For the wind was cold and we were hungry. So when our illustrious captain intimated that we might seek a place of refuge and entertainment a light gleamed in the eyes of the Marquis, and he reined us up at a hostelry called the Hermitage. This is the last resting place before we reach the ascent of the crater. Here the roads stop, and the remainder of the journey must be made on foot. Just beyond the Hermitage is a government institution known as the Observatory, a point where information for weather reports is gained. We thought when we came into these upper regions that we were in an atmosphere too pure for the beggars. We were congratulating ourselves upon this circumstance coming up the mountain side, but on descending we had a beggar or two to await us. I suppose they belong to the hostelry and were simply speculating upon us like our friend, the baker, whom we had left haggling over his loaves far down in Naples. Some of us, the General certainly, had come this distance meaning to climb the crater. But it was very cold, and we had delayed our departure from the ship, so that the day was well on. So, instead of climbing the rocks and looking into a sulphurous crater, we organized a kind of picnic in the Hermitage. The house seemed to have been an inquisition or a dungeon -the rooms were so large, the walls were so thick, there were such mysterious, narrow passages and chambers. But people who build houses under the rim of Vesuvius must build for fire and flame and showers of ashes and stones, and the Hermitage could stand a severe eruption before it became untenable. A slight crackling fire of twigs was made on the hearth and a brazier of burning coals was brought into the room. We were some time in comprehending the brazier, but when its uses became apparent it was comforting enough. There, in quite a primitive fashion, we had our luncheon, helping ourselves and each

other in good, homely American fashion, for we were as far from the amenities of civilization as though we were in Montana. Then after luncheon we walked about, looking at the crater, where fumes were quite apparent; at the world of desolation around us, some of it centuries old, but as fresh and terrible as when it burst from the world of fire beneath us. But there was still another picture-one of sublime and marvellous beauty. There beneath us, in clear, sunny air-there was Naples, queen among cities, and her villages clustering about her. Beautiful, wondrously beautiful, that panorama of hill and field and sea that rolled before us thousands of feet below! We could count twenty villages in the plain, their white roofs massed together and spangling the green plain like gems. There were Capri and Ischia-their rugged outlines softened by the purple-golden glow of the passing day-lying at the mouth of the bay as if to guard this rich valley. There was Naples, her rags and dirt quite veiled and only her beauty to be seen. There was Misenum, where Pliny watched the destruction of Pompeii. There was Nisita, where Brutus took refuge when he fled from the murder of Cæsar. There was Sorrento, where Tasso lived. Every village has its history and associations, for these plains and islands and promontories have been for ages the seats of a brilliant and glorious civilization—a civilization which even now only shows the beauty of decay. The splendor of a Roman imperial civilization has gone from Italy. Ages of darkness and superstition and despotism have rested upon her like the ashes which cover Pompeii. Let us hope that a new era is coming, which, based upon freedom and patriotism, will far excel even that of the Cæsars. These were our thoughts as we stood in the cold winds studying the magnificent seene. And thinking of the living, we thought of the dead-of the cities of the plains which perished

1,700 years ago. The romance that surrounds Naples only deepens the tragedy of Pompeii and Herculaneum, and we found our thoughts ever turning from the glory and majesty of all we saw to those buried cities of the plains. These were the burden of many words and thoughts as we were hurried home again-home to our graceful vessel whose lights awaited us in the harbor.

Pindar's description of Etna applies equally well to Vesuvius.

"Forth from whose nitrous caverns issuing rise,

Pure liquid fountains of tempestous fire,

And vail in ruddy mists the noonday skies,

While wrapt in smoke the eddying flames aspire;
Or gleaming through the night with hideous roar,

Far o'er the red'ning main huge rocky fragments pour."

CHAPTER X.

A DAY AMONG THE RUINS OF POMPEII

THE CITY OF HANNIBAL AND CESAR-THE FALL OF POMPEIIFORTUNE FAVORS THE BRAVE-CENTURIES OF PEACE -THE VISIT ΤΟ THE MUSEUM-THE VILLA OF A ROMAN PATRICIAN-REMARKABLE APARTMENTS-ART IN POMPEII-THE FORUM AND TEMPLES-THE TEMPLE OF ISIS-THE SHOWS ON STAGE AND ARENA-GLADITORIAL DISPLAYS-POMPEII AS A HOME-A SPECIAL EXCAVATION FOR GENERAL GRANT-AN INTERESTING

VISIT.

On the day following the ascent of Mount Vesuvius, General Grant and family, accompanied by Mr. B. Odell Duncan, United States Consul, Commander Robinson, of the Vandalia, Lieutenants Strong, Rush and Miller, and Engineer Baird, visited the ruins of Pompeii. Says Mr.. Young:

We arrived at Pompeii early, considering that we had to ride fourteen or fifteen miles, but the morning was cold enough to be grateful to our Northern habits, and there was sunshine. Our coming had been expected, and we were welcomed by a handsome young guide, who talked a form of English in a rather high key, as though we were all a little hard of hearing. This guide informed us that he had waited on General Sheridan when he visited Pompeii. He was a soldier, and we learned that the guides are all soldiers, who receive duty here as a reward for meritorious service. There was some comfort in seeing Pompeii accompanied by a soldier, and a brave one. This especial guide was intelligent, bright, and well up in all concerning Pompeii. We entered the town at once through

a gate leading through an embankment. Although Pompeii, so far as excavated, is as open to the air as New York, it is surrounded by an earthen mound resembling some of our railway embankments in America. Looking at it from the outside you might imagine it an embankment, and expect to see a train of cars whirling along the surface. It is only when you pass up a stone-paved slope a few paces that the truth comes upon you, and you see that you are in the City of Death. You see before you a long, narrow street, running into other narrow streets. You see quaint, curious houses in ruins. You see fragments, statues, mounds, walls. You see curiously painted walls. You see where men and women lived, and how they lived-all silent and all dead-and there comes over you that appalling story which has fascinated so many generations of men-thè story of the destruction of Pompeii and Herculaneum.

You will say, "Yes, every schoolboy knows that story;" and I suppose it is known in schoolboy fashion. It will complete my chronicle of General Grant's visit if you will allow me to tell it over again. In the grand days of Rome, Pompeii was a walled city, numbering about twenty thousand inhabitants. It was built on the sea coast, and was protected from the sea by a wall. I should say in extent about as large as the lower section of New York, drawing a line across the island from river to river, through the Herald office. It was an irregular five-sided town, with narrow streets. Its inhabitants were, as a general thing, in good standing, because they came here to spend their summers. I suppose they had about the same standing in Roman society as the inhabitants of Newport have in American society. Pompeii was an American Newport, a city of recreation and pleasure. It is said the town was founded by Hercules, but that fact you must verify for yourself. It was the summer capital of the