In about four hours of gradual ascent, we arrived at a little convent of Benedictine monks, called St. Nicolo dell' Arena, about thirteen miles from Catania, and within a mile of the Volcano from whence issued the last very great eruption in the year 1669; a circumstantial account of which was sent to our court by a Lord Winchelsea, who happened to be then at Catania in his way home, from his embassy at Constantinople. His Lordship's account is curious, and was printed in London soon after; I saw a copy of it at Palermo, in the library of the Prince Torremuzzo[20]. We slept in the Benedictines convent the night of the 24th, and passed the next morning in observing the ravage made by the abovementioned terrible eruption, over the rich country of the Piemontese. The lava burst out of a vineyard within a mile of St. Nicolo, and, by frequent explosions of stones and ashes, raised there a mountain, which, as near as I can judge, having ascended it, is not less than half a mile perpendicular in height, and is certainly at least three miles in circumference at its basis. The lava that ran from it, and on which there are as yet no signs of vegetation, is fourteen miles in length, and in many parts six in breadth; it reached Catania, and destroyed part of its walls, buried an amphitheatre, an aqueduct, and many other monuments of its ancient grandeur, which till then had resisted the hand of Time, and ran a considerable length into the sea, so as to have once formed a beautiful and safe harbour; but it was soon after filled up by a fresh torrent of the same inflamed matter: a circumstance the Catanians lament to this day, as they are without a port. There has been no such eruption since, though there are signs of many, more terrible, that have preceded it.