you are in the land of the elevating “Tinta,” and generous “Serchal.” Should the sled drag heavily over the stones, the small boy throws down in front of it a wetted cloth, passing over which, the runner is lubricated. On reaching the residence of the American consul, we dismounted and partook of a lunch, which his hospitality invariably provides for his visiting countrymen. It is unnecessary to tell with what gusto, men who eighteen days before were gathered around a stove in their own land, were now in the genial air of Madeira, windows open, and perfume coming in all around from beautiful plants, partook of the rich treat of guavas, the small banana, and the Mandarin orange just plucked from the tree that thrust itself in the casement. The snack over, we ascended to the consul’s observatory; a fine glass, mounted on a tripod, swept the offing and anchorage, giving every object much nearness. Our old ship lying stately at her anchors, was just saluting with twenty-one guns the Portuguese flag floating at her fore, which was promptly returned by the fort on Loo Rock. Around and below us were patches of green-vine and trellis, amid an expanse of red tile roofs, on many of which were placed wine-casks that they might sweeten in the sun. We then descended to the wine-houses, where butt after butt of large dimensions, reached by foot ladders, of Tinta and Serchal, and “Navy,” told how the delightful grape of the island had swelled into fullness, and then been crushed into wine. Ah! Clarence, thou shouldst have lived till now.