A RUINED CITY.

Temuka Leader, Issue 1057, 20 January 1883, Page 3

A RUINED CITY.

There had been a time when Cape H i lien boasted the proud title of 1 Little Paris,’ says a writer in the Patterson Press. Its charming climate, its unrivalled scenery, its prodigality of riches, its exhaustless sumptuousness, made it a marked and distinguished spot, an Elysium, beloved and far-famed. But the evening of May 7, 1842, wag a memorable date in the history of this fair garden. People were eating, drinking, and making merry in their homes* No evil was dreamed of, no suspicion of calamity was entertained, no portentous signs warned them of their peril. Suddenly, like a thunderbolt from a clear sky, a terrific noise was heard ; nature was in her convulsive throes ; the foundations ©f the earth were stirred , Men started up with blanched faces, women shrieked and wept, children crouched down paralysed with fright. To escape was impossible. Already yawning gaps were seen in the massive walls. The heavy roofs fell in with a deafening crash, giant buildings tottered and fell, the air was filled with flying timbers, stones, and sickening gases. The earthquakes so common in the West Indies had visited that proud city. In a few minutes 700 per sons, with all their possessions were buried alive under tons of broken masonry. To us it was a sad and mournful spectacle. What a gloomy and sightless cemetery ! There lay the unenffiued bones of the once rich and powerful and beautiful. No human hands had touched that monumental pile. Forty years have passed, and to-day the eye of the tourist surveys the same awful desolation that once filled the whole city with crying and bitter lamentation .