the rock. Neapolitans are notorious for their contempt of volcanic dangers, and in a moment death came and claimed his victims. No wonder, bearing in mind the frequency of earthquakes at Naples, that many of the houses are propped up, crutch fashion, for without such support they would certainly fall.

It is abundantly evident that the subterranean forces in this part of Europe are not apparently on the decline, or, if they are, and that our globe is indeed cooling, the process is so slow that many generations will pass away before any appreciable change will be noted.

Certainly a volcano in a state of eruption seems a very dangerous neighbour, but when we look at the compensation afforded by the marvellous richness of the volcanic soil, we can hardly regard it in this light. We have seen how the gladiators under Spartacus found the crater of Vesuvius clothed with wild vines; at a later period, the inhabitants of Pompeii gathered chestnuts from the same locality without dreaming of their proximity to a volcano which was to give the first notice of its existence by burying their city under the products of its eruptions; and who that has visited Vesuvius forgets the flanks of Somma, covered with the rich vineyards which produce the celebrated Lacrima Christi and wheat crops six feet high? Indeed, so astonishingly productive is volcanic soil, that no lurking danger can drive the inhabitants of the towns and villages on the flanks and base of this great fire-mountain from their homes.

Although it is only when a volcano is in a state of violent eruption, that its magnificence, as one of the grandest spectacles on earth, can be appreciated; yet immediately after great paroxysmal activity, a volcano can often be studied to more advantage, as access to the summit of the cone, and occasionally to the bottom of the crater, is then possible. The writer saw Vesuvius under the latter favourable circumstances. An eruption had cleared out the crater which had sunk to a great depth. Understanding that it was feasible to descend within a short distance of the bottom, and that the fires were very grand at night, the writer and a friend made arrangements to encamp on the mountain. With this view the services of two trustworthy guides were engaged, and also of four porters, who carried up provisions. Immediately after passing the observatory, observatory, which during all eruptions seems to bear a charmed existence, we 1 upon the beds of recently discharged lava which had divided into two streams near the Crocelle Hill. The lava was tossed into weird shapes, and was still hot, while puffs of vapour issued from holes in its surface. Our progress upwards over the vast slope which might be compared to immense rugged steps of lava, seemed a realisation of Milton's description of the archfiend floundering over chaos on his journey of evil to Eden. It was very interesting to observe the remarkable similarity between the lava falls and a glacier. In both cases the middle portion moves faster than the sides, and here the lava was to be seen

came

swelling in the centre of the currents, and often presenting the appearance of gigantic coils of cable. There were cracks and fissures too, very like those in a glacier, but with this differencethat while the crevasses of a glacier run generally parallel to each other, those in lava, being due to the splitting asunder of the parts in cooling, twist and twine in all directions. Between these lava falls and the old rocks, we came occasionally on curious caves locally called ventarole, from whence blasts of cold air issued. These ventarole are frequently found in connection with volcanos. After the great eruption of 1779, several large caves tunnels of this description existed in the grounds adjoining the Palazzo Ottaiano, above the town of that name. From these caves Sir William Hamilton states in his account of Vesuvius at this period, extremely cold wind issued with great force, which was used for cooling provisions and wines.

or

At length, but not without much stumbling over the rough lava beds and the charring of our boot soles, we stood on the lip of the crater. The scene was extremely grand. Our guides with wise forethought had conducted us up the cone on the windward side, a necessary precaution, as volumes of sulphurous exhalations rolled from the crater which would have suffocated us had we come within their influence. Occasionally as the wind swirled within the crater it scooped out the dense vapours and left the vast void nearly unobscured. We now made the circuit of the crater, a long and arduous tramp, as the lip, which averaged only six feet in width, consisted of heaped up scoria and lava, rendering locomotion extremely difficult, while in many places the treacherous crust was so hot as to burn our feet. The scene was one indeed of the wildest desolation, and yet though all around bore

evidence of untamable fierceness, it was not without its beauties. Many of the fumarole or smoke holes presented a beautiful appearance, their edges glowing with brilliant yellows, whites and greens, produced by the condensation of sulphuric, muriatic, and carbonic acids, combined with various alkaline, earthy, or metallic bases.

But the difficulties of proceeding round the edge of the crater were trifling compared to those attendant on the descent into it, and the climb upwards. This was choking work. More than once when eddying winds drove the sulphuretted hydrogen into our nostrils, or when we trod incautiously on the edges of fumarole, we apprehended that the crater would be our tomb. At length, half suffocated and blinded, we stood on the edge of the mysterious tube which formed the funnel of the crater. The sides were vertical, enabling us to peer far down; but no bottom was visible. The guides, however, declared that the tube was upwards of 1,000 feet deep, and judging by the time that bodies were falling before they came to rest, it is probable that the depth of this great fire-tube was not exaggerated. It was easy to detach large masses of lava and scoriæ from the edge of the tube which went thundering down until they seemed to fall in water. Columns of vapour came fitfully growling up from the tube at a velocity when unaffected by the wind of about seventy-eight feet a minute. Having remained as long as possible in what might not be unaptly likened to the jaws of hell, we scrambled out of the crater, delighted to be able to inhale comparatively pure air on its edge. Here in a state of great physical exhaustion we reposed, enjoying the magnificent view of Naples, the bay and surrounding country rendered, if possible, more lovely by a gorgeous sunset, while the guides and porters were engaged in cooking

our suppers. And what a supper it was. Even Brillat-Saverin, under the circumstances, would have appreciated it. The fowls were delicious, the cutlets-cooked à la victimewere most tender and succulent; and our lacrima Christi-white be it observed-merited the high eulogy passed on this wine by the poet Chiabrera, 1 We lingered lovingly over it, until the evening deepened into night, and the sky above the cone glowed with a lurid light.

What a change had come over the scene. In Italy, where there is but little twilight, for

The sun's rim dips, the stars rush out,
At one stride comes the dark-

night follows close on evening.

The lava, which in bright sunshine appeared of a dull black or dark brown, was now in many places incandescent, while, where it had cooled more, great red fissures like writhing fire-snakes seemed to twine amidst it. No wonder that our bootsoles had been completely charred;

indeed it was only by stepping cautiously on the top of the scoria that locomotion without being seriously burnt was possible. In many places the fissures were at white-heat, while all round the crater the fires were more or less active. The scene was so novel and interesting that we wandered long around the crater, and over the lava slopes beneath the cone. At length, fairly worn out by fatigue and excitement, we reposed on a kind of mattress, which the guides had cleverly propped up on comparatively cool scoriæ, on the windward side of the cone. Here, while the porters kept watch in order to awake us if the wind shifted, we slept-not soundly, howeverfor all through the night thunderlike noises came up from the crater, occasioned by vast masses of lava and scoriæ plunging into the tube, while steam blasts hissed and seethed as they issued from deepseated cavities-the unquiet spirits of this great fire-mountain.

C. R. WELD.

ONE

NE fine June day, nearly thirty years ago, the return of an old inhabitant of Oatness was heralded by the hoisting of all the flags on the masts of the ships in the harbour, and on the vanes erected before retired naval officers' and skippers' houses. These vanes were a fashion at Oatness. No man of any standing laid out his lawns and shrubberies without the indispensable ornament of a long pole with its appropriate tackling, and a gilt ship or fish a-top. A certain airy minaret character, like the presence of many steeples, was thus lent to the modern portions of the town. The hoisting of the flags was far from unusual. On the humblest marriage, on the return of widow Ruvie's son from being ice bound in his whale ship in the North seas, or Captain Bannister's brother becoming a Commodore; or the member for the coast burghs driving through the streets in the ancient dignity of a post chaise; on the nabob, Mr. Masterman, giving a gipsy tea at the West shore to his friends the ladies, presided over by the Misses Rogers; or Dr. Spottiswoode feasting the school children, the flags were up on the packet, and the vanes, on an average once a month; so that the Misses Rogers had reason to say that so common a demonstration was no honour. The most notable occasion of Oatness rejoicing was the return of any member of its seafaring population who had been long abroad, and who had won wealth and honour in his voyages and travels. Then the full complement of Union Jacks, Blue Peters, Janet and Jameses, Pretty Peggies, Dolphins, Blooms, flew

VOL. LXXVII.-NO. CCCCLX.

in swallow tails to one part of the compass.

Oatness had never been a fishing village, though it had a fishing element, and there were fishing villages on each side of it. It seemed to have been originally founded by skippers to retire to when their cruises were over. There they might drink their grog, smoke their tobacco, meet in knots mostly at the sea wall, and criticise the rig of every vessel which appeared in the bay. There they might get up at three or four bells to study the weather or the tide-so that the town was never altogether asleep like other towns of its size-and walk imaginary quarter decks till they walked off the stage of life.

Oatness was composite in its character; it was a mingled seaport and sea-bathing resort, with a little corner full of fishers. It contrived ingeniously to combine all the advantages and reject all the disadvantages of the three views of its nature and engagements. As a seaport it had the local claim to importance, the slight stir—slight enough to be pleasant-of the arrival and departure of sloops and schooners always; the hardy, well to do population made up of captains, mates, ship carpenters, well paid able bodied seamen on shore. For its own peculiar craft, above the grade of pinnaces and pleasure boats, it had a packet, and a steam boat advertised to sail to and from the next large port once a week, and once a day in summer, once a fortnight, and twice a week in winter. The packet and the steamboat. or short, the Boat were credited fit to bring all the good

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