A LETTER FROM MENDOZA. [To the Editor of the SPECTATOR.]
S1R,—To the average Englishman Mendoza, though a city of seventy thousand inhabitants, is merely a name. It is a flourishing town of the Argentine, the centre of a rich wine- producing province, and known to all Transandine travellers between Santiago and Buenos Aires. Its raison cr are is wine-making. Its salient features are earthquakes and a beautiful climate. In the latter respect few places in the world —even the much-vaunted California—are so well favoured. Day after day, week after week, summer and winter, the sun climbs up into a cloudless blue sky to set over the Andes in the afternoon, leaving behind it often a path of molten gold and fiery crimson.
But earthquakes prevent Mendoza from becoming a really
popular place. They have a way of coming with disconcerting regularity and suddenness—mainly at nighttime—and no amount of frequency can stale the feeling of deep distrust with which they are always received. One may be lounging in a confiteria or sitting quietly at home when the chandelier begins to sway gently, or the bed gets unsteady— both certain indications of seismographic disturbance.
April witnessed one of the most disastrous earthquakes experienced in Mendoza for years past. The shock lasted less than sixteen seconds, but it was time enough to raze a church to the ground, and to wreck between five hundred and a thousand houses. However, it was fortunately a few seconds too short to complete the ruin of the city.—I am, Sir, &c., YOUR SOUTH AMERICAN CORRESPONDENT.
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