ot done; and I think it not
unlikely it may have to be turned over again before it is. We had seen
where Herculaneum lies under the lava and under the town of Resina;
we had walked those clean and narrow streets of Pompeii, and seen the
workmen picking away at the imbedded gravel, sand, and ashes which still
cover nearly two thirds of the nice little, tight little Roman city;
we had looked at the black gashes on the mountain-sides, where the lava
streams had gushed and rolled and twisted over vineyards and villas and
villages; and we decided to take a nearer look at the immediate cause of
all this abnormal state of things.

In the morning when I awoke the sun was just rising behind Vesuvius; and
there was a mighty display of gold and crimson in that quarter, as if
the curtain was about to be lifted on a grand performance, say a ballet
at San Carlo, which is the only thing the Neapolitans think worth
looking at. Straight up in the air, out of the mountain, rose a white
pillar, spreading out at the top like a palm-tree, or, to compare it to
something I have seen, to the Italian pines, that come so picturesquely
into all these Naples pictures. If you will believe me, that pillar of
steam was like a column of fire, from the sun shining on and through it,
and perhaps from the reflection of the background of crimson clouds
and blue and gold sky, spread out there and hung there in royal and
extravagant profusion, to make a highway and a regal gateway, through
which I could just then see coming the horses and the chariot of a
southern perfect day. They said that the tree-shaped cloud was the sign
of an eruption; but the hotel-keepers here are always predicting that.
The eruption is usually about two or three weeks distant; and the hotel
proprietors get this information from experienced guides, who observe
the action of the water in the wells; so that there can be no mistake
about it.

We took carriages at nine o'clock to Resina, a drive of four miles, and
one of exceeding interest, if you wish to see Naples life. The way is
round the curving bay by the sea; but so continuously built up is it,
and so inclosed with high walls of villas, through the open gates of
which the golden oranges gleam, that you seem never to leave the
city. The streets and quays swarm with the most vociferous, dirty,
multitudinous life. It is a drive through Rag Fair. The tall,
whitey-yellow houses fronting the water, six, seven, eight stories high,
are