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INDEX TO VOL. L.
Americans, Pictures of the. By Themselves, 349.
Burial at Sea, the, 237.
Congratulation, Letter of, from an Old Bachelor to a Bridegroom. By
Mrs. Abdy, 178.
Geraldine O'Donnel, 253.
Hutton, Marmaduke, or the Poor Relation. By William Dodsworth, 18,
182, 302, 416.
Johnson versus Milton. By J. Ewing Ritchie, 439.
Madeira, Recollections of, During the Winter of 1844, 1845, 1.
Press, the Daily, its Price and Profits, 73.
Romance, the Double. A Tale of the Overland. By Tippoo Khan, the
Unfounded Suspicion, the. By Mrs. Edward Thomas, 284.
Walks about Vienna, and Sketches by the way, 106.
Birthday Verses to a Lady. By J. Ewing Ritchie, 137.
Chatelar's Prison Song to Mary, Queen of Scots. By Mrs. Crawford, 51.
Grief, a Woman's. By Mrs. Abdy, 17.
Lament, the Mother's. By Mrs. Edward Thomas, 176.
Time Honoured Things. By Mrs. Charles Tinsley, 243.
Memorials of the Dawn of the Re. Naomi, or the Last Days of Jerusa-
By The Rail ; its Origin and Progress,
"Away, away, from men and towns,
To the wild wood, and the downs,
An echo in another's mind."-PERCY B. SHELLEY. “My long residence here begins to fatigue me; as every object ceases to be new, it no longer continues to be pleasing.”—Citizen of the World.
I HAD been wandering about Funchal all the morning with a man of an exceedingly domestic temperament. He had waylaid the country folk and bartered for fowls and vegetables, he had felt lean rabbits, admired the plumpnesss of quails and partridges, and committed sundry eccentric actions of a similar nature, till, seduced by his agreeable chat, and amused at the singularity of his occupation, I found myself in the fish market at mid-day,
September, 1847. VOL, L.-NO. CXCVII.
under a broiling sun. The fishes of Madeira are famous for their exquisite flavour and beautiful colours; the tainha is finer than salmon, and the pargo a most appetising monster.
No one is obliged to eat stakes off the tunny, or regale upon snakes and sea-horses, but the red or grey mullet, mackerel, and all sorts of delicious fry, are absolutely in perfection for all piscivorous mortals.
The tints are certainly superb, but that is no reason why you should go to admire them in the market when the sun is at its meridian,-a rash proceeding, attended with an awful visitation to a person of a delicate perception of inodorous compounds.
The fact is, I believe I was out of humour that morning, for I remember being beguiled into the cooler and fragrant shades of the fruit market, and in the midst of bananas, red pomegranates, tomatas, oranges, grapes, lemons, chestnuts, green peas, custardapples, guavas, pears, melons, gourds, and pumpkins out of all proportion, I again endeavoured to fancy Madeira the paradise I at first believed it to be, before I tried what a five months' residence would do to diminish that opinion. But the air was hot; it was a horrid leste,* which always disagreed with me; the very look of the luscious fruits was palling. I was tired of the place—the scene; parties were all over, people were getting slower, the girls more sanctified and the men more argumentative, and high and low church had joined issue with a tremendous clash which had been heard as far as St. Paul's. I had yet some days to get through;
* The leste is a siroc wind which blows occasionally from the east. Coming from the arid coast of Africa, the great ocean intervening seems to have no effect in tempering the raging, burning, parching, nature of this fiery blast. It is not a violently blowing wind, but if enough rises to ruffle the leaves, it comes like a stream of air from a hot furnace. The skin feels hot and dry ; the eyes smart as if soap had passed into them; an intolerable headache, a sort of relaxed sore throat, and a general feeling of giddiness and weariness, make up the sum of one's unpleasant sensations. To people suffering under pulmonary affections, the leste is always a season of pleasure and delights though I scarcely know why. The air is clear beyond conception-not a cloud tinges the sky; there is a dazzling glare, and a dry, heated appearance, over hill and valley. Seen from any elevation during a leste, Funchal appears in a blaze, and every place but a well-closed room, with very little light admitted; cool matting, cane-bottomed corches, and plenty of soda-water or sangaree, is hateful and unbearable. Sometimes a lesie brings with it flights of locusts, which swarm over town and country in incredible multitudes. They fall about you in the prazas, flutter listlessly down to die on your dressing tables, and, in the country, intercept your path en masse, extending, “ as thick as bees," for a quarter of a mile or more in a long hazy line. Their ravages are confined to the fruits and vegetables; it is considerable, but they are fortunately short lived, and in a few days the whole race disappears. The leste is the curse of Madeira ; and if ever the city of Funchal is visited with an interposition of Providence to punish the English residents for high and low church squabbles, I am certain it will be burnt up with a leste, like Sodom and Go morrah.