l eventually prove its undoing.

MADEIRA

We lit right out for Madeira, and after a pleasant but uneventful
voyage cast anchor in the harbor of Funchal, the capital, in less than
nine days.

The Madeira Islands are owned by Portugal, but the natives all wish
they were not and are most anxious to get under Uncle Sam's wing, _a
la_ Porto Rico. The islands are of volcanic origin and some of the
mountain peaks are over six thousand feet high. The climate is
delightful and the variation in temperature is not much over thirty
degrees. Semi-tropical vegetation and flowers abound everywhere, and
the place is beautifully clad with verdure. The natives have "that
tired feeling," and do just as little work as will earn them a scanty
living. They, however, blame this condition on the Government.

The group was at one time celebrated for its wines, but a blight came
on the vines and the business of wine-making is greatly reduced;
besides, Madeira wine has gone out of fashion of late years.

FUNCHAL

The Madeirans dress like comic opera bandits and are very picturesque
in appearance, and while they look like Lord Byron's corsairs, they
never cut a throat nor scuttle a ship under any circumstances; they are
the mildest of men. While strolling in the public market I noticed a
bit of local color: one of the fierce looking pirates had for sale half
a dozen little red pigs with big, black, polka dots on them. I stopped
to look at them and the corsair insisted that I should buy one at least
and take it with me for a souvenir.

The principal feature of the place is that wheels are at a discount and
most of the locomotion is done by sliding. The streets and sidewalks
are paved with large, oblong pebbles which become highly polished by
friction. Over these the sleds, with oxen attached to them, glide with
ease, at the rate of three miles an hour. On this account it's the
most tiresome place to walk in that I know of. Even most of the
natives have stone-bruised feet and "hirple" along as if finishing a
six-day walk in "the Garden."

While we were there a Portuguese man-of-war entered the harbor and
there was a great waste of powder both from the forts and the
battle-ship. The harbor was filled with little boats containing boys
and men who dive for the coins thrown into the water for them by the
passengers. They never fail to reach the money.

I asked a gentlemanly native where the flower market was and he very
po