The innocents abroad; . ottenpeople. But what would a volcano leave of an American city,if it once rained its cinders on it? Hardly a sign or a symbolto tell its story. In one of these long Pompeiian halls the skeleton of a manwas found, with ten pieces of gold in one hand and a large keyin the other. He had seized his money and started toward thedoor, but the fiery tempest caught him at the very threshold,and he sank down and died. One more minute of precious 334 FOOTPRINTS OF THE DEPARTED. time would have saved liim. I saw tlie skeletons of a man, awoman, and two young girls. The woman had h
The innocents abroad; . ottenpeople. But what would a volcano leave of an American city,if it once rained its cinders on it? Hardly a sign or a symbolto tell its story. In one of these long Pompeiian halls the skeleton of a manwas found, with ten pieces of gold in one hand and a large keyin the other. He had seized his money and started toward thedoor, but the fiery tempest caught him at the very threshold,and he sank down and died. One more minute of precious 334 FOOTPRINTS OF THE DEPARTED. time would have saved liim. I saw tlie skeletons of a man, awoman, and two young girls. The woman had her handsspread wide apart, as if in mortal terror, and I imagined Icould still trace upon her shapeless face something of theexpression of wild despair that distorted it when the heavensrained fire in these streets, so many ages ago. The girls andthe man lay with their faces upon their arms, as if they hadtried to shield them from the enveloping cinders. In oneapartment eighteen skeletons were found, all in sitting pos-. HOUSE.—POMPEII. tures, and blackened places on the walls still mark their shapesand show their attitudes, like shadows. One of them, awoman, still wore upon her skeleton throat a necklace, withher name engraved upon it—Julie di Diomede. THE BRAVE MARTYE, TO DUTY. 335 But perhaps the most poetical thing Pompeii has yielded tomodern research, was that grand figure of a Roman soldier,clad in complete armor; who, true to his duty, true to hisproud name of a soldier of Rome, and full of the stern couragewhich had given to that name its glory, stood to his postby the city gate, erect and unflinching, till the hell that ragedaround him burned out the dauntless spirit it could not con-quer. We never read of Pompeii but we think of that soldier; wecan not write of Pompeii without the natural impulse to grantto him the mention he so well deserves. Let us rememberthat he was a soldier—not a policeman—and so, praise a soldier, he staid,—because the warr
Size: 1423px × 1755px
Photo credit: © The Reading Room / Alamy / Afripics
License: Licensed
Model Released: No
Keywords: ., bo, bookcentury1800, bookdecade1890, booksubjectvoyagesandtravels
