This evening the island of Teneriffe became perceptible amidst the mist and clouds which veiled its heights. During the night we reached the high black rocks of lava which form its northern points; and at break of day I determined to tack, in order to run into Santa Cruz, the only place in the island where ships can lie at anchor. The night was stormy, and the high land occasioned violent gusts of wind from various directions. Towards morning the weather improved, but we found that the current had carried us twenty miles to the south-east.[1] These strong currents are common here in all seasons, and, to vessels not aware of them, may in dark nights produce injurious consequences. Having now passed the northern promontory, we steered southward for the roads of Santa Cruz. The shore here, consisting of high, steep masses of lava, presents a picturesque but desolate and sterile landscape, amidst which the eye seeks in vain for some spot capable of producing the rich wine of Teneriffe. Upon a point of rock about a thousand feet above the level of the sea, we saw a telegraph in full activity, probably announcing our arrival. The town next came in sight, and with its numerous churches, convents, and handsome houses, rising in an amphitheatre up the side of a mountain, would have offered a noble and pleasing prospect to eyes accustomed to the monotony of a sea view, but that the majestic Peak, that giant among mountains, rearing in the background its snow-crowned head 13,278 feet above the level of the sea, now stood clear and cloudless before us, enchaining all our faculties, the effect of its appearance rendered still more striking by the sudden parting of the clouds which had previously concealed it from us. This prodigious conical volcano is from its steepness difficult of access, and the small crater on the summit is so closely surrounded by a wall of lava, that in some places there is scarcely room to stand. He who is bold enough to climb it, however, will find himself rewarded with one of the finest prospects in the world. Immediately beneath him, stretches the entire extent of the Teneriffe, with all its lovely scenery; round it the other nineteen Canary Islands; the eye then glances over an immense expanse of waters, beyond which may be descried in the distance the dark forests of the African coast, and even the yellow stripe which marks the verge of the great Desert. With thoughts full of the enjoyments which awaited us, we approached the town. We planned parties to see the country and climb the Peak; and our scientific associates, holding themselves in readiness to land as soon as the boat could be lowered, already rejoiced over the new treasures of mineralogy and botany of which the island seemed to promise so ample a store: meanwhile we had made the usual signal for a pilot; but having in vain waited his appearance, I resolved, as the road was not altogether unknown to me, to