lars (sorry
fare, you will say), and rested to eat.

Here was a magnificent spectacle. Above and between the multitudinous
shafts of the sun-shining columns was seen the sea, reflecting the
purple heaven of noon above it, and supporting, as it were, on its line
the dark lofty mountains of Sorrento, of a blue inexpressibly deep, and
tinged toward their summits with streaks of new-fallen snow. Between was
one small green island. To the right was Capreae, Inarime, Prochyta, and
Misenum. Behind was the single summit of Vesuvius, rolling forth volumes
of thick white smoke, whose foam-like column was sometimes darted into
the clear dark sky, and fell in little streaks along the wind. Between
Vesuvius and the nearer mountains, as through a chasm, was seen the main
line of the loftiest Apennines, to the east.

The day was radiant and warm. Every now and then we heard the
subterranean thunder of Vesuvius; its distant deep peals seemed to shake
the very air and light of day, which interpenetrated our frames with the
sullen and tremendous sound. This sound was what the Greeks beheld
(Pompeii, you know, was a Greek city). They lived in harmony with
nature; and the interstices of their incomparable columns were portals,
as it were, to admit the spirit of beauty which animates this glorious
universe to visit those whom it inspired. If such is Pompeii, what was
Athens? What scene was exhibited from the Acropolis, the Parthenon, and
the temples of Hercules, and Theseus, and the Winds? The island and the
AEgean sea, the mountains of Argolis, and the peaks of Pindus and
Olympus, and the darkness of the Boeotian forests interspersed?

From the Forum we went to another public place; a triangular portico,
half enclosing the ruins of an enormous temple. It is built on the edge
of the hill overlooking the sea. That black point is the temple. In the
apex of the triangle stands an altar and a fountain, and before the
altar once stood the statue of the builder of the portico. Returning
hence, and following the consular road, we came to the eastern gate of
the city. The walls are of an enormous strength, and enclose a space of
three miles. On each side of the road beyond the gate are built the
tombs. How unlike ours! They seem not so much hiding-places for that
which must decay, as voluptuous chambers for immortal spirits. They are
of marble, radiantly white; and two, especially beautiful, are loaded
with exquisite bas-reliefs. On the stucco-wa