The vestments, crosses, altar frontals and hangings had been taken on mules to the mountains. The freebooters expended their rage and disappointment in mutilating and destroying all they could.

Meanwhile, the captain of Sta. Cruz, Thomé Alves, and Antonio de Carvalhal, a gentleman of extensive property on the west side, collected as many men as they could, and by means of messengers agreed to effect a meeting and do what they could to stop the massacre and pillage in Funchal, but De Montluc, hearing of this, sent them word that should they move a step for this purpose he would put to the sword Da Camara and the ladies who had taken refuge at the castle. Thus checked, the forces dispersed, much to the vexation and distress of their leaders, who felt angry and indignant at such a termination to their endeavours. In Funchal all were paralyzed with terror; hundreds had been massacred, all the churches despoiled and defaced, warehouses and shops ransacked, and the streets in a deplorable condition from the numbers of dead bodies lying unburied. On the fifteenth day after his arrival, De Montluc, who was suffering from a wound on his knee, which had become much inflamed from great excitement and revelries, on hearing that the long and anxiously looked-for vessels from Lisbon with succour were announced as in sight, in a frenzy of despair and fear, died. His lieutenant, Bouchard, hastened to collect his followers, who to the sounds of drums and trumpets embarked. From their ships they fired on the town as long as they could, and then set sail for the Canaries, the vessels so filled with booty that they threw overboard much of what they had been laden with. The people of Funchal, helped by many who arrived from the country, endeavoured to restore order and cleanliness, burning the bodies of the dead, and of those animals which had died from neglect; but it took many years for the city to recover from this terrible disaster. The ships from Lisbon arrived too late to chastise the cruel Frenchmen, though a vessel had been despatched to summon aid from the mother country as soon as it was possible after the arrival of the cossarios; but we may suppose that the sympathy and help of the new-comers was very grateful to the people who had gone through such peril and distress.

Many of the country churches had also been pillaged. Several ladies and their children had fled to the mountains, and were nearly dying of starvation. These at once

returned to Funchal, and fortunate were those whose homes had not been burned to the ground. The old chronicler states the number of the freebooters to have been three thousand.

The absence of wheeled conveyances strikes the newly-arrived visitor, but the want is supplied by sledges drawn by strong oxen. These serve for transporting pipes of Madeira wine from the vineyards to the town, bringing luggage to and from the shore, and for various other purposes. As soon as their burden is deposited the driver jumps on to his empty sleigh and enjoys balancing himself steadily while his candiero (literally link boy) guides his oxen and encourages them with his voice.

Impromptu sleighs are made of long poles tied together for bringing huge loads of firewood from the pine woods in the uplands.

The carro holds four persons comfortably, and the oxen can draw it up the steepest roads; but for any distance it is necessary to have two yoke. Far pleasanter is the hammock, in which properly-arranged cushions enable the traveller to undertake a long journey with little fatigue: three and even four bearers are required if it is a journey of three or four hours, that while two are carrying the others may rest.

Just out of Funchal to the west, in a commanding situation, stands the Hospicio da Princeza D. Maria Amelia, in a charming garden. It was built in 1856 by the late Empress Dowager of Brazil in memory of her daughter, who died in Madeira. One wing is devoted to men and the other to women. The patients are of the poorest class, and are well cared for and nursed by the sisters of the order of St. Vincent de Paul, who also devote themselves with great earnestness to an orphanage and ragged school commenced by them. Out-of-door relief work amongst the sick poor is also carried on by the sisters with unabated zeal, and gives relief to many.

The orphanage is almost self-supported by excellent laundry work on the French system, in which the elder girls excel, also by plain needlework. The teachers undertake the fitting up of hammocks, &c. An annual bazaar for the raising of funds towards building the orphanage and schools has met with kind encouragement from some of the residents and visitors, including among the latter many persons of distinction.

Farther on a little way we come to the Seaman's Hospital, which was begun in 1882

THE RIBEIRA DO CIDRAO, IN THE GREAT CURRAL VALLEY, MADEIRA.

Page 751.

by Mrs. Gordon Duff and Dr. Goldschmidt, with the hearty help and co-operation of Messrs. Blandy Brothers & Co. as trustees and treasurers. Sailors of all nationalities, except Portuguese, who have their own hospital, find a comfortable bed, good medical and surgical attendance, excellent nursing, and the cheerful brightness so essential to recovery. Several cases of bad accidents, including severe compound fractures, have been successfully treated, and amputation, when necessary, skilfully performed. It is with deeply thankful hearts that many sailors who have been landed at Madeira, after suffering terribly, in many cases for days, after a fall from aloft or from other accidents or illness, have left this house of rest, rejoicing that for their fellow-sailors who may be brought here in distress all will be done to alleviate their sufferings and every endeavour made to restore them to health.

Dr. Goldschmidt and Dr. Vicente Machado are the honorary physicians; Miss Van Schermbeck, a Dutch lady, the matron; and Mr. Thomas Thicke, the honorary secretary. The hospital makes a small charge for each patient, and is supported chiefly by donations and contributions.

Camara de Lobos is a small fishing town about five miles to the west of Funchal, very picturesque as you approach it, but dirty and redolent with fishy odours on a near inspection. Its name means seals' chamber, and was given by Zargo, when he and his companions reached this little bay, for many seals were seen on the reef which forms this inlet. It is worth while continuing this expedition as far as Cabo Girão, a sea cliff 1,934 feet in height. From thence a fine coast view is obtained of the coast as far as Ponta do Sol. The road, though roughly paved, is rideable.

The Camara de Lobos district produced some of the finest vines, but the Phylloxera vastatrix completely destroyed the vineyards here some years back. The peasants, however, are now replanting their lands with new stocks. Before arriving at Camara de Lobos you cross the Ribeira dos Soccoridos, and it is surprising to learn that this riverbed, broad as it is, contained a full flowing stream when Zargo discovered it, and the country looked so beautiful that two youths from Lagos, in Portugal, begged leave to be allowed to land.

Zargo permitted them, ordering the boat of Alonzo Affonzo to go on shore. The

youths thought to cross the river by swimming, but the water ran so rapidly that they were carried away, and would have been drowned but for their companions in the boat, who, perceiving their peril, succeeded in saving them. With deep thankfulness Zargo gave it its present name, which means "the River of the Rescued." Furthermore, this river served as a highway for the great logs of timber cut up in the ravines of the Great Curral, which were precipitated by slides into it. This timber, cut up into firewood, was the fuel used in the sugar-mills. Each mill-owner sent his own workmen, who put private marks on the timber, then floated it when the rains had increased the river's depth. Arrived at its mouth, where the riverbed was flat, they pulled it out with iron hooks fixed into long poles, and piled it in stacks against the sugar-making season. Many fatal accidents used to happen in this exciting work, and at times much of the timber was carried out to sea and lost, had the rain swollen the river overmuch. It is grievous to read of this wholesale destruction of these noble forest trees, and the consequent drying up of this grand river. One can form but a faint idea of former beauty from the remnants one sees now amongst the Til, Vinhatico, Teixo, Páo Branco, the graceful drooping cedars, and many others.

The scenery at the head of this Soccoridos Valley is very imposing, where the Ribeira do Cidrão (see full-page illustration) flows at the base of some of the highest of Madeira's picturesque terraced mountain peaks, before it joins the Soccoridos River. In winter, during heavy rains, this usually placid stream becomes a raging torrent.

On the way to the great Curral the wide river bed of the Ribeira dos Soccoridos is crossed by a temporary bridge, as the torrent one severe winter swept away the one first built. This ravine is one of the grandest in Madeira, and extends from the sea to the base of the highest mountains heading the Great Curral. In winter during the heavy rains the river is much swollen, a great contrast to the usually placid streams flowing amidst huge boulders to the sea.

The vegetation in these great ravines is full of interest. Cactus, euphorbias, fig-trees, bananas, sugar-canes, pomegranate, and myrtle clothe the more southern cliffs and terraces, while on the highest parts ferns, mosses, lichens, semperirvæ, and saxifrages abound in beauty.

"DARK

CHAPTER I.

It would need a woman yet more daring to dare to answer the question during her

"It is never light in winter at the bottom of Leventhorpe Wood. I should have thought you had lived in it long enough to have found out that."

So the two ladies had broken the long silence of the November afternoon. Miss Wyvern was sitting by the fire with idle hands-always a cause of irritation to her. But since her sight was not good, gas not to be had in a district so remote, and candles too dear for her affording, the poor old lady had no alternative. Miss Caroline was, perhaps, less to be pitied. She was at least ten years younger; and the ten years between fifty and sixty are said to be years that tell. Miss Caroline could do many things that her elder sister had to forego to her sorrow. This very afternoon, for instance, Miss Caroline, by sitting quite near to the window, disregarding draughts, and straining her eyesight not a little, had been enabled to embroider nearly the half of the crown of a baby's cap. Poor Miss Caroline! What became of the babies' caps? They were slight matters to stand between a human being and starvation. A grey day without and within; two elderly, grey-haired women sitting in a long, grey, narrow room. "Dreary, weary," if not with the long day's work, then with the long day's lone enduring. Yet they knew what work meant, too; they had had to know of late. What becomes of the fortunes that dwindle away when lone and helpless women are left with none to see, none to care? Do the shops and houses always disappear in landslips ? Do the farmsteads always take fire just before the insurance becomes payable? Do the shares in shipping (as a rule uninsured) always get dashed upon hidden rocks in the ocean? Do railway bonds always come into collision, and so get themselves destroyed? Does fatality always lie in wait for feminine inheritance?

Of course, the answer lies ready :-"Feminine incapacity "-that covers all.

A daring woman might ask, "Incapacity for what?"

I have known answers-few and brief. They were forgotten before the sound of the dropping earth had ceased to echo beyond the grave-yard.

"At the bottom of Leventhorpe Wood," Miss Wyvern had said, but these words would not have given any idea of the position of the tall, old, narrow house in the depths of a wooded ravine, at least a mile and a half from any human habitation. There was an atmosphere of rudeness and wildness about the solitary little place. A waterfall fell over the rock at the end of the small, uncared-for garden, and you reached the gate by means of a narrow, unsafe-seeming wooden bridge which crossed the Leventhorpe Beck just before it fell over the brown rock, and became Leventhorpe Foss. Nobody knew much about the foss in those days. There were no guide-books, and the two histories of Hild's Haven said nothing about so small a matter as the tiny foss at the bottom of the woods of Leventhorpe.

Grey and dreary the day had been; greyer and drearier was the twilight. The low dark clouds came up over the tops of the leafless trees, turning the greyness to blackness. Down below the shadows deepened and deepened, till at last there seemed to be a very midnight of impenetrable gloom.

They were all alone, the two ladies; always alone. While their father lived they had kept servants; they had had horses and carriages at command. But that was long ago. All that was left of those days was sad yet rather proud remembrance.

They still had thankful moments, the two poor old sisters; they acknowledged to each other now and then that they should be grateful for the mere fact of a roof to shelter their fast-whitening heads. They knew that there were women in the world as well born as they were, who yet had no foot of earth to call their own. When the Miss Wyverns locked the garden-gate at three o'clock, and then the door of the little courtyard, they yet felt important in their way.

"Only three o'clock and nearly dark," Miss Wyvern repeated once more with her wearisome iteration, as if she had forgotten that