I look to the eastward, and behold a summer sea that seems to invite navigation.

But where are the messengers of commerce with their white wings?
The solitary skiff of the savage "pescador" is making its way through the surf; a lone "polacca" beats up the coast with its half-smuggler crew; a "piragua" swings at anchor in a neighbouring cove: this is all! Far as eye or glass can reach, no other sail is in sight.

The beautiful sea before me is almost unfurrowed by the keels of commerce.
From this I draw ideas of the land and its inhabitants--unfavourable ideas of their moral and material condition.

No commerce--no industry-- no prosperity.

Stay! What see I yonder?
Perhaps I have been wronging them.