art, the general catastrophe, and suffice to show the general
style and beauty of the Graeco-Roman architecture of the first century.
The guide marshaled his party along, pointing out to them the various
objects of interest that had been excavated, the beautiful marble
drinking-fountain, the marble counters of the shops, identical with
those still used in Southern Italy, the wine jars of red earthenware,
the hand-mills for grinding corn, the brick ovens, or the vaults where
wine had been stored. They went into the site of the ancient market, and
the Forum and several temples, and walked up long flights of steps and
admired rows of broken columns, and saw the public swimming-baths with
their tasteful wall decorations and the niches where the bathers had
placed their clothes, and they admired the law-courts, and marveled at
the great theater that had been wont to hold five thousand spectators.

The general impression was one of utter desolation. The mighty ruins lay
in the bright Italian sunshine, and, close above, Vesuvius frowned over
the scene, as if still watching the result of his deadly handiwork. Who
had lived in those blackened fire-swept houses, and walked in those
grass-grown streets? It was difficult to imagine the busy thronging
crowds that once must have peopled all these silent haunts, where the
only signs of life were the little green lizards that darted over the
crumbling walls.

Certain of the best houses were railed round and kept carefully locked,
and inside these could be seen what was left of the domestic life of
civilized Pompeii. The girls enjoyed looking at the rooms in the Casa
Dei Vettii, with the exquisite paintings of cupids still left upon the
scarlet walls, they laughed at the quaint mosaic of the chained dog with
its warning _Cave Canem_ (Beware of the dog!), and they went into
ecstasies over the lovely little statue of the Dancing Faun and some
terracottas of Venus and Mercury. One link with the past was left in the
fact that a few of the houses still preserved the names and even the
portrait-busts of their former owners.

"My! Doesn't he look boss of the place still? I wonder if I ought to
leave my visiting card for him," declared Delia, staring at the green
marble representation of Cecilius Giscondis, a banker by profession.

The others laughed. They had all been feeling rather oppressed, and were
glad to break the ice.

"I'm so tired, I should think we must have walked miles," groane