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��Arria Marcella.

��mixture of the past and present sug- gested by the cry of the guard, "Sta- tion de Pompeii." They took a guide for the hotel, situated outside of the ramparts of the old city, and started off through a field of cotton-wood trees. It was one of those beautiful days so common in Italy, when the light of the sun is so transparent that objects have a rich color unknown in the North, and appear to belong rather to the land of dreams than to that of reality. Who- ever has once seen this golden and azure light will remember it all his life. The excavated town, having raised a corner of its shroud of cinders, gleams with its thousand details under the burning sun. Vesuvius stands at the back, with its furrowed sides of many- colored lava — blue, red, violet — changing with the sun. A faint cloud, almost imperceptible in the light, en- circles the summit. At first glance, you would take it for one of those mists, which, even in the clearest days, en- velop the summits of high peaks ; but, on looking at it more sharply, you would see that little streams of vapor are com- ing out of the mouth. The volcano, in good-humor to-day, smoked quietly ; and, if it were not for Pompeii at your feet, you would not believe it more fierce than Montmartre. On the other side, beautiful undulating hills marked the horizon; and farther still, lay the sea, which formerly bore ships with their two or three banks of oars under the very ramparts.

The appearance of Pompeii is very surprising : this sudden leap over nine- teen centuries startles even the most prosaic natures. Within a few feet of each other, ancient and modern life are mingled, Christianity and Pagan- ism. When the three friends saw the street in which the remains of a van-

��ished existence are preserved intact, they experienced a profound sensation of awe. Octavio, especially, seemed struck by a kind of stupor, and followed the guide mechanically, without listen- ing to the monotonous description which his ready tongue was giving.

He looked with a bewildered stare at the ruts in the streets, fresh as though they were made but yesterday ; the inscriptions written in a running hand upon the walls ; notices of spectacles, and announcements of all sorts, as curious to them as ours would be two thousand years from now ; these houses with their crushed roofs, allowing one to see all the mysteries of their interi- ors, all the domestic details which his- torians neglect ; these fountains ; this forum, surprised in the midst of doing an act of reparation by the catastrophe, and whose sculptured columns are as perfect to-day as when they were erected ; these temples devoted to some god of the age of mythology ; these shops where only the shop-keeper is wanting; these cabarets where one can still see the round glass left by the last customer ; these barracks with their red and yellow columns, which the sol- diers have covered with caricatures of struggles ; and the double theatres of the drama and of song, opposite each other, which might go on with their performances if the troupe which oc- cupied them were alive.

Fabio stood upon the entrance of the theatre, while Octavio and Max climbed to the highest seat by the stairs, and the latter delivered in a loud voice, and with appropriate gestures, all the bits of poetry that he could think of, to the great fright of the lizards, who ran off, twisting their tails, into the crevices in the walls ; and, although the plates of brass for reflecting the sound

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