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CHAP. IX.

PROMISCUOUS PIECES.

SECTION I.

Earthquake at CALABRIA, in the Year 1638. AN account of this dreadful earthquake, is given by the celebrated father Kircher. It happened whilst he was on

is journey to visit Mount Etna, and the rest of the won ders that lie toward the south of Italy. Kircher is consid ered by scholars, as one of the greatest prodigies of learning. "Having hired a boat, in company with four more, (two friars of the order of St. Francis, and two seculars,) we aunched from the harbour of Messina, in Sicily; and arriv ed, the same day, at the promontory of Pelorus.

Our des

ination was for the city of Euphemia, in Calabria; where we had some business to transact; and where we designed to tarry for some time. However, Providence seemed willing to cross our design; for we were obliged to continue hree days at Pelorus on account of the weather; and though we often put out to sea, yet we were as often driven back. At length, wearied with the delay, we resolvedko prosecute our Voyage; and although the sea appeared to be uncommonly gitated, we ventured forward. The gulf of Charybdis, which we approached, seemed whirled round in such a nanner, as to form a vast hollow, verging to a point in the entre. Proceeding onward, and turning my eyes to Ætna, saw it cast forth large volumes of smoke, of mountainous izes, which entirely covered the island, and blotted out the shores from my view. This, together with the dread noise, and the sulphurous stench which was strongly ceived, filled me with apprehensions, that some more readful calamity was impending. The sea itself seemed wear a very unusual appearance: they who have seen a ake in a violent shower of rain, covered all over with bubles, will conceive some idea of its agitations. My surprise yas still increased, by the ealmness and serenity of the weath r; not a breeze, not a cloud, which might be supposed to ut all nature thus into motion. I therefore warned my comanions, that an earthquake was approaching; and, after me time, making for the shore with all possible diligence, triled at Tropea, happy and thankful for having escap be eatening dangers of the sea.

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our triumphs at land were of short durati

we had scarcely arrived at the Jesuit's College, in that city, when our ears were stunned with a horrid sound, resembling that of an infinite number of chariots driven fiercely for ward; the wheels rattling, and the thongs cracking. Soon after this, a most dreadful earthquake ensued; so that the whole tract upon which we stood seemed to vibrate, as if we were in the scale of a balance that continued wavering. This motion, however soon grew more violent; and being no longer able to keep my legs, I was thrown prostrate upon the ground. In the mean time, the universal ruin round me redoubled my amazement. The crash of falling houses, the tottering of towers, and the groans of the dying, all contributed to increase my terror and despair. On every side of me, I saw nothing but a scene of ruin; and danger threatening wherever I should fly. I commended myself to God, as my last great refuge. At that hour, O how vain was every sublunary happiness! Wealth, honour, empire, wisdom, all mere useless sounds, and as empty as the bubbles of the deep! Just standing on the threshold of eternity, nothing but God was my pleasure; and the nearer 1 approach. ed, I only loved him the more. After some time however, finding that I remained unhurt, amidst the general concus. ston, I resolved to venture for safety; and running as fast as I could, I reached the shore, but almost terrified out of my reason. I did not search long here till I found the boat in which I had landed; and my companions also, whose ter rors were even greater than mine. Our meeting was not of that kind, where every one is desirous of telling his own happy escape: it was all silence, and a gloomy dread of impending terrors.

"Leaving this seat of desolation, we prosecuted our voyage along the coast; and the next day came to Rochetta. where we landed, although the earth still continued in vioš lent agitations. But we had scarcely arrived at our inn, when we were once more obliged to return to the boat; and, in about half an hour, we saw the greater part of the town, and the inn at which we had set up, dashed to the ground, and burying the inhabitants beneath the ruins.

"In this manuer, proceeding onward in our little vessel, finding no safety at land, and yet, from the smallness of our boat, having but a very dangerous continuance at sea, wo at length Tanded at Lopizium, a castle midway between Tropea and Euphemia, the city to which, as I said before, we were bound. Here, wherever 1 turned my eyes, nothing but scenes of ruin and horror appeared; towns and cas

tles levelled to the ground; Strombalo, though at sixty miles distance, belching forth flames in an unusual manner, and with a noise which I could distinetly hear. But my atten tion was quickly turned from more remote to contiguous danger. The rumbling sound of an approaching eartinqua which we by this time were grown acquainted with, alarmed us for the consequences: it every moment seemed to louder, and to approach nearer. The place on which we stood now began to shake most dreadfully; so that being unable to stand, my companions and I caught hold of whatev er shrub grew next to us, and supported ourselves in that

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"After some time, this violent paroxysm ceasing, we again stood up, in order to prosecute our voyage to Euphemia which lay within sight. In the mean time, while we were preparing for this purpose, I turned my eyes towards the eity, but could see only a frightful dark cloud, that seemed to rest upon the place. This the more surprised us, a the weather was so very serene. We waited, therefore, till the cloud had passed away: then turning to look the city, it was totally sunk. Wonderful to tell! nothing but a dismal and putrid lake was seen where it stood. We look ed about to find some one that could tell us of its sad catas trophe, but could see no person. All was become a melancholy solitude; a scene of hideous desolation. ceeding pensively along, in quest of some human being that could give us a little information, we at length saw a boy sitting by the shore, and appearing stupified with terror. Of him, therefore, we enquired concerning the fate of the city; but he could not be prevailed on to give us an answer. We entreated him, with every expression of tenderness and pity to tell us ; but his senses were quite wrapt up in the contem plation of the danger he had escaped. We offered him some victuals but he seemed to loathe the sight. We still per sisted in our offices of kindness; but he only pointed to the place of the city, like one out of his senses; and then run ning up into the woods, was never heard of after. Such was the fate of the city of Euphemia. As we continued our melancholy course along the shore, the whole coast for the space of two hundred miles, presented nothing but the re mains of cities; and men scattered without a habitation, over the fields. Proceeding thus along, we at length ended our distressful voyage by arriving at Naples, after having es exped a thousand dangers both at sea and land."

GOLDSMITH,

SECTION II.

Letter from PLINY to GEMINIUS.

Do we not sometimes observe a sort of people, who though they are themselves under the abject dominion o every vice, show a kind of malicious resentment against th errors of others; and are most severe upon those whom they most resemble ? yet, surely, a lenity of disposition, even i persons who have the least occasion for clemency them selves, is of all virtues the most becoming. The highest o all characters, in my estimation, is his, who is as ready t pardon the errors of mankind, as if he were every day guilty of some himself; ad, at the same time, as cautiou of committing a fault, as if he never forgave one. It is : rule then which we should, upon all occasions, both private and public, most religiously observe; "to be inexorable t our own failings, while we treat those of the rest of th world with tenderness, not excepting even such as forgiv none but themselves."

I shall, perhaps, be asked, who it is that has given occa sion to these reflections. Know then that a certain perso Tately--but of that when we meet-though, upon secon thoughts, not even then; lest, whilst I condemn and expos his conduct, I shall act counter to that maxim I particularl recommend. Whoever therefore, and whatever he is, shal remain in silence: for though there may be some use, per haps, in setting a mark upon the man, for the sake of ex ample, there will be more, however, in sparing him, for th sake of humanity. Farewell.

SECTION III.

MELMOTH'S PLINY.

Letter from PLINY to MARCELLINUS, on the Death of an miable young Woman.

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I WRITE this under the utmost oppression of sorrow: 1. youngest daughter of my friend Fundanus is dead! Neve surely was there a more agreeable, and more amiable person; or one who better deserved to have enjoyed a long I had almost said, an immortal life! She had all the wis dom of age, and discretion of a matron, joined with youth ful sweetness and virgin modesty. With what an engagin fonduess did she behave to her father! How kindly and re spectfully receive his friends! How affectionately treat al those who, in their respective offices, had the care and edu cation of her! She employed much of her time in reading in which she discovered great strength of judgment; sh indulged herself in few diversions, and those with muel

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