Between Canipal and Machico are frequent vertical surfaces of
alternations of tufa and basalt, from 300 to 500 feet high, and
ribbed by longitudinal dikes, sometimes bifurcated downwards,
but never upwards. Close to the little bay of Machico there
is a grand slip from the eastward of 45°.- I had been compelled to
put into Machico in my way to Canipal, to see the Portuguese
gentleman who gave me the letter to the vicar. He was
evidently the chief proprietor, as well as the chief magistrate of
the place, and seemed to live in a sort of slovenly plentifulness.
His house was comfortable, and the room I saw tolerably clean;
but in the passage or small hall, there was a handsome lamp,
(certainly the only one out of Funchal) the glass covered within
with accumulated stalactites of grease, and a miserable tallow-can-
dle, about the size of a rush-light, half burnt, and leaning out of
the socket against the glass. A good humoured, but dirty female
servant, of square dimensions, received me without stays or handkerchief,
her brawny brown back crossed by the strings, but not
covered by the body of her gown; and the valet, an old dwarf,
followed wherever he went by two or three mongrel puppies,
waited on us without shirt or shoes, leaving his blue cloth jacket
half open for coolness’ sake. The master (who seemed an excellent
tempered man, and who decided lots of disputes and complaints
during the two hours of my stay, his door being actually
besieged by petitioners) pressed me to stay to breakfast in so
obliging a manner that I could not refuse, and after an hour’s
preparation, I was regaled with excellent green tea, hung beef,
fresh eggs, bread and butter, and Lisbon sweet cakes and biscuits
in a fossil state. As I sat at the window during the din of preparation,
“ sighing my soul out to Canipal,” where I feared to arrive
too late in the day, and contemplating the picturesque peaks
which frown upon the burial-place of the unfortunate Anna, I