster, my dear child, and take some of the longest 
 feathers from his tail : they will answer, my word for 
 it, every purpose." Were a parent now-a-days to tell 
 his daughter so, she would probably fly into a nun- 
 nery, or die of grief. 
 
 But I ask pardon of the ladies, for I promised not 
 again to offend ; and I can say in conciliation, that 
 they are not much more extravagant and frivolous in 
 their taste than the men. And we have this disad- 
 vantage also, that we lie under the just imputation of
 
 TEMPLE OF MENEEVA. 2G9 
 
 imitating their worst vagaries. A close observer ot 
 the variations occurring in tlie style and shape of our 
 apparel, cannot but remark, that we look to the ladies 
 as truly as the sea in its ebb and flow looks to the 
 moon. But I must hasten on, for at this rate my 
 story will never get away from Milo, — it will die 
 here, like a pilgrim that has never reached the shrine 
 of his saint. 
 
 Taking two intelligent pilots on board, so that they 
 might relieve each other in alternate watches, we 
 weighed anchor, and, clearing the narrow entrance 
 of the harbor, were once more running before the 
 breeze. The next morning brought us close to Cape 
 Colonna, on the southern extremity of Attica — a bold 
 promontory — crowned with the magniiicent reiTxains 
 of the temple of Minerva. We solicited Capt. Read 
 to lie to, till we could visit these ruins. A boat was 
 immediately lowered, and we were soon on shore, 
 up the steep, and among the remains. 
 
 We found twelve columns of the purest Penteli- 
 can marble, with their entablatures, still standing. 
 Others lying around, mingled with the massive frag- 
 ments of the cell. The stateliness and Doric sim- 
 plicity of these columns, with the extent of the foun- 
 dations on which the edifice reposed, afforded a noble 
 conception of its original beauty and grandeur. It 
 requu'ed but little effort of imagination, with what 
 was before us, to fill the broken outline, rear the 
 prostrate pillars, extend the architrave, and perceive
 
 270 SUIP AND SIIOKE. 
 
 in the completion of the whole, a temple worthy of 
 the best days of Greece, and deserving even the 
 high encomium which Pericles is said to have passed 
 upon it. 
 
 From the decisions of this artist there has never 
 yet been found a just ground of appeal. His genius 
 was an oracle to which nations listened ; and we are 
 even now disinhuming cities to recover the sacred 
 sanctions of his taste and judgment. In architecture, 
 sculpture, and poetry, the world has lost its richest 
 specimens, and has not the power to restore them ; 
 nor will this power ever be realized, unless it shall 
 awake in the regenerated Greek. 
 
 On one of the pilasters still standing, among a 
 multitude of names unknown to song, I discovered 
 one that was a brilliant exception, and well worthy 
 of its place, — it was the name of the author of Childe 
 Harold, engraven here under his own eye, in his 
 pilgrimage to this relic. If any one could, without 
 profanation, presume in this form upon the sacred 
 remains of ancient art, it was this wandering, weep- 
 ing, and admiring minstrel. He not only entertained 
 himself a profound veneration for these remains, 
 but he inspired millions with the same sentiment. 
 
 Each moldering fane, deserted shrine, and totter- 
 ing column have found a tongue in the pathetic and 
 eloquent spirit of his numbers. He kneeled amid 
 the relics of a ruined race, and, in the eloquence of 
 
 his admiration and sorrow, touched an electrical
 
 CAPE OF COLONNA. 271 
 
 chain of sympathy that has kindled and vibrated in 
 all lands. He finally set the last and decisive seal 
 of the martyr to the sincerity of his reverence and 
 grief. His name is now embalmed among ruins, 
 on which his genius has cast the splendors of a fresli 
 immortality. 
 
 Lingering around the relic, which now seems to 
 sanctify Colonna, I found myself invaded by one 
 deep and melancholy sentiment — a sentiment of utter 
 desolation, I was standing where thousands once 
 thronged to pay their festive devotions ; where tlie 
 ancient Sunium embraced its happy multitudes ; 
 where the eloquent Plato, with his serene philosophy, 
 soared like an angel with his golden lyre to heaven. 
 Now not a human being to be seen, not a solitary 
 voice to be heard, and not even a sound stirring to 
 relieve the unbroken silence of the place, except the 
 hollow moan of the wave as it died on the desolate 
 shore ! 
 
 I could have sat down there and wept over the 
 dark destiny of man ; for if a people so inventive in 
 monuments to perpetuate their power and splendor, 
 become a blank, how soon will those spots, now the 
 seats of refinement, opulence, and gayety, be changed 
 to empty sepulchres ! and the ruin will never stop, 
 nor will it ever be repaired. Babylon is still a 
 desert, and Palmyi-a known only to the wandering 
 Arab. Other continents may perhaps be discovered, 
 and other islands emerge fi'om the ocean, but over all
 
 272 SHIP AND SHORE. 
 
 that now smiles in the light of the sun, the dark tide 
 of ruin and death moves on with a slow but inevita- 
 ble tread. 
 
 The only solace in our doom is the assurance that 
 nature, in her salient and self-restoring power, may 
 remain — that the same sun which gilds our palaces 
 will gild our graves — that the same sky which pa- 
 vilions our pomp and pride will canopy our dust. 
 But this cannot benefit us, or serve to cheer the pil- 
 grim who may ages hence wander to our tombs. 
 What know the dead who were sepulchred here, of 
 the surviving light and influences of nature ? It is 
 of no moment to them that the succession of morn 
 and eve, the budding spring and mellow autumn, are 
 still repeated. And the stranger who pauses here, 
 only feels a deeper sadness at seeing the wave still 
 sparkle on its strand, and the light, with its purple 
 and gold, still fringing the cliff, while all else only 
 bespeaks decay and ruin. 
 
 The towers of Thebes, which millions toiled to rear, 
 In scattered ruins own the earthquake's shock ; 
 
 The fleets of Rome, that filled the isles with fear, 
 The storm hath left in fragments on the rock : 
 
 But thrones may crumble, empires reach their goal ; 
 
 Their frailties reach not thee, thou deathless Soul ! 
 
 The mighty mound that guards Achilles' dust ; 
 
 The marble strength of Agamemnon's tomb ; 
 The pyramid of Cheop's dying trust. 
 
 Now only give to doubt a deeper gloom;
 
 sniPAVRECK OF FALCONER. 273 
 
 But Plato's memory ages still shall find 
 Immortal mid the triumphs of the mind. 
 
 A signal-giin from the ship for our return, aroused 
 me from the reverie in which my thoughts had 
 been thus gloomily wandering. On reaching our 
 boat, we passed over the memorable spot where 
 Falconer was wrecked — a catastrophe which he has 
 converted into strains of the most poetic and touch- 
 ing character. This hymning mariner found the 
 elements of his poetry, his home, and his grave in 
 the ocean. 
 
 The ship in which he finally left his native shore 
 for the East Indies, never reached her port. Slie 
 was arrested on her way : how long she struggled 
 with the tempest, and with what feelings they whom 
 she bore met their doom, are secrets which will never 
 be revealed by the incommunicable sea. Could the 
 harp of the poet have floated away with the sad 
 story of his death, thousands would now be listening, 
 weeping, and clinging with increased fondness to 
 their hearths. There is over the fate of those who 
 go to sea and are never heard from again, a tragical 
 uncertainty and horror which must fill the most 
 apathetic heart with emotion. 
 
 Having mounted the ship's side again, orders -were 
 immediately given to fill away, and we were soon 
 moving up through the Doro passage, which lies be- 
 tween ISTegropont and Andros. This channel being 
 
 12^^
 
 274 SHIP AND SHOEE. 
 
 the one generally preferred by merchantmen bound 
 to Smyrna, became a favorite hannt for pirates — a 
 class of men who took upon themselves the respon- 
 sibility of collecting a sort of water-tax, for which 
 they have been much scandalized in this censorious 
 world. 
 
 They levy a contribution and exact it at the peril 
 of their lives — kings do the same, but with vastly 
 less hazard to themselves; for their majesties, in 
 case of resistance to their exactions, have only to sit 
 in their palaces and issue an order to some inferior 
 agent for their immediate enforcement; while the 
 corsair has to enforce his demands himself, and is 
 frequently battling it, breast to breast, at a desperate 
 odds. 
 
 If taken himself, instead of taking the gold of his 
 opponent, he will scorn to crave a life as a suppliant, 
 which he has forfeited as a pirate ; whereas a king, 
 the moment he becomes a captive, compounds for his 
 personal safety by treasonably betraying his subjects, 
 and forfeiting his realm. I think the advantages of 
 dignity, courage, and self-respect, decidedly on the 
 side of those who levy contributions on the water, 
 upon the force of their own steel and valor. 
 
 Leaving Negropont on the left — a fruitful island 
 abounding in the grape, olive, orange, citron, and 
 pomegranate, and the largest in the J^gean, with the 
 exception of Crete — we doubled the northern cape of 
 Andros, which is much less in its dimensions than its
 
 ISLAI^D OF IPSAEA. 275 
 
 Negropontan neighbor, but equally fertile in its soil, 
 and delicious in its fruits. The ancients owed this 
 island an unaccountable spite, and christened two of 
 its tutelary divinities Poverty and Despau* ; when, 
 according to their own confessions, it had not only a 
 beautiful temple dedicated to the jolly Bacchus, but 
 a fountain near it, whose waters on the Ides of Janu- 
 ary tasted so very like wine, that the most exquisite 
 connoisseur could not tell the difference. 
 
 Passing on, Ipsara soon appeared on our larboard 
 bow, a small island of wild ragged peaks and rock- 
 bound shore. Its inhabitants, in their struggle for 
 independence, exhibited a heroism that would not 
 have disparaged the days of Leonidas. After con- 
 tending with their swarming foes till every ray of 
 hope was extinguished, they blew up their fortifica- 
 tions, whelming themselves and thousands of their 
 enemies in instant death. 
 
 Those who were not within the works, to escape 
 the vengeance or lust of the Mussulman, threw them- 
 selves into the sea. The mother was seen on every 
 cliff, clasping her infant to her breast, and plunging 
 into the wave, with her shrieking daughters at her 
 side. Youth and beauty, maternal tenderness and 
 infant sweetness, were seen for days floating around 
 this isle on their watery bier ; a sight which might 
 have moved the very rocks with indignation and pity, 
 but which the Turk looked upon with triumph and 
 pride. The island is now a blackened ruin — thus let
 
 276 SHIP AND SHORE. 
 
 it remain, as a friglitfnl and becoming monument of 
 the desolating spirit of Islamism. 
 
 Close on our starboard beam lay Scio, once a flour- 
 ishing and populous island, now another naked and 
 ghastly memorial of Moslem vengeance. At the 
 breaking out of the Eevolution, the inhabitants, 
 owing to their removal from the great scene of action, 
 to the complicated character of their commerce, and 
 being naturally of a quiet disposition, declined in- 
 volving themselves in the confederation. They were 
 in the enjoyment of privileges to which the other 
 islanders were strangers, and they very naturally felt 
 a reluctance in putting these blessings, small as they 
 were, upon the hazard of a die that might consign 
 them to utter ruin, without perhaps benefiting their 
 brethren. 
 
 A suspicion at length, on the part of the Aga, or 
 military governor, of a disposition in them to favor 
 the spirit of revolt that was abroad, put an end to 
 these privileges, and a system of the most oppressive 
 violence was adopted. To these atrocious measures, 
 however, they unresistingly submitted, till their 
 wrongs, increasing with their forbearance, attained 
 an aggravation and malignity that became at last 
 insupportable. Their elders and opulent citizens were 
 cast into prison as hostages — their fields and dwell- 
 ings plundered by mercenary soldiers, and the sanc- 
 tity of virtue wantonly outraged. Still they hesitated 
 in adopting the desperate alternative of open resist-
 
 ISLAJTO OF SCIO. 277 
 
 ance, and liung in torturing suspense till roused by 
 tlie reckless zeal of a few wandering Samians. 
 
 They were without an organized plan of operation, 
 without the advantages of discipline, or the imple- 
 ments of war, but arming themselves with sucli 
 weapons as their forest furnished, they rose on their 
 oppressors. Fortune, for a time, under all these dis- 
 advantages, seemed to favor their perilous determina- 
 tion ; but the alarm having been given to the Ad- 
 miral of the Turkish fleet, who was supposed at the 
 time to be at a much greater distance, he immediately 
 anchored in the bay, with a force of forty sail, and 
 opened all their batteries on the devoted town. 
 
 The scene that followed has no parallel in the 
 history of modern warfare. It was not the suppres- 
 sion of a rebellion, but the total extermination of a 
 people, who had ever been characterized for their 
 amiable and forgiving dispositions. The town was 
 taken, sacked, and demolished — the priests and 
 elders, who had been cast into prison as hostages, 
 were brought out and impaled alive — and the inhabit- 
 ants of every age and condition, without regard to 
 sex, were hunted down in every retreat, and massa- 
 cred in cold blood ; till at last, the whole island, so 
 recently teeming with life and beauty, became a 
 Golgotha of groans and blood. If there be a God in 
 heaven, such crimes as these will not go unpmiished ! 
 The retribution may linger, but it will come in the 
 end like lightning from the cloud.
 
 278 SHIP AND SHORE. 
 
 The frown of God will on the guilty fall, 
 Like volleyed thunder on the trembling sea ; 
 
 Despair o'ercloud them, with its sunless pall, 
 While bursts the wail of their wild agony, 
 
 Like that of nations, when their cities rock, 
 
 And fall in ruins with the earthquake's shock. 
 
 Let the man who can reproach the retaliating spirit 
 of the Greek, or the conduct of the Allies at l^avarino, 
 visit this island. Let him plant his foot where the 
 flourishing town of Scio once stood, and gaze on a 
 mangled mass of ruins — ^let him stand where the 
 Attic college rose, with its library of thirt}^ thousand 
 volumes, and its assemblage of seven hundred youth 
 receiving the elements of a classic education, and be 
 presented only with ashes — let him grope through 
 the choked-up streets and call for the once thronging 
 and happy population, and hear not a voice in reply 
 — ^let him wander through the fields where innumer- 
 able vineyards once showered their purple store, and 
 meet with only the bramble and the lizard — and then 
 let him inquire why an island so populous and fruit- 
 ful as this, has become a waste and a tomb. Let 
 him ask what crime has been committed to draw 
 down this desolating curse. 
 
 Let the dead answer : Because we offered resist- 
 ance to wrongs and outrages, from which the grave 
 is a welcome refuge ! — God of my fathers ! there was 
 a time when enormities like these would have roused 
 up a spirit, before which the guilty perpetrator would
 
 RUINS OF scio. 279 
 
 have sunk in shame and despair ! But we coolly sit 
 and canvass the policy of a measure that would pre- 
 vent a repetition of these bratalities. In the name 
 of humanity, what is religion worth, unless it lead us 
 to defend the innocent, and succor the helpless ? Let 
 us cast off the name of Christianity, unless we can 
 perform some of its most obvious and imperative 
 duties. If we cannot show ourselves worthy of our 
 calling, let us cast aside the mask, and stand con- 
 fessed for what we really are. Let us cease to hug a 
 profession which serves only to betray others, and 
 must in the end expose us to the deepest humiliation 
 and reproach. 
 
 I ought not, perhaps, to linger here, yet I cannot 
 but ponder, as I pass along, and give vent to feelings 
 excited by objects so full of interest, I cannot re- 
 strain the ton-ent of my soul, when passing a spot 
 that has been thus steeped with the blood of the great 
 and the brave. I wish the sighs, agonies, and de- 
 spairing shrieks, of which this island was the scene, 
 might float on every breeze through the earth, to 
 sicken men's hearts with the hateful deformities of 
 war. 
 
 Could the sufferings and sorrows of which the field 
 of battle has been the source, be gathered up, and 
 speak in their collected wretchedness, the horrors of 
 a thousand earthquakes would be forgotten amidst 
 the lamentations and wailings that would then sweep 
 through the habitations of mankind. God formed
 
 280 SHIP AND SHORE. 
 
 man upright, and j^laced him in a world of beauty 
 and happiness ; but he has profaned his high nature, 
 and changed his dwelling into a charnel-house. 
 
 13 ut to resume the path of our ship. Leaving 
 Metelin on our larboard quarter, we doubled Cape 
 Karabornu, and entered the Gulf of Smyrna. This 
 arm of the sea strikes up some fifty miles into the 
 main land, and is invaded at several points by an 
 abrupt termination of some mountain range, shoul- 
 dering its way boldly forward with its stupendous 
 steeps of forest and rock. At other points, a circular 
 sweep of small islands, rising near the shore and 
 bending into the gulf, subserve the purposes of a 
 mole, and give an air of varied beauty to the whole. 
 
 On one of these islands, the first in a small chain 
 that swell to the right as we pass up, stood the an- 
 cient Clazomense. In its day it had the aspect of a 
 neat fioating city ; the dwellings rising over the oval 
 curve of its form, with light and beautiful effect. 
 The pier connecting it at a distance of one-fourth of 
 a mile with the main, constructed by Alexander, is 
 still standing, and though dilapidated, is sufliciently 
 entire to subserve still the purposes of its original 
 construction. 
 
 The Clazomenians, however, were in course of time 
 forced to relinquish their isle of palaces, to escape 
 from the annoying visits of the pirates of Tino. This 
 was very wrong in the Tinoan corsair ; his familiarity 
 any where is a great liberty, and he should ncit extend
 
 ANCIENT CLAZOMEN.E. 281 
 
 his freedom to the land. It was a breach of good- 
 breeding which can never be excused, especially as 
 his obtrusiveness was ultimately the means of leaving 
 to this island only the Mosaic pavements, which are 
 still the wonder of the traveller. 
 
 Passing Clazomenae, which now in its desolate 
 beauty bears the name of him who once dwelt in 
 Patmos ; — passing near by the small town of Yourla, 
 standing on its two hills, from which the Turks and 
 Franks look at each other, with feelings and habits 
 that will amalgamate when their hills rush together ; — 
 passing the excellent and convenient fountain where 
 our ships replenish their exhausted tanks, breathing 
 a blessing, as they depart, to that article in the Mus- 
 sulman's faith which inculcates these hospitable pro- 
 visions for the wayfaring and weary ; — passing the 
 neglected fortress which was posted here to command 
 the pass, with its guns of ostentatious calibre, and 
 huge marble balls piled around the low embrasure, 
 but which, with all its threatening malignity, like our 
 unfortunate Ticonderoga, may be overawed and si- 
 lenced from a neighboring height ; — passing the in- 
 vading shoals, which the Hermus, in strange forget- 
 fulness of its classic purity, is depositing, and which, 
 if the sad prophecies of many shrewd observers prove 
 true, will one day stagnate the gulf ; — passing many 
 woody steeps, where the huntsmen are still wont to 
 chase the wild-boar and goat, and a succession of val- 
 leys, with their groves of the olive, the fig, the almond,
 
 2S2 SHIP AND SHORE. 
 
 the pomegranate, with the trailing grape, — we came 
 at last in front of Smyrna, crowning the head-water, 
 and giving tliat sort of plump satisfaction, which one 
 feels in knowing that he has arrived indisputably at 
 the end of his journey. 
 
 Yet, strange as it may seem, one week will not have 
 elapsed, before the crew of this ship will begin to 
 manifest some of their roving impulses. 
 
 A sailor finds, where'er he goes ashore, 
 
 One whom he cherishes with some affection; 
 
 But leaving port, he thinks of her no more, 
 Unless it be in some severe reflection 
 
 Upon his wicked ways ; then with a sigh 
 
 Resolves on reformation — ere he die. 
 
 He thinks his dialect the very best 
 
 That ever flowed from any human lip, 
 And whether in his prayers, or at a jest, 
 
 Employs the terms for managing a ship ; 
 And even in death would order up the helm, 
 In hope to clear the undiscovered realm. 
 
 An order given, and he obeys of course. 
 
 Though 'twere to run his ship upon the rocks — 
 
 Capture a squadron with a boat's crew force — 
 Or batter down the massive granite blocks 
 
 Of some huge fortress with a swivel, pike, 
 
 Pistol, aught that will throw a ball, or strike. 
 
 He never shrinks, whatever may betide ; 
 
 His weapon may be shivered in his hand. 
 His last companion shot down at his side, 
 
 Still he maintains his firm and desperate stand — 
 Bleeding and battling — with his colors fast 
 As nail can bind them to his shattered mast.
 
 SMYRNA. 283 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Far in thy realm withdrawn, 
 Old empires sit in sulleoness and gloom ; 
 
 And glorious ages gone 
 Lie deep within the shadow of thy womb. 
 
 Cliildhood, with all its mirth, 
 Youth, manhood, age, that draws us to the ground, 
 
 And last, man's life on earth, 
 
 Glide to thy dim dominions, and are bound. 
 
 Bryant. 
 
 SMTBNA — ITS SEAMEN MOTLEY POPULATION THE TAETAR-JANIZART 
 
 MODERN WARFARE — ENCOUNTERS IN THREADING THE STREETS FRUIT 
 
 MARKET — BAZARS GREEK GIRLS TURKISH BURIAL-GROUND THE 
 
 CHILD UNACQUAINTED WITH DEATH SMYRNA CONTINUED RELIGIOUS 
 
 SECTS VISIT TO GOVERNOR HIS PALACE PIPES HORSES TROOPS 
 
 COFFEE-HOUSE SCENE — PRAYERS OF THE MUSSULMEN MARTYRDOM OF 
 
 POLYCARP BIRTH-PLACE OF HOMER PARTING WITH THE READER. 
 
 Otir sliip was now riding quietly at anchor, before 
 Smyrna ; and I was casting about to catch a few of 
 the singular sights and incidents of flood and field. 
 The quay was lined with vessels bearing the flags of 
 different nations — clearly indicating the commercial 
 importance of the place. It gave me feelings of pe- 
 culiar pleasure, to see here in this " distant orient" 
 the stars of my own country floating independently 
 among crowns and crescents. A considerable portion 
 of the craft were the Levantine feluccas — confining 
 the utmost range of their nautical daring to the shores
 
 284 SHIP AND SHORE. 
 
 of the Mediterranean — seldom ventuiing out sight 
 of land — and thus, by this strand-keeping anxiety, 
 encountering a thousand perils from which the open 
 sea is exempt. 
 
 The Levantine sailor is as constant and stationary 
 in his habits as are the rocks on which he is so fre- 
 quently wrecked. He constructs his vessel after the 
 same model which was observed centuries ago, and 
 navigates her as anxiously from island to island, or 
 close along the coast, as did the Argonauts their 
 crowded ship in search of Colchis. His craft, with 
 its wedge-like stem, and triangular stern, has upon it 
 every evidence of rudeness and haste — it is just such 
 a thing as mariners, cast upon some forlorn coast, 
 would drive together. Yet this ill-shapen waddler 
 is made to float in the dream of the classic poet, 
 gracefully as the motion of a swan on the breast of a 
 lake. How poetic illusion vanishes, when the reality 
 comes up ! 
 
 Among nearer objects on shore, the Marino first 
 attracts the eye. It is bordered by a range of Con- 
 sular residences, and is constantly trod by a bustling 
 crowd, with every variety of dialect and costume 
 that have obtained since Babel was confounded, and 
 Joseph's coat of many colors stitched together. Smyr- 
 na is said to contain a more numerous and vivid 
 representation of national character and j)eculiarities, 
 than any other city in the world — and I believe it ; 
 for I have never read or dreamed of any communities,
 
 TURK AND GEKEK. 2S5 
 
 except t'liose in the moon, that are not appropriately 
 represented here. 
 
 This motley crowd have also no tendency whatever 
 to amalgamation. They are as distinct in feature, 
 language, and habits of life, as if they had been but 
 yesterday, by some tremendous convulsion in nature, 
 thrown together from the four quarters of the globe. 
 I have stood by the hour together, displaying my 
 want of good-breeding, in laughing at the ring- 
 streaked and speckled throng as they went by — each 
 uttering a distinct language — and making in the 
 whole a chorus, embracing every sound, from the 
 whispering of the reed in the wind, to the crack in 
 the thunder-cloud. 
 
 In appearance and movement the Turk is the most 
 majestic and imposing. His frame is portly and 
 muscular ; indicating, in every look and motion, a life 
 of ease and unconcern. His green turban rolls in rich 
 pomp about his head ; his blue embroidered sj)enser 
 descends into a broad red sash, which encircles his 
 waist, supporting at the same time his mounted pistol, 
 and jewelled yataghan ; his white trowsers flow full and 
 free to the gathering ankle, where the green slipper 
 receives the foot and terminates the variety. He 
 moves on with a slow, dignified step, allowing to no 
 object even the compliment of an oblique glance — 
 with a countenance of imperturbable gravity, betray- 
 ing in its composm-e that self-complacent confidence 
 which leads you to suppose that he is confident of
 
 2S0 SHIP AND SHORE, 
 
 going, whatever may betide, to the seventh heaven 
 of the Prophet. 
 
 Near him strides the Armenian, with his large 
 brown calpec, snuif-colored gown, and red boot, medi- 
 tating on some new banking scheme, or whispering 
 to himself some unfamiliar terms, which he may have 
 occasion to nse in the office as dragoman. Then 
 follows the Jew in his careless, promiscuous attire, 
 without weapons, but ready to purchase out all Smyr- 
 na for you, at a trifling advance beyond the original 
 cost. 
 
 Tlien darts past the Greek in his red cap, round 
 jacket, and ample kilts, twisting his mustaches, or 
 replenishing his pipe, and snapping his eyes around, 
 as if some sudden peril, or new scheme of cunning 
 had occurred to him. ISTow dashes by the Tartar- 
 Janizary in his stiff capote, with his trusty weapons 
 in their place, defiance and fidelity in his eye, and 
 on a steed of quick hoof, leading some party of 
 travellers to Sardis, Ephesus, Constantinople, or any- 
 where else that their curiosity or interest may require. 
 
 There is something about this wild being, that 
 strikes the most careless observer. It is not his 
 equipage so much as his bearing, and the fierce un- 
 alterable decision and energy which flash from his 
 eye. He looks as one whom you could rely upon in 
 an horn' of peril and conflict — whom you would like 
 to have at your side if waylaid by robbers — and who 
 would resolutely deal the deadly blow, though but a
 
 MODERN WAEFAUE. 2S7 
 
 li-agment of liis blade remained. An army composed 
 of such men would make every disputed field and 
 pass a Marathon, or Thermopylae ; and I am not sure 
 but that the interests of humanity would be consulted 
 by such inevitable alternatives. "Wars would be 
 more bloody, but they would be of less dm'ation, and 
 occur with vastly less frequency. 
 
 We have now so much marching and counter- 
 marching — so much scouting and skirmishing — so 
 much shooting behind the bush, bramble, and breast- 
 work — so much rallying and running, — the great 
 and solemn " note of preparation" all the while sound- 
 ing — that our wars are as long and doubtful as the 
 siege of Troy. In the mean time hundreds are dying 
 — some from random shots and sallies — some from 
 disease and privations incident to camp life — some 
 from having deserted, others fr'om ennui, and not a 
 few from potulency. 
 
 The difference is, that in one case men die at once, 
 and in the mass — in the other they die singly and by 
 inches ; and I leave it for amateurs in gunpowder 
 and gold lace to determine which involves the great- 
 est expense of treasure and blood. For my own part, 
 I am in favor of carrying the art of war to such a de- 
 gree of perfection and disj)atch, that the fate of a 
 Waterloo or Austerlitz may be decided in fifteen 
 minutes, and then let the survivors go home and 
 attend to their domestic and civil concerns. 
 
 As for naval engagements, I have just now but very
 
 288 SHIP AND SHORE. 
 
 little to say on that subject. It is not a pleasant 
 tiling to be sunk, and it is not a pleasant thing to be 
 captured ; but whether victory or death is to be the 
 result, let it come at once, — no apprehensive nia- 
 noeuvering — no playing off and on — no wearing and 
 tacking; — no nice calculations of relative force : be 
 the future a repetition of the past — ^lay the ship gal- 
 lantly to her place — and then triumph, or sink, as the 
 tide of battle may turn. 
 
 I did not think, when the Tartar dashed past me, 
 that the daring fierceness of his eye would lead me 
 into a lecture on military and naval tactics. But our 
 thoughts are like the enchanter's birds, flying to what- 
 ever quarter of the earth or sea the wand is pointed, 
 I should be willing to have mine wander almost 
 anywhere, to get rid of the narrow and dirty alleys 
 of Smyrna. I found myself, in threading some of 
 them, in a predicament truly unbecoming a gentle- 
 man, — ^who, if Shakspeare's definition be good au- 
 thority, is one that " holds large discourse, looking 
 before and after." I had nothing to discourse to, 
 unless it were dogs, and dirt, and dingy dwellings, 
 — except now and then, when a form moved past 
 me wrapped in a Avhite sheet and close visor, but 
 coming in such a " questionable shape," I could not 
 speak it ; for it required more nerve than it would 
 to accost a spectre in the silence and gloom of a 
 sepulchre. 
 
 I was told that each of these walking phantoms
 
 CAMELS AND PORTERS. 289 
 
 was a Turkish female ! " Angels and ministers of 
 grace defend us !" If death himself had invented a 
 garb, it could not have been more frightful ! How 
 the harem can need any protection bejond it, is in- 
 conceivable. Had the arch-deceiver on his first visit 
 to earth encountered Eve in such a disguise, he would 
 have run howling out of Eden. What a world is this 
 in which we live ! beautiful in its origin, replete in 
 its resources, but darkened and disfigured bj the 
 jealousies and passions of man. 
 
 Another source of trouble in threading the narrow 
 streets of Smyrna, is encountering loaded camels that 
 come along in strings of one or two hundred, fastened 
 together, and led by a little jackass, who appears not 
 more foolish and sulky than you feel, in being obliged 
 to squat down upon the first stone, to escape a worse 
 fate from the sweeping range of their enormous sacks. 
 There is no alternative left you, but either to retreat 
 or squat : and if you determine on the latter, you 
 must sit there till the whole interminable file have 
 crept past. 
 
 You may then get up and move on, but before you 
 have got ten roods, you will run a narrow chance of 
 being knocked down by the poking end of some long 
 plank, or beam, borne by a bent porter, whose dis- 
 tance from the projecting extremity of his burden, 
 frequently prevents your hearing the dead moan 
 which he gives as the only admonition of his coming. 
 His untimely warning can be of very little service or 
 
 13
 
 290 SHIP AND SHOKE. 
 
 consolation to you, picking yourself up from the filth 
 of the street, after having ruined a coat, on which 
 your tailor exerted the highest skill of his profession. 
 
 These porters are usually Turks, who pay a liberal 
 bounty for the privilege of their occupation. Tlie 
 weight which they carry is incredible ; it inclines 
 one to some confidence in the correctness of Doctor 
 Nisborn's theory — that tlie muscles of the human 
 system are capable of being brought to such a degree 
 of strength and endurance that a man might carry 
 the globe on his back, could he only find a j)latform 
 beneath on which to walk. 
 
 The most bustling and attractive spot in Smyrna 
 is within the Bazars, occupying the centre of the 
 city. These shops, forming a succession of low and 
 convenient arcades, contain all the finery and foppery 
 of the East ; and are constantly thronged by the na- 
 tives, who appear to find half their pleasures and ex- 
 citements in purchasing trinkets and gewgaws. 
 
 Among the most interesting of these purchasers, are 
 the Greek girls, chattering, as you often find them, 
 to some old Turk, Armenian, or Jew, over the queer 
 beauty of some trifle, and laughing with a glee that 
 makes you good-natured with all the world. Their 
 flashing eyes, and sprightly conversation, with the 
 fresh gladness which fills each feature, afibrds you 
 more pleasure than you can experience among the 
 most refined circles. 
 
 I began to think that I had found nature once
 
 TURKISn MERCHANT. 291 
 
 more, and tliat, too, where it was least and last to be 
 expected. But the grave and demure manner of the 
 Turk, seated on his small carpet, around which his 
 glittering articles were exposed for sale, cooled a lit- 
 tle my effervescing enthusiasm. He never smiled, 
 he never looked up, nor appeared to take the slight- 
 est interest either in the fair purchasers or the bar- 
 gain. " "What a stupid block is this !" I exclaimed. 
 " There is neither sentiment, civility, nor common 
 reason in him ! Why, I would part with the locks 
 from my temples for the mere smiles of such sweet 
 creatures ! But this unconscionable fellow sits here 
 as untouched and unconcerned as if he were specu- 
 lating with gravestones." 
 
 I must not, however, be too severe on the Turk, as 
 he atones in some measure for his want of gallantry, 
 in never recommending his articles for what they 
 are not, and never in his change cheating his young 
 customers. This is more than can be said generally 
 of the Franks ; they are all smiles and deception, 
 politeness and imposition. The Turk, though vastly 
 less attractive and engaging, is the safer man to deal 
 with. Yet among the shopping ladies of my own 
 country, he would not sell the value of five farthings 
 a year ; for he holds no chat, exchanges no smiles, no 
 glances, and pays no compliments. He coolly pre- 
 sents the articles inquired for : if you purchase, well ; 
 if not, it is a matter of your concern, not his. 
 
 Om- ladies would undoubtedly call occasionally at
 
 292 SinP AND SIIOKE. 
 
 liis shop, but it would be to look at his beard, dis- 
 turb the slumber of his goods, vex his indolence, 
 and laugh at his self-complacent taciturnity. But 
 though ever so silent and supercilious, there are at 
 least two things in which you may trust a Turk all 
 lengths — money and malice : in both he will be sure 
 to render you your full due, be the consequences 
 what they may to himself. 
 
 The fruit -market forms another object of interest 
 in Smyrna. It is the true temple of Pomona. You 
 can scarcely name a product of the garden, field, or 
 grove, that is not to be found here, with a delicious 
 richness of flavor unknown to other climes. The 
 grape, apple, orange, with the fig, pomegranate, and 
 melon, seem to melt in the mouth, and flood the taste 
 with a gushing richness, which lingers there, like the 
 absorbing sensations of the infant receiving its nour- 
 ishment at the earliest and purest fountain of life. 
 Even the Turk — the solemn tranquillity of whose 
 countenance is seldom disturbed by an emotion of 
 jjleasure — as the ripe peach of Sangiac, or the lus- 
 cious melon of Cassaba, flows over the palate, will 
 look up, as if he had already gained a portion of his 
 future j)aradise. 
 
 There is one species of fruit here, than which the 
 charm of the serpent is not more fascinating and 
 deadly — it is the apricot, with its blushing beauty 
 and tempting flavor ; but he who eats it jeopards his 
 life. It is called here by the natives the Kill-Frank,
 
 TURKISH BUBIAL-GROUND. 293 
 
 and so it nearly proved to me. I began to think that 
 I had indeed reached the end of my journey — but its 
 tumultuous agonies slowly passed off, and I am still 
 living to stamp it, in all its hypocritical charms, with 
 my unqualified denunciation. 
 
 There is nothing so deceptive and fatal, unless it 
 be the mint-julep, which some of om- giddy young 
 men take before breakfast to reinstate their nerves, 
 after the potulent excesses of the night previous. 
 They are both fit only for those who have suicidal in- 
 tentions ; yet, if a man has really determined to de- 
 stroy himself, perhaps the julep is the preferable in- 
 strument; for the victim, in his drunken delirium, 
 will not be unavailingly visited by 
 
 " The late repentance of that hour, 
 When Penitence hath lost her power, 
 To tear one terror from the grave. 
 And Tvill not soothe, and cannot save." 
 
 The Tm-kish burial-ground fonns one of the most 
 green and fresh features in the landscape around 
 Smyrna. It lies in quiet retirement from the noise 
 and empty parade of the town, and seems in its own 
 stillness to intimate to man the vanity of those ob- 
 jects which so engross his cares, and fever his exist- 
 ence. It is densely shaded with the cypress — that 
 appropriate and beautiful tree, whicli appears to have 
 been given to guard the tomb, and furnish, in its un- 
 fading verdure, a tjqje of our immortality.
 
 294: SHIP A^D SHOEE. 
 
 The sepulchral monument is a simple column of 
 white marble, surmounted with a tastefully sculptured 
 turban, and bearing frequently a brief sentence from 
 the Koran. iSTo titles are recorded, no virtues pro- 
 claimed ; it is what it should be, a touching memo- 
 rial of our own frailty. ISTo one can linger here 
 through a still summer's evening — the soft wind 
 sighing through the branches of the cypress — the 
 moonlight touching the marbles of the dead — the 
 wave of the bay dying with a melancholy murmur on 
 the shore — without departing the wiser and better. 
 
 Standing here at this hushed hour of even with 
 these memorials, and dying whispers of nature around 
 me, the world, with its strife, and pride, and noisy 
 pleasures, appeared but as the vanishing away of 
 some troubled dream. "Would that the years which 
 remain might partake of the spirit of this scene. 
 "Why should life be exhausted in pursuit of that which 
 is so soon to convince us that it is only shadow ! 
 
 Sweet Star ! — I do invoke thy power 
 To soothe and lighten my distress : 
 O let thy tranquilizing beam 
 Pervade this agitated breast ; 
 And let me be what thou dost seem — 
 A sinless spirit of the blest. 
 
 For I am weary of this shroud, 
 This mortal shroud of guilt and pain — 
 Where every hope seems doubly bowed, 
 Beneath an unrelenting chain.
 
 ARMENIAN BURIAL-GROUND. 295 
 
 When shall my spirit leave its clay. 
 Refined from all the dross of earth, 
 And fit to dwell in that pure ray. 
 Wherein, sweet Star, thou hadst thy birth ? 
 
 I know the night is waning fast. 
 But linger still, sweet one, with me, 
 And hear this once, as oft thou hast, 
 My early orison to thee : 
 O break this dark distempered dream — 
 This unavailing search for rest — 
 And let me be what thou dost seem — 
 A sinless spirit of the blest. 
 
 The burial-gi'oimd of the Armenian, like that of the 
 Moslem, removed a short distance from the to-«m, 
 and sprinkled with green trees, is a favorite resort 
 not onlj for the bereaved, but those whose feelings 
 are not thus darkly overcast. I met there one morn- 
 ing a little girl with a half-playful countenance, busy 
 blue eye, and sunny locks, bearing in one hand a 
 small cup of china, and in the other a wreath of fresh 
 flowers. 
 
 Feeling a very natural curiosity to know what she 
 could do with these bright things in a place that 
 seemed to partake so much of sadness, I watched her 
 light motions. Reaching a retired grave, covered 
 with a plain marble slab, she emptied the seed — 
 which it appeared the cup contained — into the slight 
 cavities which had been scooped out in the corners 
 of the tablet, and laid the wreath on its pure face.
 
 296 SHIP AND SHORE. 
 
 " And why," I inquired, " my sweet girl, do you put 
 the seed in those little bowls there ?" "It is to bring 
 the birds here," she replied, with a half- wondering 
 look — " they will light on this tree," pointing to the 
 cypress above, " when they have eaten the seed, and 
 sing." " To whom do they sing ?" I asked — " to 
 each other ? — to you?" " Oh no," she quickly replied 
 — " to my sister : she lies there." " But your sister 
 is dead ?" " Oh yes, sir ; but she hears all the birds 
 sing." " Well, if she hears the birds sing, she cannot 
 see that wreath of flowers ?" " But she knows I i>ut 
 it there : I told her, before they took her away from 
 our house, I would come and see her every morning." 
 " You must," I continued, " have loved that sister 
 very much ; but you will never talk with her any 
 more, never see her again." " Yes, sir," she replied, 
 with a brightened look, " I shall see her always in 
 heaven." " But she has gone there already, I hope." 
 " No ; she stops under this tree till they bring me 
 here, and then we are going to heaven together." 
 " But she is gone already, my child : you will meet 
 her there, I trust ; but certainly she is gone, and left 
 you to come afterwards." She looked at me — her 
 eyes began to swim — I could have clasped her to my 
 heart. 
 
 Come here, my sweet one — ^be it so, 
 That 'neath this cypress-tree 
 
 Thy sister sees those eyes o'erflow, 
 And fondly waits for thee; —
 
 RELIGIOUS SECTS. 291 
 
 That still she hears the young birds sing, 
 
 And feels the chajjlet's bloom — 
 Which every morn thy light hands bring, 
 
 To dress her early tomb. 
 
 And when they bring thee where she lies. 
 
 To share her narrow rest — 
 Like sister seraphs, may ye rise 
 
 To join the bright and blest. 
 
 The mosques, synagogues, and churches of Smyrna 
 are very numerous, but without any architectural 
 pretensions. In the first, the Mussulman, after hav- 
 ing performed his ablutions, lays aside his slippers, 
 and bows himself with an air of profund veneration 
 towards Mecca. In the second, the Jew chants with 
 a deep and solemn tone his Hebraic harmonies, and 
 kneels with mournful confidence towards Jerusalem. 
 In the last, the Greek crosses himself, and looks with 
 penitential solicitude to his patron saint, to the blessed 
 Virgin, or to that great Spirit, the universality of 
 whose presence none can escape. 
 
 In neither sect is there much tolerance towards 
 apostates from their faith. The follower of Moham- 
 med, who deserts his faith, loses his head ; the de- 
 luded child of Abraham, who ceases to expect the 
 promised Messiah, goes to the bastinado or the dun- 
 geon; and the unreflecting Greek, who may assume 
 the turban, or turn away from the altar of the Ma- 
 donna, forfeits the friendship of his relatives, and 
 
 secures the scorn of his foes. 
 
 13*
 
 298 SHIP AND SHORE. 
 
 A convert from either sect is looked upon by liis 
 brethren as an apostate from truth, hope, and heaven. 
 He has no safety or repose, but in an escape to other 
 lands, where the rights of conscience are recognized 
 and respected. Yet, while this immingled hatred 
 and cruelty are visited upon apostacy, these different 
 sects manifest towards each other, in their collective 
 capacities, a forbearance and civility that is truly 
 commendable. Their indignation appears to light 
 simply on those who have swerved from their own 
 feith. 
 
 The Turk, while he beheads his brother, who may 
 have ceased to call on the Prophet, has apparently 
 no objection that the Jew should still expect his de- 
 liverer, or that the Greek should still cross himself at 
 the shrine of his saint. His tolerance flows not so 
 much from that charity which " suffereth long, think- 
 eth no evil, and is not easily provoked," as from a 
 deep and settled contempt for the short-sighted beings 
 who may differ from him in their religious creed. 
 He looks n]3on the Koran as such a splendid and well- 
 authenticated revelation, that a man who can refuse 
 it his belief, and forego the pleasures which it prom- 
 ises, evinces, in his estimation, a stupidity and dog- 
 ged obstinacy of character, which forfeits him all 
 claim to consideration. He would seemingly regard 
 it as a degradation in him to make a ^^roselyte of such 
 an incorrigible, miserable being. 
 
 Yet, in secular affairs, in business, in trade, the
 
 GOVEENOR OF SMYRNA. 299 
 
 Tui'k meets you with a civilitj, frankness, and honesty, 
 which jou are disposed to construe into a compliment- 
 ary confidence and respect. But this is his natm'e, — 
 he would be the same were he purchasing shells of a 
 Hottentot, or furs of a Siberian savage. His respect- 
 ful demeanor flows from an innate pride and dignity 
 of spirit, and not from the suggestions of any flatter- 
 ing regard for you. He is above a mean trick — 
 though unequalled in that duplicity of character which 
 Joab revealed in taking his friend Amasa by the 
 beard, kissing him, and ending the fraternal embrace 
 by stabbing him under the fifth rib. 
 
 The most extensive and sumptuous edifice in 
 Smyrna is the palace of the Musselim, or Governor. 
 It is pleasantly situated near the harbor, in the south- 
 ern section of the city, and is surrounded by an ex- 
 tensive garden. Our consul, Mr. Ofley, with Captain 
 Read, and the officers of the Constellation, called on 
 his Excellency, in accordance with an appointment 
 previously arranged. Passing a mounted guard in 
 the com-t, and ascending a broad flight of plain stairs, 
 we were ushered into an extensive skloon, sm-rounded 
 by a rich ottoman, in which the Governor was seated, 
 with his feet drawn under him, in the time turco 
 modo. 
 
 He received us with a courtly ease, and gratifying 
 familiarity of manner ; and immediately on our being 
 seated, commenced a scattering series of questions, 
 in which he betrayed both ignorance and shrewdness.
 
 800 SHIP AND SHORE. 
 
 His mind ran incessantly from one topic to another, 
 like a fox first confined to the grated ajoertures of his 
 cage. Whatever the answer might be to any ques- 
 tion, it appeared to excite little surprise, and some- 
 times he would cut it oft", by putting another so foreign 
 to the last, that the contrast would force an involun- 
 tary smile. 
 
 His questions were sometimes involved in a little 
 mist, but they generally reached their most remote 
 object with singular directness and celerity. The 
 moment he spoke, his countenance lighted up as if 
 some new thought had suddenly flashed on his spirit ; 
 and then again it would as instantaneously subside 
 into its customary good-humored apathy. 
 
 He appeared to be about fifty years of age, and to 
 possess a constitution impaired by anxiety and seden- 
 tary habits. His dress was a red velvet cap, with a 
 rich blue tassel depending from the centre of the 
 crown — a loose robe of the glossy angora — with full 
 trowsers, and close vest of the same light and elegant 
 material. His slippers were not seen, his feet being 
 drawn up under him on the sofa, where he sat with a 
 greater ease of attitude than I ever saw assumed on 
 chair or tripod. 
 
 "We had not been long seated when fifteen or twenty 
 handsomely attired attendants entered with hands 
 crossed in front, in token of submission ; and each 
 bearing a pipe, which he presented to us in a kneel- 
 ing posture. The stems of these narcotic auxiliaries
 
 PIPES AND COFFEE. 301 
 
 of Turkish luxury were of the native cherry, elegantly 
 slender, and seven or eight feet in length, with a bowl 
 of argillaceous substance, and a long mouth-piece of 
 pure amber. One end rested on a silver plate near 
 the centre of the room, and the other it was expected 
 you would place to your lips with delighted suction. 
 He that never smoked before with such a pipe as this, 
 would be excused if he began the giddy experiment. 
 The first sensations of love, with the dilating heart 
 and mysterious sympathy, could not be more sweet 
 and inexjDlicably delightful, than the soft vapors of 
 this aromatic plant, winding along through the cool 
 and polished tube, and finally flowing through amber, 
 into the mouth. Cynics and quacks may prattle as 
 much as they please against the pipe, yet no man 
 who wishes to be soothed when he is weary, or ex- 
 hilarated when he is depressed, will decline the Turk- 
 ish chibouque. 
 
 Thy quiet spirit lulls the laboring brain, 
 
 Lures back to thought the flights of vacant mirth ; 
 
 Consoles the mourner, soothes the couch of pain, 
 And breathes contentment round the humble hearth ; 
 
 While savage w^arriors, softened by thy breath, 
 
 Unbind the captive hate had doomed to death. 
 
 Thy vapor bathes the CafFre's sooty walls, 
 And fills the mighty Czar's imperial dome; 
 
 Rolls through Byzantine's oriental halls. 
 And floats around the Arab's tented dome ; 
 
 Melts o'er the anchorite's repentant meal. 
 
 And shades the lightning of the Tartar's steel.
 
 303 SHIP AND SHORE. 
 
 While enjoying the pleasures of the precious weed, 
 the attendant kneeled before each with a few sips of 
 coffee, in an extremely small and elegant cup of 
 china, resting in a delicate stand of filigreed gold. 
 It was taken without sugar or cream, and though but 
 a swallow in quantity, it contained more of the real 
 juice of the Moca-berry, than is usually found in our 
 cups of much more promising dimensions. Coffee 
 with us is frequently about as strongly impregnated 
 with the berry, as the passing stream in which the 
 native plant may happen to cast its shadow. 
 
 After having our j^ipes several times replaced by 
 fresh ones, and filling the saloon with a cloud of 
 floating fragrance, and drinking a glass of cool sher- 
 bet, and touching on all topics within the ranging 
 imagination of the Musselim, we were to depart, 
 when his Excellency informed us that his horses had 
 been brought into the green, and the troops of the 
 garrison paraded for our inspection, and he might 
 have added — for the gratification of his own j^ride. 
 
 We found the horses well worthy of their princely 
 master — plump, smooth, and playful — full of energy 
 and fire, yet submissive to the bit — and prancing 
 under their riders as if motion were a new, delightful 
 sensation. Several of them were of the Arabian 
 blood, with small muscular limbs — graceful and ath- 
 letic conformation, with a flowing mane, free nostril, 
 bright eye, and a cmwed neck, in which the very thun- 
 der seemed to lurk.
 
 TURK: AND HIS STEED. 803 
 
 The Mussulman preserves his steed unmaimed and 
 entire, just as nature formed him, and bestows upon 
 him the most kind and constant attentions ; and not 
 ■without just reason, for a Turk without his horse 
 W' ould be almost as deplorably conditioned as a Catho- 
 lic without his beads. The one would give up all 
 hope of seeing his nearest neighbor, and the other of 
 reaching heaven. 
 
 K a man proposes running awaj with a horse at 
 the risk of being hung or decapitated, I should advise 
 him to take the Arabian ; for in the first place, he 
 could not be overtaken except on a steed of equally 
 astonishing fleetness ; and in the next place, if over- 
 taken and bow-strung, or made to swing so very 
 awkwardly from the ground, he will have the satis- 
 faction of knowing that he forfeited his life in an 
 effort to avail himself of the noblest animal on earth. 
 Still I would not, in this world of stern law and un- 
 forgiving justice, advocate even this kind of magni- 
 ficent plunder, for there is no romance in the gallows 
 — no racing or riding in the grave. 
 
 I wish I could say as much in favor of the Gover- 
 nor's troops as his steeds — for a more unsoldierlike 
 body of men I never saw under arms. They re- 
 minded me of one of our backwoods militia trainings, 
 where no two have coats or corn-stalks alike. The 
 apology given for their appearance was, that they 
 had just been driven in from the country. 
 
 The mode of raising recruits here, exhibits the true
 
 304 SHIP AJSTD SHORE. 
 
 genius of the Ottoman government ; it is to send out 
 a force sufficient to reconnoitre all the small villages, 
 — where the youth, who cannot make their escape, are 
 seized, tied together, and driven into the encamp- 
 ment, to fight, nolens aut volens. If they show a 
 disposition to desert, they are pretty sure to be shot, 
 or bastinadoed to death ; and if they remain, their 
 fate may be more slow, but it will come with equal 
 suffering and certainty, in the charge of the enemy, 
 the destructiveness of the plague, or the tyrannical 
 authority and merciless inconsideration of their com- 
 manders. 
 
 Let those who would dissolve our Union, and ren- 
 der us in our scattered strength the prey of foreign 
 avarice and power, look here and see what the loss 
 of liberty really is, and take a lesson of wholesome 
 admonition. These poor fellows have been wrenched 
 away from their parents and homes, chained together 
 as culprits, driven over parching sands to this gar- 
 rison, and are now, in a few days to be marched oif 
 under their arms, with a prospect of a mere precari- 
 ous subsistence, into the burning plains of Syria, 
 there to perish in battle, or wither away with fatigue 
 and famine. 
 
 But whether the sands of the desert, or the field of 
 blood be their grave, their homes will know them no 
 more ! They have left forever behind them all that 
 the earth holds dear. The most foolish and frantic 
 disimionist in our country who can look at tliis, and
 
 CASTLE OF MOUNT PAGUS. 305 
 
 not feel compunctious of shame, and devote himself 
 anew to the great cause of united liberty, is unworthy 
 of the age in which he lives, and of the country that 
 has given him bii'th. 
 
 But to return to Smyrna. Through the southern 
 section of the city swells a very high hill, command- 
 ing a wide range of land and water, and bearing the 
 name of Mount Pagus. It is surmounted by a Geno- 
 ese castle, reared on the huge foundations of one con- 
 structed by Alexander the Great. The castle is now 
 unfortified, and has only the frowning aspect of its 
 gigantic proportions to strengthen its friends, or in- 
 timidate its foes. 
 
 In our ascent to the castle, we passed over the 
 obliterated foundations of the amphitheatre, where 
 Polycarp was martyred amid thousands who had as- 
 sembled to wonder at his fanatical fortitude, or jeer 
 his recanting timidity. But that great apostle of 
 truth felt too deeply the responsibility of his situation, 
 to consult the weaker impulses of his nature. He 
 had heard the warning voice of the Son of God, 
 calling to him, through the sainted exile of Patmos, 
 as the angel of the church of Smyrna, to be " faith- 
 ful unto death ;" he stood untremblingly true to the 
 confidence with which he had been divinely honored ; 
 and passed from the sorrows and agonies of martyr- 
 dom, to receive the promised " crown of life." 
 
 His devoted example inspired hundreds with kin- 
 dred emotions, — it strengthened the weak, decided
 
 300 SHIP AND SHORE. 
 
 the doubting, and confirmed the wavering; it made 
 the church of Smyrna one of those firm outposts of 
 Christianity which no bribes coukl seduce, and no 
 terrors or trials disarm. She stood simple, erect, and 
 uncompromising — ^leaning upon an unshaken faith in 
 the promises of her Redeemer, and looking forward to 
 the day of her deliverance and triumph. That day 
 came, and the humble cause which she had espoused, 
 sweeping away the altars and fanes of idolatry, en- 
 throned itself upon the affections and confidence of 
 the civilized world. 
 
 From the battlements of the castle we could trace 
 the Meles, %vinding through its fertile valley, and 
 mingling its waters with the broad wave of the bay. 
 We wandered down to the bank of this classic stream, 
 and lingered around the green spot, which, it is con- 
 tended, was the birth-place of Homer. The young, 
 beautiful, and unfortunate Critheis — if the story be 
 as true as it is full of scandal — fled to this secluded 
 shade to escape the exposure and shame of becoming 
 a mother ; little thinking, in her solitude and anguish, 
 that the offspring of her erring fondness was to string 
 a lyre to which the whole earth would listen. 
 
 She sunk to an early grave, and left her boy, as 
 most do who thus err, to wander destitute and for- 
 saken. But nature was not denied him, — he strayed 
 among her founts and flowers, visited her recesses of 
 deeper beauty, listened to the tone of her thousand 
 voices, caught the spirit that quickens through her
 
 VIEW OF THE TOWN, 307 
 
 mysterious frame, and pom-ccl forth his exulting sen- 
 sations in a tide of imperishable song. Though un- 
 known, except in his numbers, he has charmed the 
 world into an immortal remembrance and aflection. 
 The posterity of those who left him to famish and 
 die, have contended for the honor of his birth, and 
 reared their richest monuments to his name. Soon 
 or late the claims of genius must be acknowledged 
 and felt. Time, while it levels all other distinctions, 
 will leave untouched those created by the mind. 
 
 The prayers of the Mussulman at the rising and 
 setting of the sun, and at mid-day, never fail to at- 
 tract the ear and eye of the stranger in Smj^nia, 
 You hear at that hour, from all the minarets of the 
 mosques, a voice uttering, in tones deep and solemn, 
 the invocation — " Come to prayer — there is no God 
 but God, and Mahomet is his prophet — come to 
 prayer — I summon you with a clear voice." Tlie 
 faithful fall on their knees, and, with their faces turned 
 towards Mecca, bow themselves three times to the 
 earth; repeating between each prostration a brief 
 prayer ; then slowly rising, seem to carry into their 
 occupation a portion of the solemnity which charac- 
 terizes this scene. 
 
 Your impression is, that the follower of the Pro- 
 phet, however erroneous may be his faith, is not 
 ashamed of his religion — that he is not the being 
 who will forego his prayers out of a shrinking, imbe- 
 coming regard for the presence or prejudices of oth-
 
 308 SHIP AND SHOKE. 
 
 ers — and your respect for liim, in this particular, is in 
 proportion to bis seeming want of it for you. Let 
 those who put away the good old family Bible on 
 some unseen shelf, and who go to bed at night with- 
 out their domestic devotions — if a stranger be pres- 
 ent — take a hint from the Mussulman. 
 
 The most silent spot in Smyrna is that which you 
 would expect to find the most noisy ; that is, the 
 cafenet, or hotel. You will find liere at every hour 
 of the day thirty or forty Turks, seated under the 
 trees which deeply shade the court — now and then 
 giving a long whiff, and relieving the intervals by a 
 sip of coifee, which atones for the absence of cream 
 and sugar in its strength. All this while not a word 
 is spoken ; not a sound is heard, save that of the lit- 
 tle fountain, and even this, in the faint lapse of its 
 notes, seems falling asleep. On one occasion, and 
 but one, I saw this silence broken up. 
 
 I had observed two Turks, seated on opposite sides 
 of the court, casting at each other, between their 
 whiffs, looks of rather a menacing character. No 
 words, however, passed — no inimical motions were 
 made — nothing indicated anger, except the occasional 
 scorching glance of a deep, black eye ; when, sud- 
 denly dropping their pipes, they sprang at the same 
 instant upon their feet, and discharged their pistols : 
 but neither took effect. I expected to see them rush 
 at each other with a plunging yatagan ; but what 
 was my surprise, when I saw each leisurely return
 
 VICINITY OF SMYRNA, 309 
 
 his i^istol to liis belt, aucl resume his seat as com- 
 posedl V as if he had merely risen to pluck the orange 
 that depended from the branch over his head. 
 
 The company, so far from being thrown into con- 
 fusion and uproar, continued silently to smoke their 
 pipes ; the affair appeared not to furnish a topic of 
 conversation sufficiently interesting to relieve the 
 silence that ensued. This feature of the scene I 
 liked ; it shows that the Mussulman, however irre- 
 spective he may be of other salutary injunctions, 
 strictly obeys what sailors call the eleventh command- 
 ment — thou shalt mind thine own business. 
 
 Among the most pleasant rides in the vicinity of 
 Smyrna, is that to Bournebat, leading through a suc- 
 cession of vineyards and olive-groves, Avith the tulip 
 and ranunculus blooming around in wild profusion. 
 Tlie village is ornamented with many elegant man- 
 sions, belonging to merchants in Smyrna, who seek 
 here a refuge from the heat, dust, and noise of the 
 town. We were here introduced into the summer 
 residence of Mr. Ofiey, the American Consul, to 
 whose influence and hospitable attentions we were 
 indebted for many pleasures, connected with our 
 cruise in the Levant. His agency in establishing 
 the relations which now exist between us and the 
 Ottoman government, entitles him to the respect and 
 gratitude of his country. 
 
 Nor should I fail to mention here the many tokens 
 of assiduous kindness which we received from our
 
 310 SHIP AND SHORE, 
 
 worthy countrymen, Messrs. Clark and Stith, incv- 
 cliants of a character and standing that do honor to 
 America. ISTor should I pass by the cheerful hearth 
 and benevolent efforts of the Rev. Mr. Brewer. His 
 schools are diffusing a spirit of intelligence and in- 
 quiry among the Greeks, that will one day speak for 
 itself. 
 
 The favorable position of Smyrna for commerce, 
 is the main source of its wealth and political impor- 
 tance. It has been successively plundered by the 
 enemy, overthrown by the earthquake, depopulated 
 by the plague, and consumed by the flame ; but it 
 has risen again to increased opulence and power, on 
 the force of its commercial advantages. 
 
 Alexander manifested his extraordinary shrewd- 
 ness and judgment in its location. It would seem as 
 if he intended to found a city that should survive 
 all the hostile agents by which it could, in any pos- 
 sible event, be assailed. It has been for centuries 
 without fortress or wall ; and though often reduced, 
 in its sad vicissitudes, to a ruin and a tomb, yet it 
 now embraces the most dense and thriving popula- 
 tion within the wide dominion of the Porte. 
 
 The female beauty which once brought to it the 
 sculptor and painter for originals, may in some mea- 
 sure have disappeared ; but its commercial facilities 
 have assembled within it, from the most distant 
 realms, another class of beings, whose enterprise con- 
 tributes vastly more to its wealth and prosperity. It
 
 PAIiTING \VITI1 THE EKADER. 311 
 
 may look with composure at its temporary misfor- 
 tunes, for it must stand and thrive, so long as the 
 caravans of Persia can move, the vintage of the teem- 
 ing year come round, and the ship hold its course 
 over the deep. 
 
 Nor need anv be deterred from a residence here 
 by apprehensions of Turkish treachery and violence. 
 The authority recognized in a Consular representa- 
 tive is nowhere held more sacred and inviolable. 
 Heads may fall like rain-drops from an April cloud, 
 but beneath the flag of his country the foreigner is 
 safe. It is an segis which the most profane weapon 
 of the Mussulman dares not touch. 
 
 And now, reader, I must bid you adieu. But if 
 you have not been too much offended with some of 
 my hasty expressions, if you have been amused by 
 the light incidents of my story, if over its simple 
 pages your hours have passed with a less percepti- 
 ble weight, meet me here again. That brilliant 
 barge which rocks so lightly on the wave of this Bay 
 is to take me and others to the strand of Ilium. 
 
 Join our company, willing to be pleased, and 
 I will show you the palace of Priam, Achilles' 
 tomb, and Helen's gushing fount. We will then 
 pass up between the wildly wooded shores of the 
 Dardanelles, on to the bright bosom of the Marmora, 
 and watch the city of Constantine, emerging in 
 splendor from the wave. Glancing at its domes and 
 its delicate minarets, we will wind our way up the
 
 312 SHIP AND SHORE. 
 
 Golden Horn into the valley of Sweet Waters ; we 
 will stray through the romantic dells of Belgrade — 
 along the beautiful banks of the Bosphorus, catch the 
 traits of those who dwell there in oriental gayety, and 
 returning, moimt again to the deck of our ship, sail 
 to the purple shores of Greece, walk around among 
 the magnificent ruins of Athens, and visit the sweet 
 isles of the ^sfean. 
 
 All this I promise you, if you will accord me your 
 company, and then you will find me more attentive 
 than I have been — less forgetful of your tastes, and 
 less captious under my own slight provocations. 
 
 But before we part, come with me down to the 
 beach of this moon-lit bay, for at this still hour of the 
 evening we have nothing to fear — nothing can break 
 on our solitude — and let me tell you here, under the 
 light of these sweet stars, what I love. 
 
 I love to waiider on the shore of ocean, 
 
 To hear the light wave ripple on the beach ; 
 
 For there's a music in their murm'ring motion, 
 The softest sounds of earth could never reach — 
 
 A cadence breathing more of joy than plaint, 
 
 Like the last whispers of a dying saint, 
 
 I love to wander, on a star-lit night, 
 
 Along the breathing margin of a lake. 
 Whose tranquil bosom mirrors to the sight 
 
 The dewy stars ; where not a wave nor wake 
 Disturbs the slumbering surface, nor a sound 
 Is heard from out the deep-hushed forest round.
 
 PA:RTI]SrG WITH THE READER. 313 
 
 The vesper-star sleeps in that silent water, , 
 
 So sweetly fair, so tenderly serene, 
 You fondly think it is the bright-eyed daughter 
 
 Of that pure element, and, breathless, lean 
 To catch its beauty, as if bent above 
 The face of one you only live to love. 
 
 THE END.
 
 IN PRESS, 
 
 ■WEITINGS OF THE REV. WALTER COLTON. 
 
 A. S. Barnes & Co. will publish the following, from the pen of this lamented 
 author : 
 
 LAND AND LEE U THE BOSPfiORUS AND JIGEAN, 
 
 on 
 
 NOTES ON CONSTANTINOPLE AND ATHENS. 
 
 With Two Steel Plates. I vol, 12mo. 
 
 THE SEA AND THE SAILOR, 
 
 Olt 
 
 NOTES ON ITALY, AND OTIIEE SKETCHES: 
 
 TOGETHER WITH A MEMOIR. 
 
 With Two steel Plates. 1 vol. 12mo. 
 
 The above works are under the editorship of Rev. Henry T. Cheever, author 
 of " The Whale and its Captors," aad « Island World of the Pncific."
 
 THE WHALE AND HIS CAPTORS, 
 
 BY REV. HENRY T. CHEEVER. 
 
 This elegantly printed and embeUisIied volume is the production of a close ob- 
 server, and a polished and able writer. The Whale's biography, and a thousand 
 incidents of whaling life, ai-e racily and agreeably told, while the reflections of the 
 Moralist and Christian voyager are unobtrusively thrown into the text. An Appen- 
 dix contains many valuable suggestions in regard to the moral and religious inter- 
 ests of seamen and whalemen. We know of few books which would be more 
 eagerly sought after in District Libraries than this.— Watertown Reformer. 
 
 There is veiy much valuable information contained in a small compass — in fact, a 
 complete history of that department of the Whale Fishery. Interspersed are glow.- 
 ing and graphic pictures of the ocean, Its dangers, its storms, its calms, and the pe- 
 culiar habits of those that roam its depths. It is a very readable and pleasant as 
 well as profitable volume. — Albany Atlas. 
 
 Since the issue of Dana^s justly celebrated " Two Years Before the Mast," we 
 have read nothing of sea life and adventure so fresh, lively, and instructive as this 
 beautiful booli. It is full of life, anecdote, facts, incidents, and character, and suc- 
 ceeds in keeping the reader intensely occupied with the glories and wonders of the 
 deep to the end. The contemplative eye and Christian heart with which the 
 writer looks abroad upon the deep, and the fertile fancy with which he links the 
 incidents and even the phraseology of sea life, v/ith the most important and beau- 
 tiful matters of religion and truth, are among the peculiar charms of the book. 
 It is printed imifoiTn with the Abbotts' beautiful series of histories, and is well 
 adapted for the reading of the young. — J^ew York Evangelist. 
 
 A charming volume, presenting the rarely combined features of being a book 
 adapted alike to delight boys and men; one which the naturalist will peruse for 
 fresh information on the habits of Cutacea, and the clergyman recommend on ac- 
 count of the spirit of cheerful piety and truthfulness that pervades the narrative. 
 
 London Literary Gazette. 
 
 A very readable and interesting volume, full of stin-ing adventure, hair-breadth 
 escapes, and curious information. It is just the sort of book for the eager intelli- 
 gences which at this season of the year crowd around the Christmas table. 
 
 London Athenaum.
 
 A. S. BARNES & COMPANY S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 Cotton's Deck and Port. 
 DECK AND port; 
 
 OR, 
 
 mCIDENTS OF A CRUISE U THE UNITED STATES FRIGATE CONGRESS 
 
 TO CALIFORNIA: 
 
 With Sketches of Rio Janeiro, Vaij>araiso, Lima, Honolulu, and San 
 Fra-ncisco. By Rev. Walter Colton, U. S. N., late Alcalde of Monterey. 
 Illustrated with Engravuigs. 1 vol. 12mo. 
 
 " We are indebted to the publishers for one of the most delightful books we havB 
 received in an age. Though professedly commenced ' more as the whim of the hour, 
 than any purpose connected with the public press,' the polished and gifted author has 
 infused so much of spirit and sentiment into the various daily 'jottings,' as to render 
 the volume one series of delightful conversations. The sketches of the different cities 
 visited aie beautifully executed, and printed in tints." — Phila. Saturday Courier. 
 
 "There are elements of popularity and interest enough in this handsome volume to 
 make a market for a dozen. California is a magic woi-d in these days ; and those upon 
 whom it does not operate with sufficient power to tear them away from home, friends, 
 and health at home, feel its influence quite enough to devour every thing that relates to 
 it. This work is by far the most methodical, satisfactory, and graphic description of 
 El Dorado, and the way thither, that has yet appealed. Mr. Colton will be remem- 
 bered by those who read his admirable ' Ship and Shore' as a most lively, humorous, 
 and sketchy writer ; and his best qualities are brought into play in this work. The 
 amount of valuable information on which his pleasant sketches are based, is veiy 
 great. The value of the book is also greatly increased by the illustrations it contain*. 
 There aie a large number of sketches of scenes and places, di'awn by Blr. Colton, 
 beautifully engraved, and printed in colors, which are fine works of art, and give a 
 vivid idea of the places visited. It is a work whose literary merit, attractive form, 
 and most interesting matter, will make it highly popular." — .,V. Y. Evangelist. 
 
 "This is unquestionably one of the most interesting books that has been issued from 
 the American press the present year. We have never read a book that pleased us 
 more. Possessing a brUliaut imagination, the authoi' has painted, in glowing colors, a 
 thousand pictui'es of the sea, night and storm, sunshine and calm. Every page is full 
 of glowing thoughts, sublime truths, pure morals, and beautiful aphorisms. It is a 
 book that will never be out of date — it is a gem that will Ijecome brighter every day. 
 We predict that this volume will iim through several editions." — Pittsburg Morning 
 Post. 
 
 " This work is published in a beautiful style, and is ftill of highly interesting scenes 
 and incidents, detailed by a master hand. It has been seldom that we have found a 
 work more instructive, and at the same time so interesting as the one before us. To 
 say any thing in praise of the author, would be useless. His fame is so well settled, that 
 our opinion could neither raise it higher nor detract from its merits. 
 
 " Every thing related, is clothed in the rich garniture which is Rfforded by a well 
 stored and well cultivated mind, governed by high moral principle. The whole 
 tenor of the work, while it aims at instnictive nanation, is also calculated to impress 
 upon the mind pure and elevated ideas, both of men and things. 
 
 "We have no hesitation in saying to all who want a ^ood, uic/ji/, and interesting 
 book, that they cannot do better than to secme a copy of this. It will richly repay a 
 perusal." — MassUlon JVcws. 
 
 " His pen has the wand-like power of making the scenes which it describes live and 
 move before the mind of the reader. We can cheerfully recommend this aa a chana- 
 lug book, full of informatioa aud entertainment."— i^art/m-t/ Chfittien Secretary.
 
 A. S. BARNES i COMPANY S PUBLICATIONS, 
 C o 1 1 7i' s D eck and Port. 
 
 "This volume, by the author of 'Ship and Shore,' is full of racy and original thoughts, 
 clothed in language remarkable for its elegance and strength. The author has long 
 been a wanderer over sea and land, and has noted, with a searching eye. the atrilvitig 
 traits and usages of different nations. Tliese he throws into a sketch, with that vivid 
 light and sliade which transport the scene almost palpably before your eyes. He 
 knows the sailor thoroughly, and lets you into all the subtle springs of action which 
 sway that generous and reckless being.— Skilled in prose, the author is yet in heart 
 and soul a poet, and looks on nature with a jioet's eye. The snatches of faultless verse 
 which he has occasionally introduced into his pages, will arrest the attention of the 
 reader. His wit, which sparkles out here and there, is free of all bitterness. His senti- 
 ments !u-e expressed witli frankness, finnness, and a self-relying spirit. The volume, 
 graceful in itself, is ornamented with a striking portrait of Commodore Stockton, 
 and with spirited prints of ])laces and costumes described in its pages." — JVational 
 Inteliigcncer. 
 
 "Those who want something fresh and interesting; something that will amuse and 
 instruct at the same time, without being dull or wearisome — will lind what they seek 
 in this elegantly written and equally elegantly pi-intcd volume. The author possesses 
 in an eminent degree the happy faculty of seizing on the most interesting occurrences, 
 and di-awing from them appropriate reflections on the general duties of life. He never 
 misses an opportunity to teach a lesson, yet he never seems to seek for one." — Niasara 
 Democrat. 
 
 " The contents, in a journal form, are full of lively incidents, written in a very pleasing 
 style, and on the whole are so interesting, that one is very reluctant to lay the volume 
 down. Few works of fiction could be more attractive in any respect. We doubt not 
 (hat 'Deck and Port' will have a wide circulation." — JVeu? Haven Palladium. 
 
 "An agreeable diary of a voyage round 'the Horn,' in a man-of-war, by a Christian 
 scholar and gentleman. We have seldom met with a book of travel so free from fuss 
 and pretence. The note-worthy incidents of life at sea are jotted down, apparently as 
 they rise, from day to day. In easy, natiu-al prose, so that the reader soon feels himself 
 quite at home on board a man-ol-wai-, enjoyuig its society and scenes, and participating 
 in the humor and sentiments of its ' floating population.' Sketches ai-e given also of 
 the various ports visited — Rio, Valparaiso, Lima, Honolulu, Monterey, San Fran- 
 cisco, fcc; and graphic illustrations ai-e furnished by the engraver." — JVewark Daily 
 Advertiser. 
 
 " Wi have read a large portion of this work with great interest. It is written in a 
 lively, graphic style ; and recounts, in a very pleasing narrative, the incidents of a long 
 and perilous voyage round Cape Horn, with descriptions of Valparaiso, Lima, Callao, 
 San Francisco, &c. ; their leligion, manners, and customs. This book is one of the 
 most readable of the season, the writer having attained the art of making the reader 
 f(;el as though he were one of the party, and thus interested in all their" toils, trials, 
 perils, adventures, amusements, &c." — Pres. Advoc&te. 
 
 "Mr. Colton is an observing and ready writer; and his office on board of the ship 
 afforded him every needed facility lor obtaining a knowledge of the character of the 
 men on board, and of the multitude of incidents of every hue that make up life in a 
 ship. His is a free pen, and he writes with much facility of expression and elegance 
 of taste; making one of the most agreeable volumes that has ever been written with 
 reference to that interesting portion of the world." — IVorccster Palladium. 
 
 "The author's situation as chaplain, together with his long connection with the navy, 
 rendered him fully competent to give correct pictures of sdl we landsmen wish to know, 
 while he excels in a graphic power particularly adapted to this kind of writing. Hif< 
 style is light and sketchy, having the freshness of a journal where the author had evi- 
 dently each day dotted down what most airested his own attention. Altogether, it is a 
 capital view of sea life, and the liveliness of the style keeps the interest from flagging 
 to the end. We predict for it an extensive circulation." — Albany State Register. 
 
 "The author's opportunities have been most ample for furnishing correct informa- 
 tion in regard to the many interesting and ever-changing scenes that a person in the 
 naval service is continually experiencing. His style is so pointed and free from that 
 monotony which is too apt to find its way into such narratives, that we do not hesitjit* 
 to predict ft\' the book in extensive sale." — Albany Daily Adoertiaer
 
 A. S. BARNES & COMPAKY'S PUBLIC A.TIONS. 
 Col ton's Three Years in Calif or ni a. 
 
 THREE YEARS IN CALIFORNIA. 
 
 BY EEV. WALTER COLTOX, U. S. N., 
 
 LATE ALCALDE OF MONTEREY. 
 
 WITH NUMEROUS ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 *' A rare work this for ability, interest. Information, mirth, and as the most recent and 
 most authentic history of California, since it came under the American flag. It con- 
 tains excellent portraits of Messrs. Sutter, liarkin, Fremont, Gwinn, Wright, and 
 Snyder, with numerous and humorous illustrations ; a list of the members of the Con- 
 vention which organized the State of California ; a chart of the ' Declaration of 
 Rights,^ with facsimiles of the signatures, &c. Nothing of interest to the public in 
 the rapid growth of this new world, its towns, villages, and settlements, its gold digging, 
 gold explorations, &c., escapes the notice of the author ; .and the pictures he has given 
 of California lile and manners ai-e at the same time graphic, instructive, and often in 
 the most provoking degree mii'thful." — JVational Intelligencer. 
 
 "It is the best history of California that has appeared, and will prove as instructive 
 aa it is interesting and provocative ol mirlh."^Kuchester Democrat. 
 
 "This work is an authentic history of California, from the lime it came under the 
 flag of the United States down to this present, explorations, new settlements, and gold 
 diggings. While the reader is instructed on every page, he will laugh about a hundred 
 if not a thousand times before he gets through this captivating volume, and though he 
 Bits alone in his chair. It is, in the first place, a book of fact; next to the remarkable 
 and ludicrous peculiarities of Calitbmia life and manners, are an incessant provocation 
 to make one laugh ; and the author being a poet, gives us a tine relish of that every 
 now aaid then." — Washington Republic. 
 
 "The anticipations of those who expected from Mr. Colton a book about California 
 at once reliable and entert;iining, compreliensive and concise, instructive and lively — 
 in fact, just what a work of the kind ought to be, but what a majority of the iiiimerous 
 accounts heretofore published are not — will be abundantly realized on perusal of this 
 volume. Mr. Colton, besides possessing the various qualifications of an intelligent ob- 
 server — a highly-cultivated mind, stored with ample material for comi>arison, in the 
 fruits of years spent in travel in every part of the world, and intercourse with numerous 
 peoples — enjoyed peculiar advantages for becoming acquainted with California, in his 
 long residence there ; in his exalted official position, which made him the associate and 
 counsellor of the highest functionaries in the province ; in a philosophical disinterested- 
 ness, which, while it raised him above the scramble lor treasure, enabled him iahnly 
 to survey the field ot action, and describe the operalions of the scramblers; and, 
 finally, in an elevated personal character, which commanded the respect and won the 
 confidence and regard of all classes of the people." — Journal of Commerce. 
 
 " It is tb» most insUuctive work on Califorma we have seen." — Commercial Mvertistf
 
 A. S. BARNES & COMPANY'S PUBLICATIONS 
 
 Col i on' s Three Years in C aliforiiia. 
 
 " It is certainly refreshing to find such a book as this one, after having vainly 
 BB;irche(J for something authentic, 'true to nature,' and at Ihe same time readable^ 
 nniong the thousands which have been issued from the ])rolilic press since the dis- 
 covery of 'EI Dorado.' W^e hail it as almost as dear a treasure as would be .'iie dis- 
 covery of a rich 'placer,' were we upon the veritable soil of California. We have 
 Bloleu time during the past week to hastily glance over the pages of Mr. Colton's 
 bCKjk, and our oiiinion, before very high, because of the encomiums universally bestowed 
 upon it by om' contemporaries, has lather been increased, certainly not diminished, and 
 we think a more careful perusal will well repay. Our longing upon this point has 
 been satiated, and we can sali?ly say that we have gained more of a knowledge oi 
 California, as it was before, and as it has been since the discovery of gold in its soil." 
 — Syracuse Journal. 
 
 "Mr. Colton is one of the most agreeable of American 'writers. His ideas.flow as it 
 were spontaneously — one moment grave, then gay. One moment we feel, while 
 reading his books, like weeping at some well-drawn picture, and the next, we can 
 hardly keep from splitting our sides with laughter, at some brilliant, mkth-provoking 
 
 expression.''''— Republican Advocate. 
 
 "There never was a better illustration of the saying, that 'Truth is stranger than 
 fiction,' than is found in this narrative. Truly, the real is a more wonderful world than 
 the ideal. When the writer of this interesting and delightful book landed at San 
 Francisco, California was a dependency of the Republic of Mexico ; but when he left 
 it, in all but in name, it was a State of the American Union: now it is one. Its newly 
 risen, but glorious star is shining in the bright constellation where clusters the stars of 
 'ts sister States ; its senators and representatives are sitting with those of the other 
 members of the Confederacy in the halls of the national legislature, at Washington. 
 The causes that have been so busily at work in producing this series of astonishing 
 changes, are all truthfully detailed in this narrative, as they occurred from day to day, 
 and as they came under the keen but discriminating observation of one who had the 
 best opportunity of knowing, as well as the happiest manner of relating them. Any 
 thing like an analysis of a volume so filled as this is with striking incidents, crowding 
 one after another in such rapid succession, is impossible. As we read on fi'om page to 
 page, we become more and more interested, as the things which it records become 
 more and more important, until we seem to partake of the wild enthusiasm that raxnX 
 have been felt by the immediate actors in these imposing but exciting scenes of a most 
 eventful drama. For once the sober dignity of histoi-y is compelled to put on the airs 
 and charms of romance. This beautiful volume can be read with mingled pleasure 
 and profit by all who wish to get coiTCct ideas of the golden land, towards which all 
 eyes are now turned." — jVian-ara Democrat. 
 
 " A full account of the appearance of that curious disease, 'the gold fever,' from the 
 firet scattering cases up to the time when the whole population was infected, is admirably 
 given, with strange and amusing illustrations of individual attacks. For the purpose of 
 fully studying the disease, the worthy alcalde himself repaired to the mines, and observed 
 it in all its glory. His descriptions, therefore, must be perfect, from having been made 
 upon the spot. The well-known ability and position of the author, fitted him admirably 
 to observe and note passing events in a territory of such vast importance; and the 
 reader may turn to the journal of Mr. Colton for an accurate chronicle of events. 
 
 " From humor, statistics, description, historical narrative, mining, agricultural and 
 political information, this ba)k is calculated to attract every class of readers." — 
 Washington Union,
 
 A. S. BARNES i COMPANY'S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 Lady Willoug hby' s Diary. 
 
 LADY willoughby; 
 
 OR, 
 
 PASSAGES FROM THE DIARY OF A ^IFE AND IIOTHER IX THE 
 SEVENTEENTH CENTURY. 
 
 "This interesting and excellent book purports to be a diarj' of a lady of royal birth 
 two huudred years ago. From its being written in a style so simple, with so much ol 
 pure devotional and domestic feeling, and displaying so naturally the unaffected, 
 womanly thoughts of a daughter, wile, and mother — its modern authorship has been 
 more than suspected. Be this as it may, it has been deemed by many intelligent 
 readers to have emanated from Lady Willoughby ; or, at all events, to have been the 
 production of an excellent mind, and one which had undei'gone the discipline of real 
 experience. The original book was long hoarded up as a literary curiosity; but upon 
 examination, this ancient quiu-to, wiih 'ribbed paper and antique type,' was found to 
 possess too much of charactei-, feeling, and general popular interest, to be shut up in 
 the cabinets of the virtuosos. It soon ran through the first edition, and the present 
 beautiful American reprint is from the second London issue." — Fredonian. 
 
 "A most remarkable work, which we read, some time ago, in the original Englian 
 shape, with great delight. Its character is peculiar. Lady Willoughby is a fictitious 
 character, personating an English lady of the seventeenth century, who, while the 
 civil wars were raging, lived quietly apart from the scene of strife, bringing up her 
 children, and manifesting her conjugal as well as maternal affection in the 'Diary;' 
 which, had it emanated from the pen of a real Lady Willoughby of the time, could 
 not have been a more beautiful, a more affecting, or a more instructive record." — 
 J^few York Tribune. 
 
 "The original edition of this work, published in London, was issued in quarto form, 
 upon ribbed paper and antique type, and at once attracted very general attention as a 
 rare literary curiosity. In the present edition, reprinted from the second Knglish 
 edition, the style of execution has been modernized, retaiuing only the capitals, itiilic? 
 and the old spelling. It is a work of high interest, in whatever light it is viewed ; and 
 as a picture of domestic life during the stormy period when Cromwell and Fairfax and 
 other heroes of that era filled so large a space before the public, it possesses a charm 
 which will entertain every reader. The style is quaint though simple and attractive, 
 and the book is a perfect gem in its way."— Troy Budget. 
 
 "This Diary purports to have been written in the stirring times of Charles the First 
 and Oliver Cromwell, but the allusions to public events are merely incidental to the 
 portraiture of Lady Willoughby's domestic life. Her picture of the little pains and 
 trials which are mixed up with the Joys that surround the fireside is perfect, and no 
 one can fail to derive benefit from its examination. In the very first chapter we ai'e 
 charmed with her simplicity, her piety, and true womanly feeling, and learn to 
 reverence the fictilinus iliarist a.s a model r:)r the wife and mother of the nineteenth 
 century."— JVcicrtr/p Daily Mdvertmcr.
 
 A, S. BARNES & COMPANY'S PUBLICATIONS, 
 
 Mansfield on American Education. 
 
 AMERICAN education: 
 
 ITS PRINCIPLES AND ELEMENTS. 
 DEDICATED TO THE TEACHERS OF THE UNITED STATES. 
 
 BY EDWAED D. MANSFIELD, 
 
 Auilior of '■'■ Political Grammar,'''' etc. 
 
 This work is suggestive of principles, and not intended to point out a 
 course of studies. Its aim is to excite attention to what should be the 
 elements of an American education ; or, in other words, what are tlie 
 ideas connected with a republican and Christian education in this period 
 of rapid development. 
 
 "The author could not have applied bis pen to the production of a book upon a 
 subject of more importance than the one he has chosen. We have had occasion to 
 notice one or two new woikg on education recently, whicli indicate that the attention 
 of authors is bein? directed toward that subject. We ti-ust that those who occupy the 
 proud position of teachers of American youtli will find much in these works, which are 
 a sort of interchange of opinion, to assist them in the discharge of their responsible duties. 
 
 '•'I'he author of the work before us does not point out any particular course of studies 
 to be pursued, but confines himself to the consideration of the principles which should 
 govern te.ichers. His views upon the elements of an American education, and its 
 bearings upon our institutions, are sound, and worthy the attention of those to whom 
 they are particularly addressed. We commend the work to teachers." — Rochester 
 Daily Advertiser. ^ 
 
 "We have examined it with some care, and are delighted with it. It discusses the 
 whole subject of American education, and presents views at once enlarged and compre- 
 hensive ; it, in fact, covers the whole ground. It is high-toned in its moral and 
 religious bearing, and points out to the student the way in which to be a man. It 
 should be In every public and private library in the country." — Jackson Patriot. 
 
 " It is an elevated, dignified work of a philosopher, who has written a book on the 
 subject of education, which is an acquisition of great value to all chisses of our 
 countrymen. It can be read witli interest and profit, by the old and young, the 
 educated and unlearned. We hail it in this era of superficial and ephemeral litera- 
 ture, as the precursor of a better future. It discusses a momentous subject ; bringing 
 to bear, in its examination, the deep and labored thought of a comprehensive mind. 
 We hope its sentiments may be diffused as freely and as widely throughout our land 
 as the air we breathe." — Kalamazoo Oazcttc. 
 
 " Important and comprehensive as is the title of this work, we assure our readers it 
 is no misnomer. A wide gap in the bulwark of this age and this country is greatly 
 lessened by this excellent book. In the first place, the views of the author on educa- 
 tion, irrespective of time and place, are of the highest order, contrasting strongly with 
 the groveling, time-seeking views so plausible and so popular at the present day. 
 A leading purpose of the author is, as he says in the preface, ' to turn the thoUMhts of 
 those engaged in the direction of youth to the fact, that it is the entire soul, in all its 
 faculties, which needs education.' 
 
 "The views of the author are eminently philosophical, and he does not pretend to 
 enter into the details of teaching: but his is a practical philosophy, having to do vvilh 
 living, abiding truths, and does not sneer at utility, though it demands a utility that 
 takes hold of the spiritual part of man, and reaches into his immortality." — Hotdeii't 
 Magazine.
 
 A. S. BARNES & COMPANY S PUBLICATIONS. 
 Mansfield' s Life of General Scott. 
 
 MANSFIELD'S LIFE OF GENERAL SCOTT. 
 
 THE LIFE OF GENERAL WINFIELD SCOTT, 
 
 BT EDWARD D. MANSFIELD. 
 
 This work gives a full and faithful narrative of the important eveiita 
 with which the name and services of General Scott have been con- 
 nected. It contains numerous and ample references to all the sourci^s 
 and documents from which the facts of the history are drawn. Dlus- 
 trated with Maps and Engravings. 12mo. 350 pages. 
 
 From the New York Tribune. 
 
 We have looked through it sufficiently to say with confidence mat it is well 
 done — a valuable addition to the best of American biographies. Mr. Mansfield 
 does his work thoroughly, yet is careful not to overdo it, so that his Life is some 
 thing better than the fulsome panegyrics of which this class of works is too gen 
 erally composed. General Scott has been connected with some of the most 
 stirring events in our national history, and the simple recital of his daring deeds 
 warms the blood like wine. We commend this well printed volume to general 
 perusal. 
 
 From the N. Y. Courier and Enquirer. 
 
 This volume may, both from its design and its execution, be classed araon? 
 what the French appropriately call " memoirs, to serve the cause of history," 
 blending, as it necessarily does, with all the attraction of biographical incident.'', 
 much of the leading events of the time. It is also a contribution to the fund of 
 true national glory, that which is made up of the self-sacrificing, meritorious, aiu; 
 perilous services, m whatever career, of the devoted sons of the nation. 
 
 From the U. S. Gazette, (Philadelphia.) 
 
 A beautiful octavo volume, by a gentleman of Cincinnati, contains the abov? 
 welcome history. Among the many biographies of the eminent officers of tl i? 
 army, we have found that that of General Scott did not occupy its proper plnct : 
 but in the " authentic and unimpeachable history" of his eventful life now pro- 
 eented, that want is satisfied. 
 
 From the Cleveland (Ohio) Daily Herald. 
 
 We are always rejoiced to see a new book about America, and oir countr> 
 men, by an American — especially when that book relates to our history as a lu 
 tion, or unrolls those stirring events in which our prominent men, both dead an. 
 liv ng, have been actors. As such we hail with peculiar delight and pride U-i 
 work now before us ; it has been written by an American hand, and dictated by 
 an American heart — a heart deeply imbued with a love of his native land, its 
 iustitutions, and distinguished men. 
 
 j5
 
 A. S. BARNES & company's PUBLICATIONS. 
 History of the Mexican War. 
 
 THE MEXICAN WAR: 
 
 A History of its Origin, with a detailed Account of the Victories 
 whicli terminated in the surrender of the Capital, with tlie Official 
 Despatches of the Generals. By Edward D. Mansfield, Esq 
 Illustrated with numerous Engfravinffs. 
 
 From the Philadelphia North American. 
 
 Mr. Mansfield is a writer of superior merit. His style is clear, nervous, and 
 impressive, and, while he does not encumber his narrative with useless ornament, 
 his illustrations are singularly apt and striking. A graduate of West Point, he ia 
 of course familiar with military operations ; a close and well read student, he has 
 omitted no sources of information necessary to the purposes of his work ; and a 
 shrewd and investigating observer, he sees in events not alone their outward as- 
 pects, but the germs which they contain of future development. Thus qualified, 
 it need hardly be said that his history of the war with Mexico deserves the am- 
 plest commendation. 
 
 From the New York Tribune. 
 
 ▲ clear, comprehensive, and manly history of the war, is needed ; and we are 
 glad to find this desideratum supplied by Mr. Mansfield's work. 
 
 From the New York Courier and Enquirer. 
 
 This is really a history, and not an adventurer's pamphlet destined to live for 
 the hour and then be forgotten. It is a volume of some 360 pages, carefully writ- 
 ten, from authorities weighed and collated by an experienced writer,' educated 
 at West Point, and therefore imbued w^ith a just spirit and sound views, illustra- 
 ted by plans of the battles, and authenticated by the chief official despatches. 
 
 The whole campaign on the Rio Grande, and that, unequalled in brilliancy in 
 any annals, from Vera Cruz to the city of Mexico, are unrolled before the eyes 
 of t.he reader, and he follows through the spirited pages of the narrative, the dar- 
 ing bands so inferior — in every thing but indomitable will and unwavering self-re- 
 liance, and military skill and arms— to the hosts that opposed them, but opposed 
 in vain. 
 
 We commend this book cordially to our readers. 
 
 From the Baptist Register, Utica. 
 
 The military studies of the talented editor of the Cincinnati Chronicle, admi- 
 '•"bly qualified him to give a truthful history of the stirring events connected with 
 the unhappy war now raging with a sister republic ; and though he declares in 
 his preface that he felt no pleasure in tracing the causes, or in contemplating the 
 progress and final consequences of the conflict, yet his graphic pages give prix!( 
 of his ability and disposition to do justice to the important portion of our nation's 
 historv he has recorded. The very respectable house publishing t!ic book, have 
 done great credit to the author and his work, as well as li; themselves, lu th<> 
 handsome style in which they have sent it forth. 
 
 (aa)
 
 A. S. BARNES & COMPANY'S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 Davies' Logic of Mathematics. 
 
 DAVIES' LOGIC OF MATHEMATICS. 
 The Logic and Utility of Mathematics, with the best methods of Instr ac- 
 tion, explained and illustrated. By Charles Davies, L. L. D. 
 
 "One of the mcist reinark'ible bnoks of ihe iiKinth, is ' The Logic and Utility of 
 Mnlheiaatics, liy Ch;irles Davies, L. L. I).,' piii)iisheil by Barnes & Co. It is nut in- 
 leniled as a treatise on any special branch of iiialheiiiaticai science, ami demands foi 
 lis full appreciation a general acquaintance with the leading methods and roiuine of 
 niatheiiialical investigation. To the e who have a natural fondness for this pursuit 
 and enjoy the leisure for a retrospect of their favoiit.' studies, the present volume will 
 possess a charm, not surpassed by the lascinations of a romance. It is an elaboraie 
 and lucid exposition of tlie principles which lie at the f lundation of pure niathein itics, 
 with a highly inL'eaious application of their results to ihe development of the essen- 
 tial idea of Arithmetic, (jcometry, Algebra, .Analytic (ieonietry, and the Dilierential 
 and Integral Calculus. The work is preceded by a general view of the subject of Logic, 
 mainly drawn from the writings of Archbishop V\'iialely and Mr. Mill, and closes uilh 
 an essay on the utility of niatlieniatics. Some occasional exaggerations, in presenting 
 the claims of the science to which his life has been devoted, uiust here be pardoned 
 to the professional enthusiasm of the author. In general, the work is written with 
 singular circumspection ; the views of the best thinkers on the subject have been 
 thoroughly digested, and are presented in an original form ; every thing bears the im- 
 press of the intellect of the writer ; his style is for the most part chaste, simjile, trans- 
 parent, and in admirable harmony with the dignity of the subject, and his condensed 
 generalizations are often profound and always suggestive." — Harper's J^ew MontlUij 
 Magazine. 
 
 "This work is not merely a mathematical treatise to be used as a text book, but a 
 complete and philosophical unfolding of the principles and truths of mathematical 
 science. 
 
 '■ It is not only designed for professional teacher^, professional men, and students of 
 mathematics and philosophy, but for the general reader who desires mental improve- 
 ment, and would learn to search out the import of language, and acquire a habit of 
 noting of coi;ne.xion between ideas and their signs ; also, of the relation of ideas to 
 each other. — Tlie Student. 
 
 " Students of the Science will find this volume full of useful and deeply interesting 
 matter." — Mbamj Evening Journal. 
 
 " Seldom have we opened a book so attractive a.5 this in its typography and style of 
 execution ; and there is besides, on the margin opposite each section, an inde.x ol' the 
 subject of which it treats — a great convenience to the student. But the matter is no 
 less to be cominoiided than the manner. And we are very much mistaken if this work 
 shall not prove iiinre popular and more viseful than any which the distinguished author 
 has given to the public." — J^utheran Observer. 
 
 " We have been much interested both in the plan and in the execution of the work, 
 and would recommend the study of it to the tlieologian as a discipline in close and 
 accurate thinking, and in logical method and reasoning. It will be useful, also, to the 
 general scholar and to the practical mechanic. We would specially recommend it tu 
 those who waiuld have nothing taught in our Free Academy and other higher institu- 
 tions but what is directly ' jiractical' : nowhere have we seen a finer illustration of 
 the connection between the abstractly scientific and the practical. 
 
 'The work is dividejl into three books ; the first of which treats of Logic, mainly 
 upon the basis of Whately ; the second, of Mathemelical Science, and the third, of the 
 Utility of Mathematics." — Independent. 
 
 "Theaithor's style is perspicuous and concise, and he exiiibits a mastery of the 
 Rl)struse topics which he attempts to simplify. For the niathem iiical student, who 
 desires an analytical knowledge of the science, and who woidd begin at the beginning, 
 we should sup|)ose the work would have a sjiecial utility. I'rof. IJavies's mathemati- 
 cal works, we bi'lieve, have become quite popular with educators, and this discloses 
 "uite as much research and practical scholarship as any we have seen from his pea." 
 - -JVeiD- York KvaiigcUst.
 
 A. S. BARNES & COMPANY'S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 B ar tlett' s Natural P hilo sop hy for Colleges. 
 ELEMENTS OF NATURAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 
 BY W. H. C. BAETLETT, LL.D., 
 
 Professor of Natural and Experimental Pliilosoijhy in tlie United, States 
 Military Academy at West Point. 
 
 Vol. 1st.— MECHANICS. 
 
 The present volume is the first of three, in whicli its author desires to 
 offer to Academies and Colleges a Course of Natural Philosophy, including 
 Astronomy. It embraces the subject of Mechanics — the groundwork of 
 the whole. It is inten<led to be complete within itself, and to have no 
 necessary dependence for the full comprehension of its contents upon 
 those which are to follow. 
 
 " Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute, Troy, JV. K, Mivember 1, 1850. 
 "I consratulate Piolessor Baillett on the result (il'his labors, in the protluction of the 
 present treatise, on a siiljject so eminently important, whether in its general relation to 
 a system ot liberal culture, or, in a more technical sense, as a foundation of the science 
 and art of construction. 
 
 " With the somewhat hasty examination which I have been, as yet, enabled to give 
 it, I cannot presume to indicate sjiecialities; but 1 am abundantly satisfied of its vast 
 advance, in every respect, upon any American predecessor; and it is a consideration 
 not a liltle ^ratilying, that we are now enabled to present our students with a manual 
 which shall exhibit the most important principles of mechanical science, in the garb 
 of modern analysis, vigorously demonstrated and fairly illustrated, with a fullness that 
 appears to leave little to be desired. 
 "We shall immediately adopt the work in our institution. 
 
 "1!. IRANIvLIN GREENE, 
 "Director and Professor of Mechanics, etc., 
 " Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute, Troy, N. Y." 
 
 "The work is intended for the use of students in our highest colleges and institutions 
 of learning, and is much more complete and serviceable than any thing of the kind 
 hitherto jniblished. Professor Bartlett is well known as one of the most thoroughly 
 scientific men in the United States; and the success with which he has presided over 
 this department of instruction in the West Point Military Academy for many years, 
 affords decisive evidence of his abundant and pre-eminent qualifications for the prepara- 
 tion of such a work. It is publishv/d in a large and very eleganlly priiiied octavo 
 volume, and is very profusely illustrated with diagrams. It is a work which cannot 
 fail, as rapidly as it becomes known, to find its way into all our colleges in whicli com- 
 pleteness and thoroughness of scholarship are properly prized." — Courier and Enquirer. 
 
 "The progress of I'esearch and demonstration constantly going on, requires an occa- 
 sional recast of our text-books; and we have every reason in Prof; Bartlett's attainments, 
 position, and facilities, for believing that the work he has so elaborately undertaken 
 will answer the requisitions of the present advanced state of the science, as well as of 
 the improved method of study. The present volume treats of mechanics, both of 
 solids and Huids. An introductory chapter defines the objects of the science, and the 
 properties of bodies. The author possesses a concise and unambiguous method, which 
 '8 well adapted for his purpose; and his demonstrations, embracing both analylical 
 =>.ud synthetic processes, are very concise and clear. It is evident that he has possessed 
 himself of all the learning on his topics extant, and claims to have embodied, especially. 
 the best results of the laboi's of two eminent French philosophers— M. Poncellet lyid 
 M. Peschel."'— .Yeia York £i mgcliat.
 
 D 
 
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