*

ward, so as to be felt in different countries at different hours of the same day. This may be accounted for by the violent shock given to the earth at one place, and communicated progressively by an undulatory motion, successively affecting different regions as it passes along, in the same way as the blow given by a stone thrown into a lake, is not perceived at the shore until some time after the first concussion. Sixthly, the shock is sometimes instantaneous, like the explosion of gunpowder, and sometimes tremulous, lasting for several minutes. The nearer to the observer the place where the shock is first given, the more instantaneous and simple it appears; while, at a greater distance, the earth seems to redouble the first blow, with a sort of vibratory continuation. Lastly, as the waters have in general so great a share in the production of earthquakes, it is not surprising that they should generally follow the breaches made by the force of fire, and appear in the great chasms opened by the earth.

EARTHQUAKES OF REMOTE TIMES.

THE most remarkable earthquakes of ancient times are described by Pliny in his Natural History. Among the most extensive and destructive of these was the one already noticed, by which thirteen cities in Asia Minor were swallowed up in one night. Another which succeeded, shook the greater part of Italy. But the most extraordinary one, described by him, happened during the consulate of Lucius Mareus and Sextus Julius, in the Roman province of Mutina. He relates, that two mountains felt so tremendous a shock, that they seemed to approach and retire with a most dreadful noise. They at the same time, and in the middle of the day, cast forth fire and smoke, to the dismay of the astonished spectator. By this shock several towns were destroyed, and all the animals in their vicinity killed. During the reign of Trajan, the city of Antioch was, together with a great part of the adjacent country, destroyed by an earthquake; and about three hundred years after, during the reign of Justinian, it was again destroyed, with the loss of forty thousand of its inhabitants. Lastly, after an interval of sixty years, that

ill-fated city was a third time overwhelmed, with a loss of sixty thousand souls.

The earthquake which happened at Rhodes, upwards of two hundred years before the Christian era, threw down the famous Colossus, together with the arsenal, and a great part of the walls of the city. In the year 1182, the greater part of the cities of Syria, and of the kingdom of Jerusalem, were destroyed by a similar catastrophe; and in 1594, the Italian writers describe an earthquake at Puteoli, which occasioned the sea to retire two hundred yards from its former bed.

EARTHQUAKE IN CALABRIA.

[See Plate, No. 32.]

THE dreadful earthquake which happened in Calabria, in 1638, is described by the Father Kircher, who was at that time on his way to Sicily to visit Mount Etna. In approaching the Gulf of Charybdis, it appeared to whirl round in such a manner as to form a vast hollow, verging to a point in the centre. On looking towards Etna, it was seen to emit large volumes of smoke, of a mountainous size, which entirely covered the whole island, and obscured from his view the very shores. This, together with the dreadful noise, and the sulphureous stench, which was strongly perceptible, filled him with apprehensions that a still more dreadful calamity was impending. The sea was agitated, covered with bubbles, and had altogether a very unusual appearance. The Father's surprise was still increased by the serenity of the weather, there not being a breath of air, nor a cloud, which might be supposed to put all nature thus in motion. He therefore warned his companions that an earthquake was approaching, and landed with all possible diligence at Tropæa, in Calabria.

He had scarcely reached the Jesuits' College, when his ears were stunned with a horrid sound, resembling that of an infinite number of chariots driven fiercely forward, the wheels rattling, and the thongs cracking. The tract on which he stood seemed to vibrate, as if he had been in the scale of a balance which still continued to waver. The motion soon becoming more violent, he was thrown prostrate on the ground. The universal ruin around him now redoubled his amazement: the crash of falling houses,

the tottering of towers, and the groans of the dying, all contributed to excite emotions of terror and despair. Danger threatened him wherever he should flee; but, having remained unhurt amid the general concussion, he resolved to venture for safety, and reached the shore, almost terrified out of his reason. Here he found his companions, whose terrors were still greater than his own.

He landed on the following day at Rochetta, where the earth still continued to be violently agitated. He had, however, scarcely reached the inn at which he intended to lodge, when he was once more obliged to return to the boat: in about half an hour the greater part of the town, including the inn, was overwhelmed, and the inhabitants buried beneath its ruins.

Not finding any safety on land, and exposed, by the smallness of the boat to a very hazardous passage by sea, he at length landed at Lopizium, a castle midway between Tropea and Euphemia, the city to which he was bound. Here, wherever he turned his eyes, nothing but scenes of ruin and horror appeared: towns and castles were levelled to the ground; while Stromboli, although sixty miles distant, was seen to vomit flames in an unusual manner, and with a noise which he could distinctly hear. From remote objects his attention was soon diverted to contiguous danger: the rumbling sound of an approaching earthquake, with which he was by this time well acquainted, alarmed him for the consequences. Every instant it grew louder, as if approaching; and the spot on which he stood shook so dreadfully, that being unable to stand, himself and his companions caught hold of the shrubs which grew nearest to them, and in that manner supported themselves.

This violent paroxysm having ceased, he now thought of prosecuting his voyage to Euphemia, which lay within a short distance. Turning his eyes towards that city, he could merely perceive a terrific dark cloud, which seemed to rest on the place. He was the more surprised at this, as the weather was remarkably serene. Waiting, there fore, until this cloud had passed away, he turned to look for the city; but, alas! it was totally sunk, and in its place a dismal and putrid lake was to be seen. All was a melancholy solitude-a scene of hideous desolation. Such was the fate of the city of Euphæmia; and such the

that the most resolute person durst not stay a moment to extricate the friend he loved most affectionately, by the removal of the stones beneath the weight of which he was crashed. Self-preservation alone was consulted; and the most probable security was sought, by getting into open places, and into the middle of the streets. Those who were in the upper stories of the houses, were in general more fortunate than those who attempted to escape by the doors, many of the latter being buried beneath the ruins, with the greater part of the foot passengers. Those who were in carriages escaped the best, although the drivers and cattle suffered severely. The number, however, of those who perished in the streets, and in the houses, was greatly inferior to that of those who were buried beneath the ruins of the churches; for, as it was a day of solemn festival, these were crowded for the celebration of the mass. They were more numerous than the churches of London and Westminster taken collectively; and the lofty steeples in most instances, fell with the roof, insomuch that few escaped.

The first shock as has been noticed, was extremely short, but was quickly succeeded by two others; and the whole, generally described as a single shock, lasted from five to seven minutes. About two hours after, fires broke out in three different parts of the city; and this new calamity prevented the digging out of the immense riches concealed beneath the ruins. From a perfect calm, a fresh gale immediately after sprang up, and occasioned the fire to rage with such fury, that in the space of three days the city was nearly reduced to ashes. Every element seemed to conspire towards its destruction; for, soon after the shock, which happened near high water, the tide rose in an instant forty feet, and at the castle of Belem, which defends the entrance of the harbour, fifty feet higher than had ever been known. Had it not subsided as suddenly, the whole city would have been submerged. A large new quay sunk to an unfathomable depth, with several hundreds of persons, not one of the bodies of whom was afterwards found. Before the sea thus came rolling in like a mountain, the bar was seen dry from the shore.

The terrors of the surviving inhabitants were great and multiplied. Amid the general confusion, and through a