4 Ascent of Mt. Etna, February, 1832. 
One proof was derived from observation of the times and distances 
of the successive explosions from the sides of Etna during an erup- 
tion. ‘Those nearer the top precede those farther down, by a space 
of time proportioned to the distances of the discharges from the 
summit. He argued to the same conclusion from the heights of 
the jets. ‘The lower down they are, the greater the force of projec- 
tion, according to the laws of gravity respecting a fluid descending 
an inclined plane. ‘Taking some of the charts and pamphlets we 
bid adieu to Sign. Gemmellaro. . 
We found our room cold and our beds hard, but soon forgot every 
thing in sleep. Owing to some cause I awoke during the night and 
heard a sound like a faint but deep murmur, as if from the struggling 
elements beneath. Whether real or imaginary, it unfortunately suffi- 
ced to dispel slumber, and to excite in my mind a feverish and ill- 
timed activity. Every image that memory had preserved of the old 
mythology, was passed in distinct review. The giants groaning and 
heaving under their uncomfortable loads, and the din of Vulcan and 
his huge one-eyed smiths, seemed no more fabulous than this vast 
smoking furnace, and the now audible roar of its fires: well might 
the Trojans tremble as they neared even the shore. Fancy then 
followed Empedocles into the crater, down which he had leapt. 
that men might believe him a god translated to heaven; but his 
brazen sandal, either vomited up by the mountain, or tossed out 
by some malicious Cyclops in scorn of its human workmanship, re- 
vealed the fate of the philosopher to mankind and changed their 
worship into laughter. The phantoms of antiquity finally vanished 
before the images of real life; I saw priestly processions alternating 
with motley troops of masquers, and mummery and antics absorbing 
by turns the pleasure-loving populace of Sicily : now they were on 
their knees in silent adoration of the passing host, now throwing their 
7 caps in air, and shouting on one leg, as if convulsed with delight at 
some inconceivable oddity of a harlequin out-monkeying Jacko. The 
rumbling of the mountain itself seemed drowued by the sound of 
the song and the dance, from the thousand villages which hang on the 
skirts of Mongibello.* 
At length I sprang from my bed impatient of the ceaseless train of 
associations, which at any other time I should have enjoyed but now 
—_—_ 
* Among the Sicilians, the popular name for Etna. 
