exhumation of a buried city. "The upper stories of the houses," says the author of the elegant little English work on Pompeii, "which appear to have consisted chiefly of wood, were either burned by the red-hot stones, ejected from Vesuvius, or broken down by the weight of matter collected on their roofs and floors. With this exception, we see a flourishing city in the very state in which it existed nearly eighteen centuries ago: the buildings as they were originally designed, not altered and patched to meet the exigencies of newer fashions; the paintings undimmed by the leaden touch of time; household furniture left in the confusion of use; articles, even of intrinsic value, abandoned in the hurry of escape, yet safe from the robber, or scattered about as they fell from the trembling hand, which could not pause or stoop for its most valuable possessions; and, in some instances, the bones of the inhabitants, bearing sad testimony to the suddenness and completeness of the calamity which overwhelmed them."

One interesting example of the evidences of the sudden flight of the startled citizens, is thus pointed out :—“ I noticed," says M. Simond, a striking memorial of this mighty interruption in the Forum, opposite to the temple of Jupiter. A new altar of white marble, exquisitely beautiful, and apparently just out of the hands of the sculptor, had been erected there; an enclosure was building all round; the mortar, just dashed against the side of the wall, was but half spread out; you saw the long sliding stroke of the trowel about to return and obliterate its own track-but it never did return; the hand of the workman was suddenly arrested, and, after the lapse of eightteen hundred years, the whole looks so fresh and new, that you would almost swear the mason was only gone to his dinner, and about to come back immediately to smooth the roughness."

The reader will bear in remembrance that only sixteen

years elapsed between the overthrow of the greater part of Pompeii by an earthquake in the year 63, and its final destruction in A.D. 79. This brief interval had been diligently employed by the citizens in rebuilding the ruined town, and hence it was fresh from the hands of the artists and workmen, when the sudden outbreak of Vesuvius buried it in the grave where it lay undisturbed for nearly seventeen centuries. Abundant traces of the progress of the rebuilding of the city, at the very period of its destruction, have been found. Temples in the progress of erection, with the columns half hewn, the walls just rising, and the mason's tools lying beside them, as if we might expect to see the old Pompeian builders resume their implements, and complete the work they had already carried thus far. There have been about four hundred skeletons already discovered in Pompeii; but as a large portion of the city still remains to be disinterred, it is impossible to calculate the number of those who perished in its destruction.

We have already referred to the contemporary account of Pliny; yet it is a singular fact, that that writer, though giving a minute and circumstantial detail of the phenomena accompanying the eruption of Vesuvius, in which his uncle perished, makes no direct allusion to the sudden and total overthrow of Herculaneum and Pompeii, an occurrence of so momentous a character that we could hardly conceive of any Roman writer of the period omitting some notice of it. Yet, notwithstanding such important omissions in the narrative of Pliny, it is a subject for special gratulation on many accounts, that we possess the faithful narrative of a deeply-interesting eye-witness of this first recorded eruption of Vesuvius. Sir Charles Lyell, after describing in his Principles of Geology, the numerous evidences of an extensive volcanic region existing from the earliest period in the countries bordering on the Mediterranean, remarks :—" In the first century of the

Christian era, we arrive at a crisis in the volcanic action of this district—one of the most interesting events witnessed by man during the brief period throughout which he has observed the physical changes on the earth's surface. From the first colonization of Southern Italy by the Greeks, Vesuvius afforded no other indications of its volcanic character than such as the naturalist might infer, frora the analogy of its structure to other volcanos. These were recognised by Strabo, but Pliny did not include the mountain in his list of active vents. The ancient cone was of a very regular form, terminating, not as at present, in two peaks, but with a flattish summit, where the remains of an ancient crater, nearly filled up, had left a slight depression, covered in its interior by wild vines, and with a sterile plain at the bottom. On the exterior, the flanks of the mountain were covered with fertile fields richly cultivated, and at its base were the populous cities of Herculaneum and Pompeii. But the scene of repose was at length doomed to cease, and the volcanic fire was recalled to the main channel, which, at some former unknown period, had given passage to repeated streams of melted lava, sand, and scoriæ. The first symptom of the revival of the energies of this volcano was the occurrence of an earthquake in the year 63 after Christ, which did considerable injury to the cities in its vicinity. From that time to the year 79 slight shocks were frequent, and in the month of August of that year they became more numerous and violent, till they ended at length in an eruption. The elder Pliny, who commanded the Roman fleet, was then stationed at Misenum, and in his anxiety to obtain a near view of the phenomena, he lost his life, being suffocated by sulphureous vapours. His nephew, the younger Pliny, remained at Misenum, and has given us, in his Letters, a lively description of the awful scene."

It adds to the value of the narrative of Pliny that it was written for the eye of a friend, interested in the welfare

of his distinguished relative, and not penned for publication to the world, in the form in which it was originally written. "Your request," he writes to the younger Tacitus, "that I would send you an account of my uncle's death, in order to transmit a more exact relation of it to posterity, deserves my acknowledgments; for, if this accident shall be celebrated by your pen, the glory of it, I am well assured, will be rendered for ever illustrious. And notwithstanding he perished by a misfortune, which, as it involved at the same time a most beautiful country in ruins, and destroyed so many populous cities, seems to promise him an everlasting remembrance; notwithstanding he has himself composed many and lasting works; yet I am persuaded the mentioning of him in your immortal works will greatly contribute to eternize his name. Happy I esteem those to be, whom Providence has distinguished with the abilities either of doing such actions as are worthy of being related, or of relating them in a manner worthy of being read; but doubly happy are they who are blessed with both these uncommon talents; in the number of which my uncle, as his own writings and your history will evidently prove, may justly be ranked. It is with extreme willingness, therefore, I execute your commands; and should indeed have claimed the task, if you had not enjoined it. He was at that time with the fleet under his command at Misenum. On the 24th of August, about one in the afternoon, my mother desired him to observe a cloud which appeared of a very unusual size and shape. He had just returned from taking the benefit of the sun, and after bathing himself in cold water, and taking a slight repast, was retired to his study. He immediately arose and went out upon an eminence, from whence he might more distinctly view this very uncommon appearance. It was not at this distance discernible from what mountain this cloud issued, but it was found afterwards to ascend from Mount Vesuvius. I can

not give a more exact description of its figure, than by resembling it to that of a pine-tree, for it shot up a great height in the form of a trunk, which extended itself at the top into a sort of branches; occasioned, I imagine, either by a sudden gust of air that impelled it, the force of which decreased as it advanced upwards, or the cloud itself being pressed back again by its own weight, expanded in this manner: it appeared sometimes bright and sometimes dark and spotted, as it was more or less impregnated with earth and cinders. This extraordinary phenomenon excited my uncle's philosophical curiosity to take a nearer view of it. He ordered a light vessel to be got ready, and gave me liberty, if I thought proper, to attend him. I rather chose to continue my studies; for, as it happened, he had given me an employment of that kind. As he was coming out of the house, he received a note from Rectina, the wife of Bassus, who was in the utmost alarm. at the imminent danger which threatened her; for her villa being situated at the foot of Mount Vesuvius, there was no way to escape but by sea: she earnestly entreated him, therefore, to come to her assistance. He accordingly changed his first design, and what he began with a philosophical, he pursued with a heroical turn of mind. He ordered the gallies to put to sea, and went himself on board with an intention of assisting not only Rectina, but several others; for the villas stand extremely thick upon that beautiful coast. When hastening to the place from whence others fled with the utmost terror, he steered his direct course to the point of danger, and with so much calmness and presence of mind, as to be able to make and dictate his observations upon the motion and figure of that dreadful scene. He was now so nigh the mountain, that the cinders, which grew thicker and hotter the nearer he approached, fell into the ships, together with pumice-stones, and black pieces of burning rock: they were likewise in danger, not only of being aground by the