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\ t

C A N A D A

Bmtioni::uii^ nationale

lp.M^ >

I. VESUVIUS AND ITS NEIGHBORHOOD;

MEMORANDA OF A VISIT IN 1852.

j.».«

2. -ON ACCIDENTAL DISCOVERIES.

TWO PAPERS READ BEFORE THE CANADIAN INSTITUTE, AND REPRINTED
FROM THE CANADIAN JOURNAL, NO. 9, VOL. I., AND NO. 10, VOL. II.

REV. HENRY SCADDING, D.D., Cantab.

TORONTO :

THE COPP, CLARK COMPANY, LIMITRU, PRINTBRS.

iSgt.

u^^^^M^mi.^ 'I'^/SrSf s»iiag!^aa'' -

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s-d 60

VESUVIUS AND ITS NEIGHBORHOOD.

Those who have visited Saratoga will perhaps remember the High -Rock
Spring. It has its name from the circumstance that its water, containing
much lime in solution, has formed a mound of calcareous matter some five feet
high, with a well-defined central throat, up which the fluid column in former
times ascended. This conical hillock must have had its beginning from the
water in the first instance rising with force through the surface of the sofl, and
depositing a sheet of calcareous matter. The same process going on from year
to year, minute strata accumulated, until the present altitude of the mound
was attained. The falling of <\ tree then caused a fracture in the mass, since
which occurrence the water, ii stead of flowing over the top, has found a lateral
outlet. ]

We compare indeed small things with great, and slight with enormous energy ;
but the High-Rock Spring may nerve to illustrate the manner in which volcanic
hills are formed. An aperture is found, in the fissure we will suppose, in the
crust of the earth ; fluid matter is forced up from below, and, as it spreads
itself out around the orifice from which it issues, it becomes solid ; another
ejection takes place : another thickness swells the dimensions of the growing
mound : the process is repeated, until, in a succession of years, or in some in-
stances in a few hours, a mountain is accumulated. A central channel is pre-
served, up which fresh matter still ascends, except when the energy below
diminishes or a side-vent is opened.

All the mountain chains upon the globe, indeed, were probably thrown up
by the force which we still see active in volcanoes. But with j;he majority of
mountain chains there does nrt appear to have been any explosion. The elastic
gases have lifted the superincumbent strata without forcing for themselves a
passage. In many regions of the globe, semi-fluid granite just protruded itself
through long fissures in the [overlying deposits, and became set — a ponderous
ocean at the time, in some localities at least — tending to depress and perhaps
cool the uprising mass.

The mountains which we call volcanoes have, especially in regard to their
upper portion and cone, grown by the accretion of ejected volcanic substances.
In some volcanoes these ejections continue to take place from the original orifice
or crater ; in others, the interior force has become diminished, so as to be cap-
able of thrusting the molten fluid only up to a certain point, where it continues
in a state of ebullition either visible to the eye, or concealed by a crust of solidi-
fied lava ; in others lateral openings are formed at points below the ancient
crater ; and in others the volcanic energy seems to have worn itself out.

Of the last class are the extinct volcanoes of Auvergne and V^elay in France,

of Catalonia in Spain, of the Eifel distri.^t in Germany : — of the next to the last
are ^tna, the Peak of TeneriflFe, and Cotopaxi : — of the next preceding, Kirauea
in Hawaii is an example : — and of the first mentioned numerous class, Vesuvius,
the mountain in respect to which I am about to offer a few memoranda, is a
type.

Vesuvius, as compared w'.th other active volcanic mountains, takes a low
place, being only 3,947 feet in height, while Antisana, in South America, the
highest active volcano on the globe, is 19,137 feet high.

But although Vesuvius is one of the humblest of volcanic mountains, it has
from many circumstances received peculiar attention. It is conveniently acces-
sible to European observers. It is situated in the midst of a region rich in as-
jociations mythic and historic, unrivalled for physical beauty, and altogether
strongly attractive to every imaginative and thoughtful person who has it in his
power to visit foreign lands.

It is a memorable moment when on waking in the morning and finding the
steamer in which you have been travelling, still and at anchor, you are told that
you are in the Bay of Naples. You hasten to the dock. You take an excited
survey of the widely-sweeping panorama which overwhelms the eager eye.
Ships in crowds are near you, and craft with the obliquely-set lateen yard-arms.
Boats are moving silently on the .surface of the iridescent water, which is
giving back from the eastern heavens the kindling glories of the rising sun.
Sailors are rowing ashore ; you hear the regular creak of the row-locks as they
work their oars, contrary to custom, with their faces towards the bow.
Fishermen are paying out their long nets, hand over hand, indulging at the
same time in a low chant-like song. In front of you, terrace rises above ter-
race of cheerful habitations, crowned with monastic edifices and massive forti-
fications. Behind you are castles and encircling moles — one bearing a colossal
figure with hand upraised to bless (St. Januarius) — another sustaining a lan-
terna or pharos-tower, whose light still gleams down towards you along the
surface of theVater, though the day comes on apace. To add to the excite-
ment of the scene — drawing again on the incidents of a morning indelibly im-
pressed on my own recollection — a royal salute is fulminated from the castle on
the left, which is no sooner ended, than responsively from another in the far
distance on the right, a similar series of explosions takes place, each detonation
following late after the quick scintillation of the flash, making the deck on
which you stand to shake, and reverberating finely among the hills. Be it
understood that the King has hail an additional Prince born within the palace
which you see yonder near the shore, and a festival of sixteen days has been
proclaimed — sixteen days, which, every morn and every eve, are to be signal-
ized by similar stunning demonstrations, by illuminations also, and reviews and
music, and whatever else may constitute a Neapolitan holiday.

But of all the objects which attract the attention as you gaze around the
grand panorama before you, two mountains, side by side, dose upon the right,
isolated, of purple hue, and well-defined from base to summit, rivet at last the
eye. On the morning already referred to, the glow of daybreak had outspread

itself immediately behind them. The planet Venus was splendidly conspicuous
vertically over them, looking as if she had been a meteor, shot up and held
suspended at the culminating point. And there she remained beautifully
visible for a considerable time after the surrounding constellations had " paled
their ineffectual fires " before the ascending sun. Over the easternmost of the
two mountains rested what appeared at tlie moment to be a dark cloud, varying
considerably in form, looking in shade quite black in parts, and occasionally
rolling up pitchy volumes, like the smoke issuing from a great funnel of an
Atlantic steamship when fresh coal is being put on below, the whole mass be-
coming at last magnificently fringed with fiery gold, as the sun gradually
emerged from behind it and pierced its murky folds. These twin-mountains
together form Vesuvius.

I observe in the ancient, so-called classic maps, that the name attached
to the basin which we call the Bay of Naples is "Crater." The old
observers had taken notice that there was in this locality a connected system of
volcanic vents, and that Vesuvius, Volture, the Solfatara of the Phlegrsean
fields, Avernus, Ischia, Stromboll, with ^tna, itself, were but minor forma-
tions on the lip of a gigantic flue for the escape of the elastic gases, whose egress
by their former channel the influx of the Mediterranean had checked. In that old
appellation — " Crater " — have we not also a lingering reminiscence of a huge
upheav<al, and consequent oscillatioi) of ocean, of which tradition spoke — when
perhaps the Aral parted company with the Caspian, and the Caspian with the
Black 8ea, and all three with the Baltic, — when the Black Sea no longer formed
a continuous expanse with the Mediterranean, — when Thessaly became dry
land, and Pelion fell from Ossa, — when the Red Sea ceased to receive the Jor-
dan, and the valley of the Nile, the Mediterranean, — when the mountain chain
which had previously linked the continents of Europe and Africa together
was ruptured, and Atlantis, not all a fable, sank beneath the deep ?

But be this as it may, Vesuvius is one of a system of volcanic vents, either
open or for the present obstructed, which it is interesting to trace in this
neighbourhood ; — with which system are doubtless connected also the extinct
volcanoes of the Albano hills, near Rome, the Solfatara on the road to Tivoli,
and the Livgo di Bracciano, to the north-west of Rome.

The base of Vesuvius is now encompassed on two sides by railways. The one
to the north-east runs to Capua, and is ultimately to reach Rome. The other
to the south-east is completed, I believe, now to the ancient port of Brundasium^
The south-eastern road has " stations " at Herculaneum and Pompeii, and by
this route many persons proceed from Naples to Resina, where the ascent of
Vesuvius is usually commenced. But although to travellers in the United
States of America the idea of rushing by rail to Rome, Syracuse, and Troy is
sufficiently familiar, the tourist who is desirous of keeping his mind in
harmony with the past, whose veritable relics he is about to contemplate, will
certainly do well to prefer the old public road. By taking this route to Pompeii,
you also have the advantage of witnessing a succession of animated scenes of popu-
lar life, the whole line of road being an almost continuous suburb of Naples, and

mmmmmm

swarming with inhabitants. Here will be seen crowds, who, in their sun-burnt,
copper-coloured skins, scantiness of dress, showiness of rude ornament, and
want of productive occupation, will strike the Canadian who has visited Caugh-
nawaga, Manitou waning, or the Sault, as Indians of a rather superior class.
In your way out, too, by this route, you will be sure to meet or pass numliers
of those nondescript, characteristic vehicles of the neighbourhood, the country
caleches, madt 30 brilliant with gay paint and bright brass, in respect to which
one is constrained to wonder (tirst) how fourteen or more passengers — embrac-
ing motley group'i of peasants, soldiers, ecclesiastics, monks, women, children,
and infantn in arms — can be placed within them, or slung on to them — for slung
on many literally are in nets hanging down behind, — and (secondly) how the
one diminutive horse or mule manages to whirl them along as decked with little
flags, streaming ribands, jingling bells, and glittering gear, he merrily does.
You will have an opportunity of calling, if you feel inclined to do so, at one of
the innumerable macaroni manufactories which — at Torre del Anuuuciata, for
example — line the street, where almost every house looks like a chandlery of
farthing rushlights, the pipes of the popular esculent suspended in the open air
on countless rows of long rods to dry, resembling in colour and diameter that
once celebrated article. Within you can examine the process, which will not
fail to interest, by which the farinaceous dough of which this staple food of the
neighbourhood consists is forced into the various shapes of macaroni, vermi-
celli, fedelini, ribands, sheets, and the minute little dines resembling the green
seeds of the hollyhock, so abundantly to be met with in Neapolitan soups.

At Torre del Greco you can descend from your carriage and examine the lava,
which here in vast sheets has found at various times its way into the sea. In
1794 it destroyed the principal portion of this town by passing through it in a
stream 1,20() feet wide, and of a thickness varying from 12 to 40 feet,
advancing into the Mediterranean a distance of 380 feet. The desolation occasi-
oned by this, and another later fiery flood (1806), is still fresh to the eye. The dis-
integrating force of the atmosphere has not yet had timf to dissolve the rocky
surface into soil, which ultimately heals the wounds of earth, and obliterates
all scars. The colour of the solid mass is here a dark blueish gray, reminding
one of our familiar Kingston limestone when newly quarried. Here and every-
where along the drive out from Naples, the lava is seen turned to useful
account. Houses are built of it ; the streets are paved with it ; the heaps of
metal piled by the wayside, for the purpose of repair are composed of the same
omnipresent substance.

But in noticing what may be seen at Torre del Annunciata and Torre del
Greco I have gone beyond Resina, where, as I have said, tin .iscentof Vesuvius
is usually commenced. In practice, indeed, I believe, persons generally do pass
through Besina, visiting Pompeii flrst, and taking Vesuvius in their return.
But inasmuch as " Vesuvius and its neighbourhood " is my subject, I hasten to
despatch the mountain flrst, and reserve what I have to say on its neighbour-
hood for the second division of my paper.

Deposited, then, at Besina, you procure horses and a guide. An unromantic

^arriage-drive has been constructed, by which a considerable portion of the
mountain may be circuitously ascended. A more interesting mode of ascent
is by a rough bridal-path on horseback. Taking this route you proceed
up a sort of watercourse, passing over bare lava which shelves backwards
by great flights of broad irregular steps. At first on the right and left are vine-
yards and gardens till you approach a rather level portion of the mountain,
where stand the place of refreshment called the Hermitage and an Astronomical
Observatory — not the scene of the discoveries of De Gasparis — that one gazes
at with interest close to Naples itself. At this point vegetation ceases, or has
been destroyed over the upper portion of the southern and western flanks of
the mountain, and the far outskirts of the cone begin to present some rather
starthng evidences of the desolating power of volcanoes. The whole apex of
the mountain rises solemnly before you, apparently a pile of solid lava — of lava^
which bears very visible marks if having flowed down from the crater above in
broad outspreading cataracts. 1 ts furrowed, rutty look is like the surface of
one of our unmacadamized back- itreets after a sudden frost. Here and there
you see where the descending ponderous fluid has met in its course with some
solid mass of anterior date, and has coiled heavily around -it; leaving great
sluggish circular ripples, set fast for ever. You start from Resina very
buoyantly ; you are carried gaily along on your willing nag. The brilliancy of
earth, air, and sky Alls the mind with a sort of child-like glee. But as you
approach the base of the cone, a sobriety comes over the spirit. Like the child
that advances onward into manhood, you And that you have entered a rather
stern region, and that nothing short of hard work will enable you to over-
come its difliculties.

Arrived at length, after two hours and a half, at the Atrio del Cavallo, near
the base of the cone, you dismount. You take a rough scramble up a wild
desolate ravine underneath the precipitous walls of Monte Somma, the north-
westerly summit of Vesuvius ; you notice the stratified layers of the ancient
lava, and the buttress-like dykes of subsequent and apparently harder lava
jotting out from the semi-circular escarpment of this, the original gigantic
crater of the volcano of the pre-historic times ; and after satisfying your curi-
osity as well as the time will admit, you return and begin the ascent of the
cone.

The place chosen for this exploit is a part built up, so to speak, with closely-
packed fragments of lava and slag, between the interstices and among the pro-
minences of which you (insert your feet, to the certain disruption of only
moderately strong shoes. The whole inclination of Vesuvius, were it uniform
from Resina to the lip of the crater, would be only about thirteen degrees. Up
to the base of the cone it is still less ; but the cone itself is^nclined at an angle of
forty-three degrees. The perpendicular height of the cone is about 1000 feet ;
90 that it can easily be conceived that the physical labor of ascending it — to a
person not accustomed to climb — is for the time extremely painful. It requires,
indeed, many " corragios " from the guide, and some assistance from a looped
strap which he throws over his shoulder for you to lay hold of, to enable you.
to persevere.

\ I

While toiling thus sorely up this steep, I began to be convinced that the good*
Franks of yore really did mean by their word ' ' travail " what some etymolo-
gists have asserted. To get " transvallum " — beyond the wall — to scale the
precipitous Hank of some old Roman camp, was doubtless to their warriors
some such task as this — a difliculty memorable enough, certainly, to be em-
bodied in a term.

At length, after numerous rests, and after a lapse of perhaps an hour and a
half, you find yourself on the comparatively level platform which leads to the
lip of the great crater. The desire accomplished is found to be truly sweet on
such an occasion, and the propensity to be noisily elated is quite overpowering.
A strong wind blowing in our direction, sweeping down over us a huge column
of vapour, which completely obstructs the vision, obliges us several times still
to halt in our ascent of the Hnal gently inclined plane.

At last we are on the brink of the great crater, and we find ourselves looking
down into a gigantic and tolerably sooty-looking flue, up which from unknown
mysterious depths are rolling volumes of what in the distance seems smoke,
but which is, in fact, steam — steam carrying up with it a variety of choking
gases. The whole breathing apparatus becomes immediately painfully affected,
and we are reminded of the sensation suddenly experienced when one passes
the nostrils over the edge of some great vat where fermentation is going on.
The reverberation of a shout directed by the guide or yourself down into the
undetined abyss is sufficiently awe-inspiring. Its effect can in some degree be
conceived by imagining how a shout would sound when directed into a hollow
cask one thousand feet in diameter.

The view obtained in every direction from this position is in the highest
degree interesting and exciting. The Appenines form the background of the
picture, a congeries of secondary and tertiary formations, exhibiting in their
retiring rjinges phase after phase of the finest aerial colouring. On one side
you look down upon a city, pre-eminently of the living, ever on the stir and
outwardly joyous — the syren-city, a sight of which its inhabitants fondly say
might reconcile a man to the relinquishment of life. On another side, in
solemn and instructive contrast, you see cities of the dead — historic fossil beds
— mines not yet exhausted by the student and philosopher. Around you, on
the left and right, are Capri, ^ ^chia, Procida, Miseno, Baise, names summoning
up images of beauty and long trains of shadowy forms and events. Yonder is
Posilipo, the "grief-dispelling," the favorite haunt of the poet who, before the
Christian era, sang the praises of this region, and whose tomb now consecrates
that height. Before you, far and wide, lies the tideless sea, a household word
throughout the world, whose name recalls the ideas with which the old cosmo-
graphers vainly tried to satisfy inquiring minds — whose serene surface, stretch-
ing to the distant south and west, still now as of yore reflects and sets off to
best advantage the never tiring, because sublime pageantry attendant on the
demise of each successive day.

After traversing a portion of the rim of the great crater, — its whole circum-
ference of 5624 feet, — holding flrmly the arm of the experienced guide, you begin

to clamber obliquely down into the interior of the orifice. Your foet sink deep
in black pulverized lava or sand. You observe underneath the surface every-
where beautiful primrose-coloured sulphur, perpetually deposited here, I am
informed, from the constantly ascending hydro-sulphuric acid gas. You ob-
serve the stratification of the successive accumulations on the cone. Every-
thing is sensibly hot to the touch. At the direction of your conductor, you
thrust your hand into various holes and crevices, and you are fain to draw it
out again as quickly as possible — the heat either remaining from the eruption
of I80D, or maintained by the continual ascent of hot vapour from below.

After descending some yards, what with the increasing gloom, the oi)pressive
heat, the obscurity of the undefinerl depth on the left, the boisterous rush of
air every now and then from above, blinding and choking you with steam, the
adventure seems — to a novice iit least — to be sufficiently beset \i'itli terrors ;
and one is not sorry when it is a*; last determined to re-at'cend without actually
setting foot on the floor of the cr iter, one hundred and fifty feet below.

The place chosen for vi'.-. desccLt of the cone is wholly diverse from that just
now described in my accouiit of it.; ascent. Conceive one 0/ thos^: great earth-
works which in *io"'maiiy directions are now advancing across our Canadian
valleys for railwa urposcs. Imn^,ine the perpendicular height of the part
whfii the laborers are sb lotiug down load after load of loose Hoil to be one
thousand feet, and tho i.^ination of the slope to be precisely the angle at
which the material wm remain at rest : — you have then an idea of the part of
the cone where tourists go down from the summit of Vesuvius. Ttiis side is of
course selected from its being composed, not of closely-packed raatses of slag
and lava, but of pulverized volcanic matter.

Linking yourself firmly to yonr guides' arm, you plunge fearlessly off. You
take strides which seem miraculous. The material in which you plant your
heels goes down along with you'and after you. You have only to take care
that nothing arrests the action of your feet ; — any obstruction might send you
centrifugally forwards. Everything being in your favour, "ou are of course at
the bottom in an incredibly short space of time. I remarked just now on the
never-to-be-forgotten painful exhaustion produced in the ascent of this cone ;
its descent is equally memorable for the exhilarating and quiokeninp effect
which it has on personages even of the gravest carriage.

At the foot of the cone the patient ponies are waiting. After satisfying a
number of noisy applicants who claim to have rendered you service, you mount,
and, accompanied by men carrying torches — for it is now lark night — you
amble gently down to Kesina. From thence you drive into Naples. Your
mind throughout the day has been receiving impressions which are to endure
for life, and It has become in an extraordinary degree excited. You feel and
welcome the calming influence of the quiet stars that burn above you, and
which recall the kindred splendours of your own far-distant skies.

The fii' 1; recorded eruption of Vesuvius is that of A.D. 79, "hen Herculaneum,
Pompeii, and Stabiae were overwhelmed. It is supposed that by this explosion

\:J

the upper portion of the mountain was considerably reduced in its dimensions.
Strabo, the geographer, about the year A. D. 25, describes it as a truncated cone
covered w th vegetation nearly to its summit. Its configuration, as it then
presented itself to the eye from Naples, can easily be imagined by supposing
the circle of which Monte Sonima is a segment to be continued all round, and
the line of the present inclination of the mountain on the south-east side to be
produced from the slight rise called Pedamontina until it meets this circle, the
axis of the whole cone remaining the same as it is now. The portion which we
thus in imagination supply, is supposed to have been broken down by the
weight of the lava which accumulated in the crater after the re-awakening of
the volcano in A. D. 79.

The north-eastern side of Somma is to this day a smiling slope of vinej'ards,
gardens, farm-houses, and villages. In the days of Strabo, the south-western
slopes presented a similar scene. The poet Virgil, who, as I have already said,
was familiar with this Campanian coast, and has celebrated in his verse its most
striking localities, does not fail to notice Vesuvius ; but he does not give us to
understand tliat he was aware of its volcanic character. From Strabo, liow-
ever, we learn that it was known to be volcanic. Plutarch, in his life of
Crassus, mentions a curious use to which the crater in \ti quiescent state
was once put. Spartacus, the Gladiator, who, in B.C. 73, headed a for-
midable insurrection against the Roman government, entrenched himself here
with his forces, after his defeat by Crassus. The swordsman had doubtless
defended himself in many an arena before, but in none on so grand a scale as
this. Beseigeil by[the pnetor Clodius, who thought it simply sufticieut to watch
the entrance to the crater — the ravine to which I have already referred as exis-
ting between Somma and the present cone — Spartacus and his men let them-
selves down over the precipice by means of the wild vines which grew there,
and suddeidy and successfully attacked tiieir assailants in the rear.

The poet Martial, who saw the mountain a few years after the desolating
■eruption of A. D. 71), records the lamentable change which had taken place in
its appearance. " Tliese heights," he says, " Bacchus loved more than his own
Nysa ; here the rustic Satyrs held their dances ; Venus preferred the spot to
Lacediemon ; here Hercules himself had sojourned ; but now everything lies
prostrate beneath liery floods and melancholy scoriaj."

It may be here stated that the name Vesuvius — which by Roman writers is
variously written Vesevus, Vesvius, V^esliius — is said by Neapolitan scholars
to have been given to the mountain by the Phoenicians, who, at periods prior
to the old (Jreek foretime, formed settlements along the Italian coasts. Its
Syriac ft)rm was Vo-sei'ni'C, " the place of fiame." Similarly, HercnlanetDii. has
been derived from Horoh-kalie, " pregnant with fire ; " Pompeii from ruin-
peeah, " the mouth of a furnace ; " and SlabitH from Seteph, " overtiow."

In the remarks which I now ofiFer on Pompeii, I simply speak of the place as
one of the accessories of Vesuvius, To do justice to Pompeii, in an archieo-
logical point of view, would require a separate paper. It is well known that
this city was not overwhelmed with molten lava, but by showers of sand, ashes,

scoriffi, and mud. Tlie persons who lost their lives on the occasion, when com-
pared with the population, were few. The great majority had time to make
their escape. Tr those who first carefully examined the mass as it lay upon the
various houses, it was manifest that there ha«l been disturbances in its parts,
showing that after the catastrophe, some of the inhabitants returned to recover
their eii'ecta. The exterior walls of the town, with their gateways and low
turrets, are finely disclosed. Towards their base very ancient work is occasion-
ally seen— resembling, in tlie arrangement of the ponderous irregular masses, the
so-called Pelasgic style. In their upper portions a curious mixture of material
occurs — of stone with brick-work, carefully stuccoed to resemble stone. Blocks
are oliserved with inscriptions in Oscan — the M'ords and letters appearing re-
versed, after the manner of types set up. To a Canadian, who is generally too
well ac([uainted with " burnt districts," the interior of Pompeii has at the first
glance tlie familiar look of a to yn recently devasted by fire. Bare rootless walls
of no great altitude are stand iig about in all directions. Forests of pillars;
perfect and imperfect, supi^ly, in .some quarters, the place of the chimneys,
which, isolated or in stacks, are with us so conspicuous after a conHagratiou.
The ruins, however, do not look black and fire-scathen. The compact pavement
of the streets, is comiwsed of blocks of ancient lava of irregular shapes, laid
together after the manner of the old Via;, resembling somewhat on the surface at
least, the memorable fiagging which formed our first attempt at trottoir-making
in Toronto. Along the top of some of the walls, rows of modern tiles have
been placed for protection by the Neapolitan (Government. Upon the exterior
of the walls along the streets you see inscriptions laid on with a sort of red
paint— the names of the owners of the houses or of persons whom the owners
desired to honour as patrons. Upon the walls of the Basilica — or Court-house,
as we should say — idle persons, standing about, have scratched their auto-
graphs. 1 have taken down one — that of V, Pumhlhin Dipilti.s, who more than
eighteen centuries ago, thought it wortii while thus pul)licly to record the fact
that "he was here on the 7th day of (^)ctober, B.C. 77," as we should now write
the date. " C. Puniidius Dipilus, heic fuit ad nonas Octobreis, M. Lepid, Q.
Catul. Cos." The little stones which compose the mosaics on the fioors of the
larger houses'— exhibiting the originals of many of our oil-cloth and carpet pat-
terns — are lava cut up into small l)locks. 'JMie ancient frescoes on the interior
walls — the prototypes of several .styles of nioderu room-paper — are now much
faded, though tlieir designs ire still clear. Whenever any objects of art and
domestic use are unearthed in the excavations which are still occasionally
made, they are deposited for safety in the Museo Borbonico in Naples. This
museum, which is one of the nio.st interesting in l^uropo, ouglit to be well
studied by those who desire to have a clear idea of the ancient Cneco-Italian
life. Here you see a thousand things in the shape of utensil and ornament, per.
sonal and domestic, which show tliat tiie old Campanians were men like ourselves
inrtuenced by tlie ."aine tastes, wants, and weaknesses. Among innumerable
ol)ject8 of interest, I remember a charred loaf of bread — baked, of course,
nearly eighteen centuries ago — bearing the baker's name (Cranius) le^loly
stamped upon it.

»;;'

Thirteen years before the final catastrophe, we learn from Tacitns tliat the
luxurious repose of Pompeii had been disturbed by a terrible earthquake. At
the time of the last disaster, the inhabitants had just regained ooutidence to
set about tlie repairs which had been rendered necessary. It is curious to ob-
serve in several quarters the partially new work. In the Forum, for example
— the Public Exchange of the city — new lengths in the shafts of the fluted
columns, resting on more ancient bases, are to be seen. On the ground are
lying portions of columns nearly ready to be put up. Here stone-cutters* tools
were found scattered about, as they had been left by their owners. Pillars in
Pompeii, however, are not everywhere of stone ; many are of brick, stuccoed.
Indeed I was rather surprised to find in Rome, as well as liere, how largely
brick and stucco enter into the material of ancient buildings. Pompeii was
gituated at the mouth of the Sarnus ; and mo&t of the streets which have been
uncovered, ran down to the edge of the sea westward from the entrance of the
river. But the accumulations of volcanic substances have thrust oti' Ijoth the
river and tlie sea— the former half a mile, the latter two miles, from their
ancient places. Up every street, as you look towards the north-west, Vesuvius
closes the vista — still showing, by his ever restless column of steam, how capa-
ble he is of again rousing up his destructive energies. Aljout two-thirds of the
city still remain unexcavated. Where the excavations cease, you can approach
and examine the. perpendicular sections .of the whole mass of accumulated
material. You observe immediately that numerous showers of volcanic matter
have descended since A.D. 79.

Near the Amphitheatre, the different strata with their thicknesses may be
traced as follows, beginning with the surface : — (1) Black sparkling sand (recent),
3 inches ; (2) Vegetable mould, 3 feet ; (3) Brown incoherent tuff, 1 foot 6
inches ; (4) Small scorire and white lapilli, 3 inches ; (5) Brown earthy tuff, 9
inches ; (6) Brown earthy tuff, with lapilli, 4 feet; (7) Layer of whitish lapilli,
1 inch ; (8) Grey solid tuff, 3 inches ; (9) Pumice and white lapilli, 3 inches : —
in all, 10 feet 4 inches (Lyell). Another observation, where the thickness is
20 feet, gives the arrangement of the strata as follows, beginning from below : —
Separating the whole into five parts — the first three consist of pumice-stone in
small pieces, resembling a light white cinder, and covering the pavement to
the depth of 12 feet ; the next portion, composed of six parts, begins with a
stratum of small black stones, 3 inches in thickness ; to this succeeds a thin
layer of dry mud ; upon this lies another stratum of little stones, of a mixed
hue, in which blue predominates ; then comes a second stratum of mud, separ-
ated from a thinl by a thin wavy line of mixed blue stones : this completes the
fourth portion ; while the flfth or highest division consists entirely of vegetable
earth or decomposed volcanic matter (Gell). In the neighbourhood of Pompeii
you see large fields of the cotton-plant, which about here reaches its northern
limit in Europe. On leaving the inn near the ruined city, I was taken by sur-
prise, by being presenl^id with a bouquet of bursting cotton-pods and flowers,
accompanied by a salute upon the hand — the graceful offerings of a hauilsome
peasant to whom during the day I had given a few baiocchi for some little ser-
vice rendered.

Herculaneiim is situated nine English miles to the westward of Pompeii. It
was overwhelmed, as is w^ell known, with material more solid than that which
came down upon the latter city. And sheets of fluid have flowed over its site
since its lirst obliteration. So that now the excavations have to be made as in
a quarry of solid rock, tou depth varying from 70 to 112 feet. Care is taken,
when any additional building has been ojjened and searched, to throw back the
material into its former place — lest the superii^cumbent mass, on which the
present town of Resina is built, should break through. Consequently, the
parts which you are enabled to examine are limited. With the aid of torches,
the shape and dimensions of the theatre — capable of accommodating 8,000 per-
sons — can be well made out, where it is a curious thing to see the capitals of
pillars embedded, like ammonites or portions of the mastodon, in almost solid
rock. From Hereulaneum have been derived some of the most interesting of
the objects in the Museo Borl onico in Naples. In a villa here were found the
striking statues of.'Eschines ai d Agrippina, authentic busts of Plato, Socrates,
Demosthenes, Scipio Africanus., Seneca, and others, with beautiful bronzes —
some of them made to look .ife-like by the insertion of glass eyes. But its
most interesting relics are the papyri-rolls, resembling brown charred sticks,
two inches in diameter, and from six to eight inches long. Some of them —
displayed now under convenient glass-cases — have been successfully unrolled
and deciphered. But the regretted decades of Livy and History of Sallust are
desiderata still. No works of importance have been discovered, with the ex-
ception perhaps, of a treatise by Epicurus, entitled " De Natura."

Stabi.'e, overwhelmed also in A.D. 79, and situated under a portion of the
modern town of Castellamare, four English Tniles eastwards from Pompeii, has
ceased to be examined. Having been reduced to ruins by Sulla in the course
of t]L^. Marsic war, B.C. 91, is not supposed to be so rich in relics as the two
towns v.hich have been excavated. (Jplontis, a small Roman village, over-
whelmed with its more distinguished neighbours, was cut into during the con-
struction ot' the Western Railway from Naples, about two miles eastward from
Hereulaneum ; a few mosaics and sculptured animals were f(mnd.

We shall now pay a rapid visit to the volanic district westwards of Vesuvius
— appropriately named the Phclgraian fields, " the fields of lire," if the Greek
etymology of the name be the correct one. We shall tread on ground teeming
with recollections of illustrious or remarkable men. I shall be pardoned, then,
if here and there, though still looking at things in general in a volcanic point
of view, I indulge in some brief historical notices as I pass. Traversing the
whole length of the ever-lively Naples — where, doubtless, we have before our
eyes a picture of an old (t) jck comnmnity, in modernized costume,— we arrive
(III its western side at a tunnel perforating the mass of ancient volcanic tufa,
known as the hill of Posilipo. Here, before you enter, you may leave your
carria>{e for a short time, and ascend by some steps on the loft, and examine the
dilapidated columbarium to which tradition points as once the receptacle of the
ashes of Virgil. It is certain that the poet hatl a house on this hill, and that
therein he composed his Ceorgics and Eclogues and the greater portion of his

ill

iEiieid. It is a spot which harmonizes well with the poet's memory, having
within view numerous localities whose names have become household words
through his pen — a spot rendered in an additional degree venerable now, by rem-
iniscences of illustrious men, who, from Statins and Petrarch, to Milton, Thorn"
son, and Gray, with pious steps, have visited it, — Milton at the tomb of Virgil !
Was it not there, while standing at the shrine of a kindred scul, that the in-
spiration, already stirring the fair young English bard, shaped the effectual re-
solve to leave words behind him which the world "should not willingly let
die ? " — It is curious to remember that in the middle ages the name of Virgil !
was popularly known only as that of a magician — doubtless from the assumed
familiarity wliich he exhibits in his 6th Book with the world of spirits. It
was from the prevalence of this idea, that Dante made him the comluctor of
himself through the realms below. — Dante in his turn was, for similar reasons,
pointed at by tlie rustics of his day as the man who had visited the abodes of
the dead. And to close the list of popular misunderstandings in respect to
famous persons — Horace, by the peasantry in the neighbourhood of the Sabine
farm, is at this moment believed to have been an Englishman, from the numer-
ous English who take such pains to scramble to the spot. — But we must return
to the tunnel below, which itself— though it bears to this day visible marks, not
of the magician's wand, but of instruments more substantial — was once popu-
larly attributed to the supernatural power of Virgil. It may be brielly described
as 2,244 feet long, 21^ feet wide, from 69 to 25 feet in height ; gloomy, dusty,
and unsavory. There are several other similar grottoes, as they are illusively
called, in this neighbourhood — all artificial, and dating back before the Chris-
tian era. They are short cuts from town to town, made through the rather soft
volcanic rock. — You are now on the road which leads to Pozzuoli. You are in-
terested at observing evidences of the latitude in which you are. You notice
in the hills specimens of the palmetto-palm. You perceive the stone-pine —
the familiar object in Italian views — stretching out its flat peculiar top. You
see the aloe and the cactus in profusion. You observe peasants under trees
dancing to the sound of the guitar. You meet rude ass-drawn and ox-drawn
vehicles loaded with strange tropical-looking fruits and vegetables.

You soon enter upon the Phlegnean fields in earnest. You arrive at the
well known Lake Agnano — an irregularly-shaped ancient crater, three miles in
circumference, filled with a sheet of water. From fissures in its walls issues
sulphurous vapour of a temperature of 180" Fahrenheit, showing that a iiighly
heated mass is not far off. Here you have exhibited to you the worM-famous
but rather insignilicant Orottodvl Cane — a small cell containing a spiracle from
below, up which rushes carbonic acid gas, mingled with steam — A little to the
westward you come to another partially extinct erater — the Solfatara— an ir-
regular oval plain, sounding treacherously hollow to the treail, and full of
steaming and smoky fnmeroles, which at night emit a glow as from a furnace,
showing that they communicate immediately with red-hot material. Within
the base of what was the ancient cone of the Solfatara, in the far depths,
water is incessantly heard in the act of boiling, in which state it finds an

outlet. It is stated to be an aluminous water containing iron, lime, and free
sulphuric acid. Some of the hills which form part of this ancient crater are
white with an aluminous efflorescence.

You next approach Astroni, a very perfect crater, four miles in circumfer-
ence, bearing on its floor three small but deep lakes. It reminds you, on a small
Scale, of those circular valleys, which, with the aid of a good telescope, you
see on the surface of the moon. Indeed I doubt not but that in these Phle-
grpean fields, we have by analogy many hints given of what we should meet
with, were we permitted to takf a stroll on the lunar disc. — Travelling still
westwards, you come next to a very conspicuous and perfectly formed crater,
three miles and a half in circuniferenne — Monte Barbaro (the ancient Gaurus) —
covered with vineyards producing ihe wine which Horace sings of as Falernian ;
and near by are two more sii lilar craters, only smaller — Cigliano and Campana.
Proceeding yet westwards, yt u come to Avernus itself, the dread entrance to
Hades. In the old prehistorii era, this crater no doubt possessed some of the
awfulness of the present interior of Vesuvius. The CuuiiBan colonists trans-
planted to this neighbourhootl the myths of their native Greece, and easily
established Campanian duplicates of their own Styx, Cocytus, and Acheron.
Here is the scene of the well-known Nekuia of the 1 1th Book of the Odyssey, and
of the descent of /Eneas in the Oth Book of the ^■Eneid. The ancient Italians
must have enjoyed these referencos of the poets more keenly than modern
readers can, Tbey must have felt the .-Eneid to have been a nalionnl poem
much more thoroughly than we do — the mere namiixj of a locality being suffi-
cient to call up to their minds the often visited spot — with its brilliant colouring
and historic and poetic associations — .A.vernus is now a cheerful place ; a beau-
tiful lake, abounding in fish, lies in its basin, and over it and on it feathered
fowl sport with impunity. The etymology of Avernus (quassi Aofuon, " bird-
less " is now supposed to be fanciful, though Virgil, and Lucretius before him,
adopted it. The true origin of the name appears to be in the Phaniician
Evoron, denoting "gloom" or "darkness." But though the old composition
of the name may not be true, still it is probable that in the ancient times birds
would seldom be seen about tlie spot. Instinct would load them to shun the
breath of a volcano, as surely as it leads their congeners to revel so joyously,
as we see them doing, in the wholesome spray of our Niagara.

The hills on the northern side of this lake— the walls of the ancient crater —
are richly covered with chestnut trees and vines. The rim of the bowl on the
southern side has been broken down, just ac we have seen the southern side of
the ancient crater of Vesuvius carried away. It is in consequence of a cele-
brated " cut " made by Agrippa — the bold engineer statesman to whom Augus-
tus owes so much of the eclat of his reign— that we see the lake of Avernua
reduced to the limited dimensions of a mile and a half in circumference, and
five hundred feet in depth. Between it and the sea, towards the south-east, we
can see the famous Lacus Luci-inun, itself a crater, lower down on the Hank of
the ancient volcano. Into this lake Agrippa admitted the sea by a canal ;
then by another canal he let down Avernus into Lucrinus — thus forming a

magnificent double dock, where the Boman fleet, quadrupled, might float
securely. This port, a grand topic with the poets and historians of the day, ex-
isted in good order until A.D. 1538, when the long dormant volcano over which
the united lakes reposed suddenly awoke. — A short distance to the south-east,
yon may observe a conspicious hill, resembling the cone of a volcano. This is
the celebrated Monte Xuovo, which was thrown up in the space of forty-eight
hours on the occasion now spoken of. After a succession of volcanic shocks a
fissure took place near the Lucrine Lake ; from the aperture rose to a great
height, first cold water, then hot ; — then followed masses of aslies and lapilli,
descending on the country in torrents of mud ; then followed voUies of dry
ashes and red-hot pumice stones. And in forty-eight hours a hill was formed
440 feet in height, and a mile and a half in circumference, filling up a large
portion of the Lucrine Lake, and ruining Agrippa's harbour. On the top of the
hill is a crater one-fourth of a mile in circumference, and 419 feet deep. It is
only of late years that the scoriae on its surface has become sufficienly decom-
posed to admit of the growth of small trees thereupon. The line of the coast
in the immediate neighbourhood was, during this explosion, elevated to such an
extent that the sea seemed to have retired 400 paces. — The profusion of the
mountain of JoruUo, in Mexico, inA.U. 1759, is a well known parallel to Monte
Nuovo. Both are interesting, as throwing light on the nascent condition of
volcanic hills. — To the south-west of Lucrine, you come to Fusaro (the old
Acherusian), famous to this day for its oysters, another water-filled crater, and
still further on is Mare Morte, another. To arrive at the latter, you pass
through Elysium — the tract which is said to be the original and veritable proto-
type of that fair creation of poets.

To the north of Avernus, I should have mentioned just now, one more crater
is traceable in this region ; and a fragment of its ancient walls constitutes the
acropolis of the venerable Cumae, the earliest Greek settlement in Italy. — The
Lake Licola, to the north of Cumse, which looks like one of the system of vol-
canic lakes, which we have been tracing out, is in reality, it is said, the remains
of the canal which N'ero is known to have commenced with the intention of
carrying it through the Pontine marshes as far as Ustia.

From Mare Morte, or rather from the beach called Miliscola — corrupted from
Militis scliola, an ancient military parade-ground— we take the ferry and cross
a narrow strait two miles to the island of Procida, and from thence, over two
miles more of sea, to Ischia. These two pyramidal masses — so impressive on
the memory of the visitor to Naples, and so celebrated in song and history —
are stated by those wlio have scientifically examined them, to be parts of one
great volcanic mountain. Here, prior to the awkening of Vesuvius in A. I). 79,
was the principal safety valve of this fiery region — Homer, Pindar, Virgil, and
Ovid celebrate the eruptions of Mount Epomajus in this identical Ischia ; and
here Typhoeus was fabled to be buried. Once only since the Christian era, has
it exhiljited activity. In 1,'}02 great damage was done by an eruption of lava.

We now make the trajet back from Ischia to the mainland again. We pass
the conspicuous promontory of Misenum — retaining, in accordance with the

poet's prediction, " reternum per saecula nomen." On the left we coast along
by the once voluptuous and still beautifully situated Bai* — the favorite water-
ing place of southern Italy in its oM palmy days. As you gaze now in,to the sea
two hundred yards from the shore, yon see the sunken substructions of villas,
temples, and baths — the former haunts of luxurious emperors, patricians, poets,
and orators. 'J'his coast, too, has known the presence of Hannibal, Alaric,
Genseric, and Totila. — You luive Po/zuoli — the old Puteoli before you — cover-
ing the flanks and summit of a bold hill jutting out into the sea ; the dark
masses wliich you oljserve at regular distances above the sunny surface of the
calm water, are the piers of- the ancient mole, once surmounted by a light. We
land on the west side of the hill. We are conducted at once to the Serdpeou
which stands near — a temple of the Egyptian Serdpis — a ruin which has become
memorable among physical ol servers — as proving to the eye, l)y the pei forations
of the marine borers called L thodomi in its still erect columns, that the laud
subsequently to the erection c f the building, must have gently sunk and re-
mained submerged for many y«'ars, and then that it must as gently again have
been raised. The perforations on the columns are now seen at a height of
twelve feet ; they cover a space of nine feet ; and then above them comes an
uninjured space of t'..enty feet, which must have been the portion of the col-
umns appearing above the surface of the sea, when the stratum on which they
stand had sunk down to the lowest point. The shore is supposed to be again
descending. In order to approach the pillars for close examination, you have
to walk through an inch or two of salt water. The edifice has been large. Its
exterior colonude was 140 feet long, 122 feet wide. Here was found the re-
markable sitting-figure of Serdpis, having his hand on a three-headed dog, now
to be seen in the Museum at Naples.

W^e must not delay in Puteoli, though its associations tempt one to do so
As the southern terminus of the Appian Way — a iiigh road to Rome — It was,
before Naples existed, the principal focus of the Italian trade with the East.
The Greek colonists *rom Cum?e called the place Dicsearchia ; but the lioraans
preferred the appellation " Puteoli," as having, in sound at least, an allusion to
the hot sulphureous " wells," which abound in this volcanic locality.— Here we
tread in the foot-prints of St. Paul ; and standing on the now solitary beach
we can perhaps more vividly realize the interesting fact tiian we do when sur-
rounded by the mosaics and marbles which encrust his shrines in Rome. The
Apostle, as we know from Acts xxvii. 13, landed at Puteoli a prisoner in chains,
and after his perilous voyage was allowed to rest here for seven days. — On
a neighbouring rising ground you may be cnnducte.l over a remarkably perfect
amphitheatre [480 by 382 feet], where, in A.D. 66, Nero contended publicly
with wild animals, and where, in the time of Diocletian, Januarius, the sup-
poseti patron of Naples, with other Cliristians, suffered martydoni. Here you
may also be conducted over no inconsiderable remains of the Villa Puteolana of
Cicero — familiar to the reader of his letters to Atticus, and distinguished as the
spot where he wrote his QiiiBstionen Acadeiniciv and his work Be Fato : and also
as the place where the Emperor Hadrian died.

I -

Passiug through Puteoli towards the east, yon come out on a noticeable
stripe of land between the precipitous clifi" and the sea. By the marine deposits
here found, mingled with the remains of human workmanship, it appears that
this stripe, like the shore westward of Puteoli, has been successfully dej)res8ed
and elevated. On the sides of the clitf, 35 feet above the present sea level, the
borings of lithodomi may be observed, and on the summit of the cliff are sub*
structions of villas which once overhung the sea.

As you leave this narrow stripe, the road by which you travel passes through
a massive stream of solid lava, which, in prehistoric times, flowed down from
the Solfatara already visited, and here entered the sea in a stream one-fourth
of a mile m breadth, and seventy feet in thickness.

You pass, also, on the left, some stone quarries, in which, exposed to tho
hottest rays of the sun, you see — for the first time perhaps, in your life — un-
fortunate human beings working in iron fetters. Alas ! that the clank of those
degrading links should be associated forever in the recollections of anyone with
the name of Italy ! — The labourers in the stune quarries of Epipoloe — whom
perhaps, your imaginations may summon up — were more happy. The fortune
of war had placed them there. But what is it that, in the Neapolitan states,
according to the testimony of Mr. Gladstone, causes men, and perhaps some of
these, to be thus condemned to chains ?

Proceeding by the coast road homewards towards Naples, you remark, to
the westward of the heights of Posilipo, a few hundred yards from the shore,
a small iilaud. This is Nisida, the last volcanic object in the neighbourhood
of Vesuvius which we have to notice. It is a cone with an extinct crater, into
which, on the south side, the sea finds an entrance by a breach in the rim. A
convenient little harbour is thus formed. — You may gaze on the island of
Nisida with interest, for several historical reasons. Here Lucullus, the cele-
brated conqueror of Mithridates, possessed a villa which, a few years after his
death, became remarkable as being the place where Marcus Junius Brutus
retired after participating in the assasination of Caesar, and where he left his
Portia, the daughter of Cato, when he dparted for Greece, destined never to
return. It was here, too, that the interview took place between him and
Cicero, of which the latter has left a graphic account, wherein the orator
declares that he found the patriot " nihil nisi de pace et concordia civinm
cogitantem. " In yonder little volcanic isle we have, then, a memento of the
final but unsuccessful struggle for Roman liberty. We, curiously enough, have
before us in the same object the scene of the extinction of the Western empire
itself in the peri:.on of its last chief. — In exile here, a pensioner on the generosity
of Odoacer, the lirst king of Italy, lived and <lied the son of Orestes, Koniulus
Augustulus, the closing member of that series of puppets who, from a.d, 455
to 476, tilled the throne and brought contempt upon the name of the Emperors
of the West. ,

Since the great explosion of Vesuvius in A. D. 79, the craters of the Phlegroean
fields appear to have become for the most part quiescent. The interruptions
of their repose have been three, already noticed in pissing ; one in 1198, when

1»

the Solfatara emitted a stream of lava ; one in 1S02, when Epomeo, in Ischia,
did the same ; the third in 1538, when Monte Nuovo was thrown up.

The intervals which have occurred between the fifty-two eruptions of Vesu-
vius, since that of A. D. 79, I make out to be respectively the following— 124
(years), 209, 40, 308, 43, 13, 90, 167, 194, 131, 29, 22, 12, 2, 2, 3, 6, 5, 5, 3, 8,
2, 7, 14, 3, 4, 2, 6, 1, 3, 6, 3, 5, 2, 1, 6, 10, 1, 4, 3, 1, 4, 3, 2, 6, 3, 3, 4, 6, 2,
3 (1850).

In the earlier portion of the Christian era, some t.uptions may not have been
recorded. The generations of men who could forget the sites of considerable
cities may have neglected to record the activity of a volcano. If there have
been no omissions, the eruptions of Vesuvius appear to have become more fre-
quent since the year 1631. — It has also been observed that there is a degree of
alternation between the moven ents of Etna and Vesuvius. In no instance have
the two mountains been in acti e eruption simultaneously. Hence they appear
to be escape-valves to one connected mass of igneous matter — the upward pres-
sure of the elastic gases with which it is charged finding relief by the rue, when
the other is obstructed.

While standing on the summit of Vesuvius, and contemplating the enormous
column of steam which is generally in the act of being blown off, one is inclined
to rush to the conclusion that the molten rock which overspreads the surround-
ing scene far and wide, has been shot up by nothing more or less than the
familiar force which, ^vith such irresistible power, lifts the piston. But fur-
ther reflection induces a correction of this opinion. It is likely that the steam
is simply produced by the infiltration of sea-water on the heated mass within
the base of the mountain.

When we consider the fact that the ground on which we tread is but the
surface of a i-ind, — that by experiment this rind increases 1" Fahrenheit in
temperature for every fifty-four feet of vertical depth, — that at the depth of
twenty miles granite must be in a state of fusion — we cannot fail to see that it
is probable that the seat of all volcanic energy is in some common central
igneous mass with which all the volcanic vents more or less communicate ; and
that these vents are very possibly established and maintained in order that the
globe may not one day fly to pieces like a Rupert's drop.

But what is it that determines the moment when those fierce ebullitions
must occur which vnfRe the surface of the Phlegethon below, and cause its
molten waves to rise on high, and so rudely flout the roofs of the cavernous
crypts over whtch men dwell, shaking them and their structures, ' ' massy-
proof," from their propriety? What generates those expansive gases whose
excess from time to time* thrusts up before them the fiery fluid through which
they seek to force their way ?

These are queries which remain unresolved. Like the storms which ob-
servers notice, but cannot explain, in the magnetic world — these movements in
the inner abysses of the earth must still, for the present, be classed as
mysteries.

We doubtless here have glimpses of the forces, whatever they are, which, in
the old foretime of our planet's history, burst .ipart the primitive crust ; which
tilted its strata in divers directions, as the uneasy polar sea bursts up its ice ;
which exposed huge sections of those strata with their contents, to the view,
the use, and the delight of men ; superinducing, apparently, at tirst, a scene of
ruin, — harsh, sharp, bare, and confused ; a scene, however, which resolved
itself at last into what we now call mountain, hdl, and vale ; interspersed with
river, cataract, lake, and sea ; softened in outline by abrasion and disintegra-
tion, by slopes of alluvion and surfaces of mould, and coloured warndy over by
mosses, lichens, herbage, and woods, and blue etherial haze.

But though the seat of volcanic energy be at the core of the globe, and its
force, as is most probable, supplied by chemical agency operating there on an
enormous scale — may it not be possible to explain, in some instances, some of
the visible phenomena on mechanical principles ? May there not be, in the
case of many volcanoes, rude natural channeLs and reservoirs within the strati-
lied parts of the earth's crust, into or through which the fiery fluid may pass,
on its rising towards the surface — channels which, having a certivin amount of
inclination, may cause liquid lava to act as water in the hydraulic ram, pro-
ducing eartiiquake-shocks when the throes are ineffectual — and ejections of
matter high into the air, when a passage has at last been cleared ? — reservoirs,
in the shape of huge natural caverns, which gradually becoming filled with the
rising fluid, produce, by atmospheric compression over its surface, a continuous
stream for a time — like the air-bor in the lire-engine ?

I conclude Math the remark that in Canada — in western Canada, at least—
we appear to be happily situated outside the circle of dangerous volcanic in-
fluence. It is true we now and then hear of vague rumblings at St. Catharines
and Dundas ; of a sort of volcanic tide-wave in the Lake near Cobourg ; of de-
tonations on the nortli shore of Lake Huron, We are assured, also, that an
undulation of the earthquake at Lisbon in 1755 was felt on Lake Ontario. We
know that in 1663, in the lower portions of the Province, there was an earth-
quake with volcanic ashes, which lasted for six mouths ; that in 1785, and
again in 1814, at Quebec, there was pitchy darkness at noon-day, with black
rain and volcanic ashes — due, it has been supjjosed, to a crater in the terra incog-
nita of Labrador, We can see, moreover, that the basin of Lake Superior, in
the far dim foretime of this continent, was a focus of volcanic action. We
notice trap in the river St. Marie, and Gros Cap is porphyritic. Col. Fremont
describes an extinct crater in the neighbourhood of the Great Salt Lake, and an
active volcano, 70 miles to the north-east of San Francisco. Mount Elias, in
the Russian territory, is an open volcanic vent. And^Commander McClure, of
the Investigator, reports lava along the American Coast of the Polar Sea. But
in Canada, on the whole, it is a matter of congratulation that we have thus far
been permitted to acquire a strong confidence in the ground on which we tread,
and that we are spared the presence amongst us of any of those points of com-
munication between the upper and nether worlds — which in other lands are
exceedingly interesting, — but also sometimes very inconvenient.

ON ACCIDENTAL DISCOVERIES.

I shall ask you to transport yourselves m imagination, for a few moments, to
the sea-side. The brilliant blue of the heavens — the stillness, and rather in-
convenient glare of light on the surface of the water, may tell you that it \a
the Mediterranean. The arid aspect of the precipitous shore, with the dark
palm-tress that stand out distinctly here and there along the strand, indicate
that it is the Syrian coast. Yonder bold promontory on the right is the
famous Cape Carmel. The t pacious bay which you gaze into is the Bay of
Acre. The river which you , ee entering between the ridge of low rocks and
the Vjeach of white sand on the left, is the Belus. To that beach of white sand
let me direct your attention. A group of sea-faring men are there rising from
their mid-day repast ; their vessel — a small trading craft — has been run in
close to the shore ; their meal and siesta over, they are gathering up their rude
culinary utensils, and are about to resume their voyage. The fire upon the
beach has smouldered away ; the pale ashes have become of the same tempera-
ture as the surrounding sand.

But while the party are busy in re-embarking, one — he is possibly the com-
mander of the vessel — observes something in those ashes. Something that
glistens strikes his eye ; he touches it with his knife ; he lifts it out from
among the mingled ashes and sand, a bright, irregularly-shaped mass. Some-
thing has been fused in that fire ; whilst fluid it has " run," as we may say,
in several directions ; where, in one place, it has met with the rock under-
neath, it has spread out in small sheets, which are, to some extent
transparent.

Now, it will be necessary to explain. Yonder vessel bears in its hold, among
other merchandise, some tons of rough nitre — a substance produced naturally
in the neighbourhood of the Dead Sea. It was used possibly of old, as now,
in the preservation of tish and meats. The sailors, on landiug, having failed to
find near at hand stones adapted for the purpose, took some lumps of this por-
tion of their cargo to rest their camp-kettle upon. The fire has acted on those
lumps, as also on the silicious sand on which they are placed ; fusion and
amalgamation of the two substances have ensued ; the hard transparent
material, noticed by the commander of the vessel, is the result. The captain,
during the remainder of the voyage, is more silent than usual ; he is ruminat-
ing on what he has observed — " If this nitre and this sand, thus subjected to
fire, will produce this hard, transparent substance once, they will do so again ;
if this substance spread itself out so readily upon the flat rock, becoming solid
and continuing transparent, it will spread more conveniently, and be rendered
more transparent by means of surfaces which I can prepare for its reception —

nay, will it not assume any form of which I may be able to construct the
mould ! "

You will perceive that it is (jlann that has been discovered — a substance that
contributes so much to the comfort and gratitication of man — a substance that
excludes from his house the inclemencies of the atmosphere, and yet admits
freely the sun's rays ; that adorns his hospitable board with a variety of
vessels of brilliant hue and graceful shape — that permits him to refresh his
eyes in winter with the green leaves and blooms of summer — that helps to re-
pair his vision when defective, and to add incredible powers to it when at its
best —a substance that, elaborated into massive plates, lends lustre along the
street to his multifarious handywork ; and, on occasion, forms walls of what,
prior to experience, would be deemed of fabulous extent, to shelter in vast
store-houses the gathered masterpieces of his skill.

The narrative just given may or may not be authentic Pliny met with
some such scory, and thought it interesting enough to be treasured up in that
curious depAt of fact and fancy — his " Natural History." I simply use it as
an illustrative introduction to some examples of accidental discovery in Science
and the Arts, which I have thought it might not be inappropriate to enumerate
to you this evening.

That glass was in sor j manner discovered at an early period of the world's
history, is certain. Articles of this material, very skilfully constructed, have
been found iu the palaces of Nineveh, and the ancient tombs of Egypt and
Italy. The number of glass vessels to be seen in the great Museum at Naples,
cellected from the buried cities of Herculaneum and Pompeii, is truly astonish-
ing. In that Museum are also preserved numerous fragments of fiat glass from
th6 latter place, together with bronze lattice-work with panes of glass actually
inserted, proving that glazed windows were by no means unknown eighteen
centuries ago.

Could we be admitted to the secret history of discoveries and inventions in
general, I dare say we should find that many more have originated in what was
apparently an accident, than we are now aware of. We know that the devotees
of the so-called Occult Sciences in the Medieval period — the Alchemists — the
transmuters of metals and searchers after the elixir of life — lighted on facts
that tended largely to the development of the real science of Chemistry.

We have dim traditions from the mythological times of the accidental inven-
tion of musical instruments. The wind whistles over the sheaf of broken reeds
in the arms of the shepherd-^od, and gives him the idea of the syrinx — the
pipes of Pan — which perhaps in turn suggests the miniature organ of St.
Cecilia. Again, Hermes strikes his foot against the shell of the sun-dried
tortoise, and the tightly-strained tendons give out musical tones. He thus
literally stumbles on the lyre — the germ of our harp and piano-forte. The
colossal statue of Memnon (Amenophis) in Egypt, emits music from its head
— cavities in the sculpture producing vibrations in the air. The fact is con-
verted into a miracle, and gives birth to a series of adroit uses of the simple
laws of nature for the creation of surprise in the minds of the ignorant.

Were we living in an age of infantile simplicity, to what myths might we not
expect those mystic chords to give rise which iu these days are so rapidly en-
circling the earth as with a zone ! Libten to the excellent music which they
discourse over your heads as you > alk abroad ! We overlook the phenomenon
as a mere trifle — the principle of which, however, might lead us at least to the
iEolian harp — were we not long ftjrestalled in that ; and are absorbed — and
justly so — in the sublimer contemplation of a system of artitieial nerves, gradu-
ally throwing themselves out over the globe, along wliich may rush impulses
from the will and soul of man.

Of chance discoveries hinted at in very ancient history, I find one or two
cases more. The gracefully-curling leaves of an Acanthus plant, surrounding
a basket left by accident upon it, catch the eye of a sculptor who has a quick
sense of the beautiful. A new style of ornament for the column is instantly
conceived. The Corinthian capital thenceforward iu all after ages gives plea-
sure to the frequenters of Ten.ple and Forum. Again the han<l of affection, on
one occasion, is prompted to delineate on a wall the shadow of a head, to be a
memento, during an anticipated absence, of the beloved reality. The art of
portrait-painting takes its rise from the circumstauet.

The popular tradition is that the falling of an apple first suggested to New-
ton the idea of universal gravitation. J^ir David Brewster, very reivsonably,
gives no credence to the story. Still, we can well imagine the philosopher in
his orchard at VVoolstrope, using such a casual occurrence by way of illustra-
tion to a friend : — " If this earth be a globe, and what is ' un ' to us is
* down ' to our antipodes, why does yonder apple, for example, descend to the
surface in preference to rising outwards into space ? " And may we not ask, in
connection with Newton, is it not exceeilinglj likely that the resolution of
white light into its component parts by the prism, may have been suggested
to him by the beautiful colours which he nmst often have seen projected on the
walls ami ceiling of a room from the crystal drops of a chandelier ? But ques-
tions like this it is easy to put, in the case of almost every invention, after it has
taken place. We are so fortunate as to be put at once in possession of the
result, without being obliged so much as to think of the steps which led to it.
Still, it is interesting sometimes to conjecture what those steps were.

The bold stroke of Columbus, by which he caused the egg to stand alone, has
become a proverb. Any person ("isiting now the heights behind Genoa, and
remembering that the great navigator was once familiar with that scene, can
imE,gine it to be exceedingly natural that he should have discovered America.
'* If Africa lies yonder, though invisible to the eye, what reason is there, why
I should not believe, when I look out on the Atlantic from behind Lisbon, for
example, that there is as certainly land to be arrived at, by persevering to the
West ? "

By a pleasant train of association, the mention of Genoa and Columbus sug-
gests to me the memory of Pisa and Galileo — with another example of happy
accidental discovery. It was in the magnificent cathedral at Pisa that the
gentle oscillations of a chandelier gave Galileo (1642) the idea of the applica-

tion of the pendulum, as a regulator in an apparatus for the measurement of
time — a combination that ripened at last into that exquisite piece of mechanism
— the Astronomical Clock.

The recent ingenious experiment of M. Foucault, to demonstrate to the eye
the motion of the earth, was the result of a chance observation. While en-
gaged about a turning-lathe, he took notice that a certain slip of metal, when
set in motion, vibrated in a plane of its own, independently of the movement
of the part of the lathe on which it was carried round. Hence, he thought he
could by a certain contrivance exhibit to the eye the revolution of the
earth on its axis. He obtains permission to suspend from the dome of the
Pantheon at Paris, a pendulum of some 280 feet in length, and demonstrates
the accxiracy of the idea which he had conceived. However difficult of
brief explanation the phenomenon may be, it is nevertheless a fact — and it is
with a degree of awe that one witnesses it — that the pavement of the Church
seems very sensibly to rotate, the pendulum at every oscillation returning to a
different point on the graduated circle placed below the dome.

Tl)e inventor of spectacles was a great benefactor — but having found no
chronicler, his name is lost. He was, probably some one who himself suffered
from defective vision — the necessity of an individual often leading to contriv-
ances which beuetit a class. Friar Bacon has been mentioned aa the inventor,
but not with certainty. Spectacles, however, became generally known in
Europe about his time (1214-1292). I have often thought that a person
afflicted with short sight, would be very apt to hit upon a remedy. I remem-
ber, as a boy, discovering that many of the little blisters in common window
glass would partially correct short-sight ; also, that the polished bottom of a
common tumbler would occasionally do the same — facts that might lead any
one to the construction of concave lenses.

Sir Francis Palegrave in his " Merchant and Friar," amusingly represent
the good Abbot as scouting the iilea that the shape had anything to do with
the marvellous effect which a certain lens was discovered to have on the vision
of the short-sighted young Emperor. According to the notion of the age, it
was simply the innate virtue of the transparent gem of which the lens was com-
posed that produced the result.

The defect of sight arising from the approach of old age, calls of course, as
we all know, for a lens of the reverse shape of that reijuired by the short-
sighted. The construction of such a lens may readily have been suggested by
noticing the magnifying power of a drop of water, or a globule of clear glass.
A lens of this description once made, and used in frames for the correction of
vision, soon led to important combinations.

An ingenious lad— the son of a spectacle-maker at Middleburgh in Holland —
takes it into his head to look through two of these convex lenses at once, vary-
ing the distance between them by means of his two bands. He observes that
the vane on the church steeple is brought wonderfully close to his eye — but
that the image seen is reversed. The ua8U|kl circumstauoe gives birth to a

noble progeny of inventions. Here is the rudimental germ of the Telescope,
the Microscope, the Cameras for varions purposes.

When Lawrence Koster, at Haarlen m 1430, let fall on a piece of paper the
fragment of beech bark on which he > ad playfully cut in relief the initials of
his name, little dreamed he as the stain produced by the moist sap first at-
tracted his attention, what a revelation had been made to him, and through
him to the world. Metal types and the art of printing thus had their
beginning.

Bradley, the celebrated astronomer, (1748), is amusing himself with sailing
on the Thames in a pleasure boat : the wind is blowing stiongly ; frc |uent
tacks are made ; he notices that at every turn of the boat, the vane at the mast-
head, instead of keeping steadily in the direction of the wind, exhibits an un-
certain sort of motion. 1 y a train of reasoning he arrives at an important con-
ciusion on the subject o ' the aberration of light, starting a theory that has
relieved astronomers froLi a perplexity under which they had previously
laboured.

M. Malus, a French Colonel of Engineers, (1810), casually turning about in
his hand a double refracting prism, as the sun is setting, observes one of the
images of a window in the Palace of the Luxembourg disappear — and it leads
him to the discovery which has rendered his name distinguished, of the polar-
ization of light by reflection.

We might narrate how friction on amber originated the science and name of
electricity — how experiments with jet, with sealing wax and India Rubber,
mignt lead to the same result — how Louis Galvani, (1737) at Bologna, by tak-
ing notice of the spasmodic action of the legs of dead frogs when touched by
his electrically- charged scalpel, discovered that phase of electric science that
retains his name — how Masso Finiguerra, (1450) at Florence, while working at
his business as an annealer of gold and silver, discovered the art of engraving
on copper-plates, so as to obtain impressions on paper therefrom — how Louis
Von Liegen, (1643,) — or, as some say, Prince Rupert — invented the process of
mezzotint, by observing the corrosion of rust on a gun-barrel — how Alonzo
Barba at Potosi, (1640,) happening to mix some powdered silver ore with quick-
ailver — with the view of fixing, if possible, the latter substance — found all the
pure silver of the ore absorbed by the quioksilver, and so arrived at the secret
of forming amalgams — how the casual observation of Francis Joseph Gall,
(1757,) while yet a boy at school— to the effect that those of his companions
who had prominent eyes had facility in remembering words — led at last to liis
curious theory of phrenology — how M. Argand, by perceiving a draught
created by the passing, of the neck of a broken bottle over a flame was led to
invent the well-known Argand Lamp — how M. de Courtois, (1813,) by acci-
dent detected iodine in sea-weed, from which material, since his time, it has
been extensively manufactured.

These, and other equally interesting examples of happy discoveries by acci-
dent, 7 might narrate at length ; but, I hasten to speak of the steam-engine,

vhose history presents us with actual anecdotes in point. With these I shall
conclude.

And first, the Marquis of Worcester, (1650,) while a political prisoner, in
the Tower, conceives from the dancing motion of the cover of the vessel in
which he is cooking his dinner, the idea of a piston driven by steam— an idea
that results at last in the perfect engine of James Watt.

Then, Capt. Savery, (1680,) flings into the fire a wine-flask from which he
has just removed the contents ; he perceives that steam is generated by a few
drops which remain in it. Something prompts him at this moment to snatch
it from the Are, and to plunge its neck into a bowl of water ; the water rushes
up into the body of the flask, a partial vacuum having been created therein.
This leads him to the construction of the engine known by his name, useful
for raising water from small depths.

Again, up to the time of Newcomen, (1705,) the condensation of the steam
within the cylinder was effected by the external application of cold water.
He observes on one occasion that the piston continued its movements after the
external application had ceased ; and the cause of this he find!> to be a jet of
water entering the cylinder through a small aperture which had escaped his
notice. A well known simplification of the engine is the consequence.

Lastly, the boy Humphrey Potter, set to open and shut the steam valves,
contrives by means of strings to make the working beam supply his place ;
thus originating arrangements by which the beam is made to execute several
secondary offices.

The discoveries to which I have alluded, I have spoken of as accidental.
This is a phraseology which we rather unreflectingly employ. Doubtless, all
the capabilities of things — the agreeable as well as the useful — are intentional.
They have existed from the beginning, and have been designed for the good of
men ; and when an individual is so fortunate as to detect any one of them, he
is simply fulfilling the Divine will.

On looking back over history, I think too we can discern, in the case of
several important discoveries at least, that the moment of their occurrence has
not been utterly accidental. When the mariner's compass was invented, it was
soon to be required. Columbus, Vasco de Qama and Cabot lived in the next
age. When Lawrence Koster saw his initials impressed on paper from the
piece of beech-bark, the intellect of the fifteenth century was heavint;, fer-
menting—struggling for some means of embodying and circulating its aspira-
tions, more rapid, more universal than the reed of the solitary scribe.

The disclosure of the continent of America itself, had it no connection at the
time with the approaching overburdened condition of the population of the
old world, with its social theories becoming obsolete and requiring a free field
in which to be re-constructed ?

If such a view of events be well-grounded, what are we to think of the pre-
«eot age T Is the curious aouumuUtion of wondera, in the midat of which we

)

find ourselves, accidental? Are the facilities for intercommunication among
our fellow-men, accidental ? Is the abundance of gold, accidental ? Is the
perfection to which the arts — the certainty to which the sciences — are so
rapidly tending, accidental ? If not, there are signs enough to invest this age
with an enormous amount of interest — nay, with a degree of solemnity. For,
what are our duties in such an age ? Surely our responsibilities are greater
than those of our forefathers. The facilities which we enjoy — the powers
which we are enabled to exert — were not intended to be mere toys for our
amusement : are we not expected to work out \)rith them results which shall in
some degree be proportionate to the trust ?

All era of great importance is just opening upon ourselves. We are begin-
ning to feel that the wavi of the world's movement has reached us, and that
we are being lifted forwi rds on its tide. Our opportunity has arrived j we
shall, I doubt not, embrace it with energy.

It is in such times, in most countries, that ideas of sterling value are struck
out. We may expect to see an intellectual activity among ourselves surpass-
ing any that has as yet characterized us. One remark it will be useful to add.
In every instance which I have adduced of what I have called " accidental dis-
coveries," the accident was such as would be very unlikely to occur to an un-
observant, unthinking, badly-informed person. The more observant — the more
thoughtful — the more completely informed we are — each in our several profes-
sions — the more likely we may be sure, we shall be, to light on ideas that will
be of practical advantage to the world.

Let each man stand, then, judiciously on the watch, and challenge every
phenomenon wit!h intelligence. Nature is not exhausted ; there are yet latent
secrets within her stores. Clues to additional truths are floating about in the
air above, in the water beneath ; let but the observer come who has the eye to
see, the hand to lay hold of them. In arrangements already established, there
are combinations and simplifications possible, which may eclipse the original
inventions on which they are founded.

All countries have contributed names to the list of those who have made
posterity mindful of them for services rendered in science and the arts. From
the omens of her existing history, we cannot doubt but that Canada will con-
tribute names to that list.

In what direction will the tirst great manifestations be amongst us ? Will it
be in the mill, or the loom, or the plough ? In the canal or the railway ? In
the modes of navigation on lake and river ? In the purifying and working of
the metals ? Will it be in the department of the chemist, the anatomist, the
therapeutist ? Or will it be in the shape of literature and metaphysical specu-
lation ?

Our country has a wreath ready for each one of her sons who shall give to
the question a practical response.

The paper on " Accidental Discoveries " was intended to be followed up by
another which was to bear the title of " Nature's Hints." In this production
the idea was to maintain that it was part of the Divine Plan gradually to edu-
cate mankind in physical science and contrivances in the Arts, by means of
phenomena in Nature, and the structure of various forms in the amimal
kingdom.

These were to be observed from time to time by the human mind and utilized
practically.

Thus the moon comparatively close at hand, gave iu its form, phases and
movements, hints, for many a year not heeded, of things as they are in the
solar system, and even in the larger universe beyond.

That the earth itself was globular iu form like the laoon was shown oy the
way in which the high summits of peaks and promontories presented themselves
to the eye on a di:?tant ocean horizon, long before their massive bases are dis-
covered, proving thtt the surface before the eye is spherical and not flat ; the
same fact being also shown by the masts of ships when approaching the shore.

That some such indrawing force as that which we now style gravitation
existed, was proved by the manner in which ships everywhere adhered to the
globular surface, and also by the manner in which the great unstabled sea itself
kept in its bed ; a hint was thus given of that mighty and mysterious force by
which under the Divine management the universe is held together so to speak.

From a study of the anatomy of the eye resulted the Telescope in one direction
and the Microscope in another.

The study of the Trachea and Larynx would in due time suggest the organ
pipe and ultimately the construction of the grandest of human musical inven-
tions, the Church Organ.

The primitive man doubtless very soon began to develope in some way the
musical faculty that was in himy Resides being the possessor of the gift of
articulate speech, he was (if one may so expresa himself) a humming and
whistling animal ; and by having recourse to these powers which sometimes
seem to us so trivial and commonplace, he was enabled to give utterance to
certain simple combinations of sounds which gave pleasure to him, and which
he would desire sometimes to recall, and give fixity to ; hence would be suggested
at last the necessity of some musical notation, rude enough at the outset, but
culminating at last in the elaborate score of a maestro,

The computation of numbers began with the Fingers of the Human hand ;
and the expansion of numerals to any extent by multiples of Ten, was sug-
gested as the most convenient method.

mmrm

Useful implements for cutting and piercing were in due time suggested by
the incisorial teeth of man and other animals, and the beaks of birds. The
action of molars showed how the process of trituration might be performed in
the case of seeds and contents of nuts. Such may have been the germ origin of
the manufacture of flour. The shell of the sea shore used for the dipping up of
fluids led to the use of the spoon ; the claw of the feline race probably in late ages
gave rise to the fork. It is notorious that the nautilus and its occupant fur-
nished the model for the oared galley. The inner rind of the Papyrus plant was
soon seen to be a substance adapted to writing purposes, as also was the fine
interior bark (liber) of the Linden and other trees, notably of the white birch
so familiar to us Canadians.

The form and fashion of the spider's web may have led the primeval man to
a framework for the covt ring of his hut or tent. The fleecy gossamer of the
same ingenious spinner, lesulted in many a textile fabric of a more substantial
character. The tailor-biid showed how to fasten materials together by means
of stitches. The chimney swallow performed the same feat by means of a fine
glue. The hanging nests of the oriole, trochilus, and other birds suspended by
loops of thread to branches of trees and shrubs existed before the powder wallets,
and other pensile appliances employed by human beings about their persons and
dwellings. The beautiful forms of minute ice crystals and the fern shaped
tracings of hoar frost on smooth surfaces have supplied ideas for the ornamen-
tation of dress-fabrics and the decoration of house interiors.