Pittsburg dispatch. [volume] (Pittsburg [Pa.]) 1880-1923, 1889-12-21

high enclosing walls. The open court shell
ters the home-gatherings and belongings OF
the average family. All its members are
more or less there. Many lovely flowers
and clambering vines light up the place in
winter as we'll as summer days Frequently
interior galleries add to the picturesqueness,
for people live in these courts and on these
galleries more than in the cheerful alcobas
to which they lead. Beside. there are none
so poor that the gladdening songs of match
less brown Azorean canaries are not always
heard above, or blending with. the gay and
murmurous undertones OF lazily-done do
mestic affairs.
SCENES THAT DO NOT TIRE.
Nor can one ever tire of the street scenes
of Horta. There are few fountains and one
misses the graceful red ewers of St. Michael's
upon the women's heads. But there are
wells everywhere, and at all these are con-
stantly seen groups of women dropping their
odd horn cups, filling their churn-like casks,
lettering and gossiping, coming and going,
with much laughter the whole day long.
Here and there throughout the streets bevies
of giggling senhoritas, never alone and al
ways conveyed by some bright-eyed old
duenna, pass from shop to shop, ever SEEM
ing to avoid but ever in reality compelling
most ludicrous antics on the part of all
males from 1910 so.
Roaring and tearing down from the hills
as If pursued, comes one of the half-score Of
Horts's cocheiros with his ramshackle ba-
rouche to which are harnessed three donkeys
abreast. He has been nowhere. He is
going nowhere. He lashes and screams and
calls his beast vile names. Suddenly the
outlandish outfit comes to halt. In an in
slant the wild cocheiro is asleep on his box,
and the donkey's heads droop dolelully be-
tween their knees. Now and then horse
and rider will be seen. The horse is pie
bald. The rider is a gentleman farmer; a
'morgado," he is called here. He sits on
his beast in a semi-military, semi-cowboy
style; holds his bridle-reins high in air;
wears spur and mustachios of wondrous
dimensions and ambles through the chang
ing scene like hesitant. humbled Quixote.
Everywhere are little donkeys carrying lat
people; burdened with furze, brushwood,
dried corn leaves and stalks. rushes and
straw, completely hiding them; packed
with twice their own weight of boxed
oranges going to the quays; or driven
double with great timbers across their backs.
"Ande! Ande!'' their drivers shout, as
they prod them with iron-pointed pixies as
long and heavy as a pitchfork handle.
TRANSPORTATION FACILITIES.
These and ox-carts with box like half
section of a huge wicker basket, and solid
wooden wheels with iron-spiked rims which
creak and shrek like Red River train in
the sixties, are ceaselessly vending their
way along the thoroughfares and to and
from the country, the only means of freight
age; while each donkey and cart is accom-
panied with more able-bodied and ever-yell-
ing muleteers and cartmen than are nece s.
sary to convey every ounce of produce or
merchandise upon their own broad and lazy
backs. Over from Pico every morning
come boat loads of market stuff and peas
antry. The latter are more colorful and
picturesque than the Fayalese. The women
are bodiced; their heads are dressed in gay
kerchiefs and wrsppings; and they bring
along, with every manner of small produce,
some of the prettiest feet and legs the bare
looted habits of many. and the short-skirted
petticoats Of all, ever give uncon-
scious display. The crates, casks,
baskets, ewers, wheel-like and gigan-
tic wooden platters, that these women bring
with them and carry up the beaches and
over the quays upon theif heads, are of in
credible size and weight. Thick, goiter-
like necks are the result; but their grace
and brightness while beasts of burden are
very winsome surely. Along with these
come. iufrequently now, folk who live in
the farthest upland wilds of Pico whose
manner and dress recall those of the Arran
Islanders. Tall, lank, grave and austere,
their sack-like garments hang limp to the
primmest of knee breeches, which lead to
stockings of wonderful colors while their
feet are covered with raWhide sandals to
which the hair still clings. These are fas-
tened across the toes with rawhide thongs,
forming an exact copy of pampootas seen in
the Arran Islands, the earliest form of foot
known to man. interviewer with
all these odd folk and ways are the Fayalese
peasants and the lowly of Horta.
AS RURAL AS YOU PLEASE.
Capote hidden women from the hills; CITY
servants with their endless castinet-like
clinking of wooden shoes upon the pave
ments; grim men from the fields leaning
upon their huge staffs; the important, apish
and wasp-waisted military attaches dancing
here and there in blue, buff and green:
grave and comfortable padres; half naked
urchins with wonderfully bright faces; beg
gars with sunny faces, as cherry over rebuff
as reward. and hundred other folk and
factors so touched and tinged with the
semi-barbaric and oriental, that one
lwakens from the weird fancies the scenes |
and sights conjure, in halt disnay that |
where he stands is 800 miles away from |
Europe toward American civilization, and |
still 800 years behind even the drowsy prog |
-ess of the Europe of to-day.
The Azores are of volcanic origin. Over |
here Just four miles from Horta, is Pico
With its 5000 feet high still smoking Chin
ley. at whose top recently passed night.
And this Caldeira is, so far as lean learn.
he largest known extinct crater upon the
arth's surface. To the eye its rim is a per-
ect circle six miles around and its walls
lrop sheer from the rim /, 800 feet. Its floor
S seemingly perfectly level with the excep-
ion of tiny secondary cone, where not so
cry long ago steam and smoke assembled.
there is nothing in the entire scene but
ideous desolation. The peasantry regard
he location grewsomely, and locate every
wi of witch and warlock as emanating
rom the dark and dreadful place. It was
relief as we turned to descend to see Pico.
ronzed and purpl,ng, clear as steel against
tender sky, and the red roofs of Horta
ircling the edge of the peaceful and smiling
ay. EDGAR L. WAKEMAN.
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