and resulted in the discovery of the long-buried city. In 1750, Pompeii was discovered, after having remained concealed from view nearly seventeen centuries. Herculaneum was buried by the lava storm, which poured along the streets, deluging the houses, consuming the verdure, and overwhelming every sign of life and beauty. Owing to the fact that this city was destroyed by lava, but few excavations have been made. The work is so slow and tedious, and requires so much labor and expense, that but little has yet been done. A goodly town is also built upon the spot, and the habitations of the living rise upon the tombs of the dead.

With lighted torches, we went down the rocky pathway into an old theater, which has been partially exhumed, and which still shows us the magnificent proportions and splendid decorations of this temple of pleasure: Beautiful houses have also been discovered, in which works of art in a state of wonderful preservation have been found, and brought forth from their rocky sepulchers to become the study of the antiquarian, and the object of curiosity and amusement to the traveler. The most important discovery made in Herculaneum was sixteen hundred and ninety-six papyrus rolls, which were brought to light about a century ago, They are covered with inscriptions almost unintelligible as yet, but which may in future furnish important historical information to the scholar. The rolls are so charred, that thus far all attempts to unroll them have been nearly or quite in vain, only a small number of them being legible after the process is completed. Some of the most noted scholars of modern times have been employed to interpret these literary remains, but with

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1 The authors of these works are Phanas, Colotes, Polystratus, and Epicurius, Philodemos, Demetrius, others.

no success that corresponds with the time, labor, and expense of the undertaking. All future excavations

made here will be slow and tedious, and meet with every obstacle from the inhabitants of Portici, who are naturally averse to having the town undermined, and its foundations hewn away. What lies beneath, none can tell; what temples, what theaters, what exquisite works of art, what noble designs, what buried treasures, must long remain unknown. The work of destruction was not completed by one eruption. The stratified crustation shows that again and again the waves of fire have rolled over that doomed city, and the present quiet appearance of Vesuvius is no indication that lightnings will not again burst forth from its fiery bosom. The excavations now made only need a new earthquake to fill them up, and Portici only waits a new eruption to sweep its palaces away.

Pompeii was buried by a shower of ashes, and the work of exhuming it has been more speedy and successful. Thus far about forty acres have been dug over, and streets, dwellings, and public buildings are laid open. These ashes fell so fast that many had no opportunity to escape, or were buried in the streets as they were pursuing their way to the distant sea. Thus far some three or four hundred skeletons have been found, while countless others may yet be lying in those parts of the city which have not been disinterred.

The impression made upon my mind by a walk through the streets of Pompeii time can hardly efface. The pavements, the houses, the columns, as they were when, eighteen centuries ago, the torrent fell upon them, are on every side. The shops of the traders, with the signs still up; the frescoes on the walls, as bright and lively as ever; the mosaics of stone and

shell, clear and distinct; the various evidences of exquisite taste and finish, all seem like a dream, when we are told that the hands that made them trembled in death before the crucifixion. The houses of Pompeii were generally of one story, or if a second story was erected, it was used for storage, or for slaves. A large number of apartments, halls, and open courts were on the ground floor, and frequently many of the rooms were entirely uncovered, and designed entirely for pleasant weather. The stranger, finding admittance through a spacious entry, (vestibulum,) would find himself in an open area, paved with marble or wrought in mosaics, from which, on all sides, are doors leading out into dining-room, (triclinium,) reading-room, (tablinum,) bed-chambers, and saloons for various purposes, in number and splendor corresponding with the taste and ability of the possessor.

We entered Pompeii by the famous Appian Way, and passed by the spot where the skeleton sentinel was found in his armor, standing at his post, having scorned flight, choosing to die in discharge of duty rather than leave the city unguarded; and also, near by, where a mother and her three children were found, the position of the group being such as to show that the last act of maternal love was an attempt to save the children at the sacrifice of her own life. We were pointed first to the house of Diomede, whose story poetry has woven into its song, and on which fiction has founded many a thrilling tale. The remains of this rich man's residence indicate that it was one of great splendor. In the now deserted halls were once heard the pattering feet of the dancers, and from the gay abode gleamed out at night the dazzling radiance of the festival. The house stands near the mountain, and was probably

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buried as soon as any other part of the city. When it was disinterred, the remains gave vivid witness of the last scene in the awful play. It is evident that the occupants of the house, finding themselves cut off from flight, or supposing that the storm of fire and ashes would soon abate, retired to the subterranean passages below, with lights, and food, and wine, and there perished. Seventeen skeletons were found pent up in these vaults, whither they had fled for safety and protection-alas! their sepulchers. One of them was an infant, whose little form still clung in death to the bony bosom of her who gave it birth. Another was the little daughter of Diomede, the impression of whose rounded chest, made in the consolidated scoria, still is shown at Naples-the flesh consumed, but the bust remains to tell even the texture of the dress, as well as the finished beauty of the neck and arms. Two others were children, and when they were unburied, "some of their blond hair was still existent." In the common fear, the usual distinctions of life were forgotten, and the mistress and her slaves were huddled together, distinguished, seventeen centuries after, only by the jewelry which still hung upon the stiffened skeleton of the former.

Diomede himself evidently made an attempt to escape, but was not successful. He was found in his garden with a bunch of keys in his hand, and near by him a slave, with some silver vases and several gold and silver coins. With what he could seize upon, the wealthy proprietor of the beautiful villa, attended by his trusty slave, left his family, who dared not follow him, and sought safety in flight, but only hastened his terrible end. His vast wealth, his humble slaves, his

offices and honors were not respected by the descending fragments of rock, some one of which probably struck him to the ground, and terminated his earthly existence. At a little distance from his terrified family he gasped away his breath, denied the consolation of perishing in the arms of those who loved him.

Near one of the gates in another part of the city, two men were found with their feet fast in the stocks. They were condemned to sit there a few days, but an awful Providence turned the sentence into one far more terrible; and there, for seventeen centuries, they sat, ere friendly hands came to undo the stocks and let them out. In that awful hour when the city was destroyed, no one remembered the imprisoned criminal. The burning cinders, the scorching ashes, and the boiling water fell upon them, rising now above the stiffened limbs, now to the armpits, now to the chin, now to the lips, until all was over, and their prison was their tomb. Their calls for aid none would heed. Their companions in guilt, their jailers, their judges had alike fled for safety, and none came to set them free.

Passing up the street from the gate is the house of Sallust, which was once a magnificent structure; and the remains still bear many marks of beauty and finish. The rich pilasters, the carved images, the pavements, and the walls still indicate the opulence of the former owner. The most remarkable thing about this and many of the other houses of the city is the unusual richness and freshness of the frescoes, some of which, though buried many centuries, seem as distinct and clear as if painted yesterday. Some forgotten and lost art is buried here; for scarcely would a modern fresco last so long under the most favorable circumstances; but these have resisted not only the streams of boiling