Thomas Wentworth Higginson, Atlantic Essays

But the time was coming when we must bid good-by to picturesque Fayal. We had been there from November to May; it had been a winter of incessant rains, and the first essential of life had been a change of umbrellas; it had been colder than usual, making it a comfort to look at our stove, though we had never lighted it; but our invalids had gained by even this degree of mildness, by the wholesome salt dampness, by the comforts of our hotel with its good Portuguese landlord and English landlady, and by the constant kindness shown us by all. At last we had begun to feel that we had squeezed the orange of the Azores a little dry, and we were ready to go. And when, after three weeks of rough sailing, we saw Cape Ann again, although it looked somewhat flat and prosaic after the headlands of Fayal, yet we knew that behind those low shores lay all that our hearts held dearest, and all the noblest hopes of the family of man.