like unto a thousand wagons on a rough road, the mysterious sounds under the earth's surface, the poisonous exhalations of decomposing sulphates, of escaping carbonic acids and chlorides, alternating with dense showers of cinders, ashes and stones, portended the dissolution of the world and the dawning of eternity. Man was beside himself with terror; to him the spiral flame was the flash of the uplifted sword, and the column of light, the gleam of the arm of the avenging angel. It was as if the universe was dissolving and the divine Dramaturgist had chosen these fire-capped mountains and blazing peaks for the stage on which to produce the initial act of the sublime and awful drama. People died of fright; some, to use the words of Holy Writ, "withered away from fear;" others lost their reason, and ever after were raving maniacs or sullen idiots. The flowing lava caught the fleeing sheep and cattle as they rushed for shelter, swept them into a grove of pine-trees, and engulfed them for all time. Under seventeen feet of scoriæ, basalt, and ashes they lie buried, and no eye may look upon the ruins of the holocaust. At the same time in a south-east part of the island another mountain was destroyed, and a vast crater formed, on whose bosom floats Lagoa Foco, or the Lake of Fire, around whose shores the beautiful cahellinho fern attains giant proportions, and immense beds of remarkable moss, holding water like a sponge, abound. Ashes fell in Portugal, eight hundred miles away, while thick layers of cinders mixed with pumice floated two hundred miles out to sea and compelled inward-bound vessels to change their course. For three days and nights no sun, moon, or stars shone in the gloomy firmament, and the whole island was shrouded in darkness. That Furnas was the focus and theatre of igneous activity is proved by the truncated cones of all sizes, the scarped and deeply furrowed sides of which, with their immense concavities, tell of the tyrant power which gave them birth. Since this appalling catastrophe the lava furrows have been deepened by rain and erosion, and are now stupendous ravines, like unto the canyons of Arizona, whose sides are robed with masses of hanging trees and giant cryptomeria. To-day the valley of Furnas is a dream of joy, whose princely gardens, like that of senhor do Conto, invite comparison with those of the world. The village of seven hundred souls nestles in its arms, surrounded by orange groves, fig trees and fruitful vineyards, calm and peaceful as the sea when the storm dies away. All that remain to remind the present generation that this fair vale was once the theatre of as grand and spectacular a drama as was ever given to the eye of man to look upon are the geysers and burning springs which day and night throw up columns of steam, hot water, and bluegray mud. Here, heated by fires invisible, from depths unknown, five boiling caldrons burst from the earth, rise high in the air, are dissipated in steam or form rivulets of hot and boiling waters, which converging into a small river, flow peacefully through the village. Here, also, from the Boca de Inferno-the mouth of hell-with the pause and regularity of a trip hammer, is vomited the gray-blue mud collected by the peasantry for its supposed curative qualities, when applied to diseases of the scalp. The mouth of this dismal abyss is frightful to look into, and the depth of the dark and terrible chasm no plummet has ever sounded. If one could look down upon the awful furnace beneath, and view the lake of fire, what a memory would be his for all time. The Portuguese government, with commendable enterprise, has built in Furnas a very creditable bathing establishment, open and free to the public, where invalids from all the Azorean Islands hopefully congregate. The waters are piped to the banaria, where the patient, on the advice of the doctor, selects a warm, thermal, or cold bath. They are officially classified as sulphurous, chalybeate or ferruginous, saline, acidulous, or carbonate waters, and are said to be specifics for rheumatism and skin diseases. CHAPTER IV IN THE AZORES Still o'er these scenes my memory wakes As streams their channels deeper wear. -Burns. AFTER my visit to Furnas I understood why Edmund Waller chose the Azores for the theme of his "Battle of the Summer Islands." The air is balmy and invigorating, the climate semi-tropical and the soil rich in chlorides and nitrates. On the outer edges of Ponta Delgada and here and there in the island of San Miguel are the gardens and summer homes of the titled and wealthy Portuguese who come here with their families and the germ of race suicide has not yet entered the blood of the Portugueseto be alone and revel in atmospheric and climatic joy. When visiting Furnas I was honoured with an invitation from the Marquis de Fonte Bella to pass a day at his villeggiatura, or country residence. I say honoured without reservation, for the Portuguese and Spaniards of the nobility are the most exclusive and to strangers the most reserved class of all Europe. They are the oi elyektoi, and when you enter their social circle you come into a highly rarified atmosphere. But once admitted to the |