With the wind still mangling the clouds on the serrated crests of Anaga, and ruling supreme over the dark and mist-covered sea to the N.E.; but, nevertheless, with an admirably warm and bright day about us, we rowed ashore through the numerous vessels in the bay. They were rolling to an extent, that from at first seeming dangerous, grew at last to be positively absurd; so intent did they seem to be on first giving us a peep down their hatchways, and then trying to show the state of preservation of their keels. This was the effect of the swell from the eternal Trade-wind outside, prodigious in amount for a harbour, or a place where ships lie at anchor; but being here glassy and harmless, we rowed pleasantly over it—now catching a sight of the shore-line, with white surf breaking along its rocks; and now seeing all apparently submerged under a wave close by, up to the tops of the highest steeples of the town.

At the mole, what a scene!—what a place for my wife to land at! for there, though the structure is carried out into deep water, the swell is not so innocuous. Crowds of boats are about, and the place is alive with men, mules, and merchandize of import and export. Every few seconds comes a great wave, heaving up all the boats one after the other, and then letting them down crushing and grinding together; while the turbulent billow, rejoicing in the mischief it has done, rushes along in its appointed course, half deluging that side of the mole.