An account of the Great Earthquake, that happened at Liſbon, November the firſt, 1755.
'THERE was a finer morning ſeen than the firſt of November (1755); the ſun ſhone out in its full luſtre; the whole face of the ſky was perfectly ſerene and clear, and not the leaſt ſignal or warning of that approaching event, which has made this once flouriſhing, opulent, and populous city a ſcene of the utmoſt horror and deſolation, except only ſuch as ſerved to alarm, but ſcarcely left a moment's time to fly from the general deſtruction.
'It was on the morning of this fatal day, between the hours of nine and ten, that I was ſat down in my apartment, just finishing a letter, when the papers and told I was writing on began to tremble with a gentle motion, which rather ſurprized me, as I could not perceive a breath of wind ſtirring; whilſt I was reflecting with myſelf what this could be owing to, but without having the leaſt apprehenſion of the real cauſe, the whole houſe began to ſhake from the very foundation, which at firſt I imputed to the rattling of ſeveral coaches in the main ſteet, which uſual paſſed that way, at this time, from Belem to the palace; but on hearkening more attentively, I was ſoon undeceived, as I found it was owing to a ſtrange frightful kind of noiſe under ground, reſembling the hollow diſtant rumbling of thunder; all this paſſed in leſs than a minute, and I muſt confeſs I now began to be alarmed, as it naturally occurred to me, that this noiſe might poſſibly be the forerunner of an earthquake, as one I remembered, which had happened about ſix or ſeven years ago, in the ſtand of Madeira, commenced in the ſame manner, though it did little or no damage.
'Upon this I threw down my pen, and ſtarted upon my feet, remaining a moment in ſuſpence,
