tragical facts with seriousness, it is not with equal gravity that one
reads that sixteen years before the Vesuvian eruption "the region had
been shaken by strong sismic movements, which induced Pompei inhabitants
to forsake precipitately their habitations. But being the amazement up,
they got one's home again as soon as the earth was quiet and all fear
and sadness went off by memory." Signs of the final disaster to follow
were not wanting; the wells failed, the water-courses were crossed by
currents of carbonic acid; "the domestic animals were also very sensible
of the approaching of the scourge; they lost the habitual vivacity, and
having the food in disgust, had from time to time to complain with
mournful wailings, without justified reasons. . . . The sky became of a
thick darkness, . . . interrupted only by flashes of light which the
lava riverberated, by the bloody gliding of the thunderbolts, by the
incandescence of enormous projectiles, thrown to an incommensurable
highness. . . . Death surprised the charming town; houses and streets
became the tombs of the unhappies hit by an atrocious torture."

The author's study of the life of Pompeii is notable for diction which,
if there were logic in language, would be admirable English, for while
yet in his mind it must have been "very choice Italian." He tells us
that "Pompei's dwellings are surprising by their specific littleness,"
and explains that "Pompei inhabitants, for the habitudes of the climate
could allow, lived almost always to the open sky," just as the Naples
inhabitants do now. "They got home only to rest a little, to fulfill
life wants, to be protected by bad weather. They spent much time during
the day in forum, temples, thermes, tennis-court, or intervened to
public sports, religious functions and meetings. . . . Few houses only
had windows. The sunlight and ventilation to the ancients was given
through empty spaces in the roofs. . . . Hoofs knocked under the weight
of materials thrown out by Vesuvius; it is undoubted, however, that