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ST. ANNA.

"Is this the mighty ocean? would he have had more?

65

Is this all?" What

I reached St. Anna, on the extreme north of the island, after an exhausting ride of six hours, over more hills and higher too, than could be perhaps encountered in any consecutive eighteen miles elsewhere. St. Anna commands the ocean on the north, as Funchal on the south, and is resorted to in the summer months for change of air and scene.

I met here, by appointment, a captain of the British navy, and a barrister from Lincoln's Inn. We incontinently ordered dinner, "with all the delicacies of the season;" to which, in repeated attacks, we did full justice; and, like the heroes of Homer,

"When the rage of hunger was appeased,
With free libations we prolonged the feast."

CHAPTER VII.

ASCENT OF PICO RUIVO-VIEW FROM THE SUMMIT-SAO JORGE-PASS OF THE TORRINHAS-THE GREAT CURRAL.

UPON the summits of mountains but barely accessible, where the breath of immortality seems to pervade every thing around, above, beneath-with the wild rocks for altars, and the heavens for our vaulted sanctuary—with awful anthems of torrent and tempest— the sculpture, the painting, and the poetry, the work of His hand, and the image of His mind; man feels his insignificance, and bows down in worship.

I never felt deeper devotion than on the top of Pico Ruivo. I had parted with man's companionship for that of nature, and felt it good sometimes to be alone. I seemed nearer God. In a legible hand he had written his power every where around me. For, indeed, the view from this mountain, under the transparent sky through which I beheld it, is stupendous. Mountainous rocks and bristling crags, ravines as deep and gloomy as Dante's circle, horrid precipices and fissures of the earth that naught less than the most violent convulsions could have made, were revealed in startling distinctness. Lofty and perpendicular cliffs, from three to four thousand feet in height, met the eye every where. The "Curral," the greatest prodigy of the island, the "Torrinhas," so called because they seem like castellated fortresses, the Penha d'Aguia, an

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isolated rock, springing abruptly from the plain to a height of nearly two thousand feet, with other momentous objects, filled the mind with emotions of awe. While, turning which way I would, I beheld the restless and endless ocean.

I could have remained hours in admiring silence, where the heart alone is speechful. But the meridian had passed before I had attained the summit; and the vapors, which I could see nestling below, I knew, would soon inclose mountain and forest, and perplex my descending pathway. Unsated, therefore, I hastened downward, and after much fatigue, and some danger, arrived safely at my hotel.

A full night of refreshing sleep "rehabilitated" rider, horse, and burroquero; and, after a comfortable breakfast, we continued our excursion. A precipitous and rugged path, spanning ravines and torrents, led to the parish of Sao Jorge, in a western direction from Santa Anna. We passed the church, nestling amid. luxuriant chestnut-trees, whose branches supported the vine. It was one of those quiet, lovely, sequestered spots you only find in Catholic countries; where the priest devotes a whole life to the poor, the ignorant, and the miserable, and looks for his sole guerdon beyond the grave. No tithes has he, no unctuous salary; but, like the primitive Christian, preaches eternal life without money and without price. I readily sympathized with the burroquero's asking countenance, and, entering the church, mingled with his my own. orisons. These moments of impromptu prayer may not have saved me from the hidden precipice, or the dizzy path—no God was, perhaps, necessary there— but they gave a freshness and an exaltation to the soul which raised it to the comprehension of the wonders of the route. A table-land of quintas and cot

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