8
MADEIRA.
tion, for the thing has been done before; carpets cut up, water dashing to and fro, dead lights in, a lack-lustre lamp, sea-pie, men and women hungry and thirsty and nauseatic, projections of plates, chairs, knives, servants, soup, wives together with husbands and all other appurtenances under a lee lurch, ill-humor, hatred, vomiting, malice, and all uncharitableness, formed the grand features of the picture. I cannot go on with the details; mens. refugit ; I dislike dwelling on the infirmities of humanity. The wind came round fair, the sea fell smooth, the sun shone brightly, the sky was without a cloud for a week afterwards, and on the last day of 1824 we made and passed Porto Santo, and, shrouded in clouds, Madeira rose before us. O Madeira, Madeira! O thou gem of the ocean, thou paradise of the Atlantic ! I have no heart to take up my pen to write of the days which I spent in thee; surely they were days of enchantment intercalated in the year of common reality, ethereal moments islanded, like thyself, in the vast sea of time ! Dear England ! thou art a noble country, wise, powerful, and virtuous—hut thou hast no such purple waves as those which swell towards Funchal; thou hast no such breezes of intoxication as those which then fanned my cheek and carried animation to my heart; thou hast no overarched avenues of vines, no golden clusters of orange and lemon, no quintas, no Corral! I