The charms of night in a southern climate have been dwelt upon by travelled poets (for I call Madame de Stael's writings poetry), and even travelled prose writers; but Lord Byron alone has sketched with knowledge and with love, the moonlight scenery of a frigate in full sail. The life of a seaman is the essence of poetry; change, new combinations, danger, situations from almost deathlike calm, to the maddest combinations of horror--every romantic feeling called forth, and every power of heart and intellect exercised. Man, weak as he is, baffling the elements, and again seeing that miracle of his invention, the tall ship he sails in, tossed to and fro, like the lightest feather from the seabird's wing--while he can do nothing but resign himself to the will of Him who alone can stay the proud waves, and on whom heart, intellect, and feeling, all depend! 25th.--Nothing can be finer than the approach to Teneriffe[39], especially on such a day as this; the peak now appearing through the floating clouds, and now entirely veiled by them. As we drew near the coast, the bay or rather roadstead of Oratava, surrounded by a singular mixture of rocks, and woods, and scattered towns, started forth at once from beneath the mists, which seemed to separate it from the peak, whose cold blue colour formed a strong contrast to the glowing red and yellow which autumn had already spread on the lower grounds. [Note 39: The Chinerfe of the Guanches.] We anchored in forty fathoms water with our chain-cable, as the bottom is very rocky, excepting where a pretty wide river, which, though now dry, rolls a considerable body of water to the sea in the rainy season, has deposited a bed of black mud. There are many rocks in the bay, with from one to three fathoms water, and within them from nine to ten. The swell constantly setting in is very great, and renders the anchorage uncomfortable. 26th.--- I went ashore with Mr. Dance, the second lieutenant, and two of the young midshipmen, for the purpose of riding to the Villa di Oratava, which is situated where the ancient Guanche capital stood. We landed at the Puerto di Oratava, several miles from the villa: it is defended by some small batteries, at one of which is the very difficult landing-place, sheltered by a low reef of rocks that runs far out, and occasions a heavy surf. I took my own saddle ashore: and being mounted on a fine mule, we all began our journey towards the hill. The road is rough, but has evidently once been made with some pains, and paved with blocks of porous lava; but the winter rains have long ago destroyed it, and it does not seem to be any body's business to put it in repair.