efore the door, some farmers, seated on a bench by a
small circular table, were talking over their morning cups, on the
affairs of their calling. On the side of the door itself was painted
gaily and freshly the eternal sign of the chequers. By the roof of the
inn stretched a terrace, on which some females, wives of the farmers
above mentioned, were, some seated, some leaning over the railing, and
conversing with their friends below. In a deep recess, at a little
distance, was a covered seat, in which some two or three poorer
travellers were resting themselves, and shaking the dust from their
garments. On the other side stretched a wide space, originally the
burial-ground of a more ancient race than the present denizens of
Pompeii, and now converted into the Ustrinum, or place for the burning
of the dead. Above this rose the terraces of a gay villa, half hid by
trees. The tombs themselves, with their graceful and varied shapes, the
flowers and the foliage that surrounded them, made no melancholy feature
in the prospect. Hard by the gate of the city, in a small niche, stood
the still form of the well-disciplined Roman sentry, the sun shining
brightly on his polished crest, and the lance on which he leaned. The
gate itself was divided into three arches, the centre one for vehicles,
the others for the foot-passengers; and on either side rose the massive
walls which girt the city, composed, patched, repaired at a thousand
different epochs, according as war, time, or the earthquake had
shattered that vain protection. At frequent intervals rose square
towers, whose summits broke in picturesque rudeness the regular line of
the wall, and contrasted well with the modern buildings gleaming whitely
by.

The curving road, which in that direction leads from Pompeii to
Herculaneum, wound out of sight amidst hanging vines, above which
frowned the sullen majesty of Vesuvius.

'Hast thou heard the news, old Medon?' said a young woman, with a
pitcher in her hand, as she paused by Diomed's door to gossip a moment
with the slave, ere she repaired to the neighboring inn to fill the
vessel, and coquet with the travellers.

'The news! what news?' said the slave, raising his eyes moodily from the
ground.

'Why, there passed through the gate this morning, no doubt ere thou wert
well awake, such a visitor to Pompeii!'

'Ay,' said the slave, indifferently.

'Yes, a present from the noble Pomponianus.'

'A present! I thought thou s