"The mighty steam-ship cleaving
The tide, displays her pow'r,
The wondrous feat achieving
Of fifteen knots an hour;
We speedily shall gain
A sight of sunny Spain.
No delay checks our way
Through the Bay of Biscay, O!"
When we did attain sight of the Spanish coast, it afforded a very marked contrast to the picturesque views presented by the shores of Ireland and England. There were no towering and precipitous cliffs or verdant slopes to be seen, and almost the only indications of the country being inhabited were some watch-towers, from which in former days warning signals were exhibited to denote the approach of hostile or predatory vessels from Algiers or Barbary. Being totally unacquainted with Transatlantic and Mediterranean scenery, I can exercise a very limited judgment, but of all the marine views I have seen I consider the most beautiful to be the Bay of Dublin, and the ugliest to be the far-famed Trafalgar.
I landed at Gibraltar on the 2nd of May, and was not inclined, at my arrival, to form a very favorable opinion of the climate, for I never had previously seen such heavy rain as fell on that day, and continued until midnight. Mr. Costello's man-servant, hearing me remark the unpleasant state of the weather, said, "that it was the last rain of the season, and that we should have no more until the middle of September." I did not attach much credence to his statement, but although my visit lasted for four months, I never saw another drop of rain there. He was a native of the place, and spoke from experience.