The first thing to which we were introduced was the massive ruin of a villa, a little to the right of the pathway, known as the house of Diomedes, a wealthy Roman. The extent of this large ruin did not more surprise us than its open and demolished condition. It seems that here, as elsewhere, exposure to the weather for a number of years has obliterated some fine specimens of paintings on the walls, and greatly injured the different parts of the structure. We were told that, when the building was cleared out, the skeletons of seventeen persons were found in a vaulted cellar, into which they had rushed for safety. The volcanic mud which flowed in had hardened around them; and when excavated, their bodies left impressions in the surrounding material, like moulds for statuary. A piece of the incrustation remains on the wall, impressed with the form of a woman. This hapless sufferer had been a lady, perhaps the mistress of the splendid household; for bracelets, rings, and jewels were found on the remains of her person. Our guide mentioned that, near the villa, the body of a man had been found grasping bags of money, and keys in his hands, as if struck down in the effort to escape with these valuables.

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Hastening on from this interesting and dismantled ruin, we proceeded along an avenue or street, singular in character, usually called the Street of Tombs. It is in reality what had been the buryingground of the Pompeians, and is lined with monumental edifices of handsome and solid masonry, some in a tolerable state of preservation, but others dilapidated-less, however, by time, than the pressure of volcanic matter. The architecture is principally of the Grecian orders - columns, pilasters, mouldings in

stone or marble, being conspicuous amidst the scene of desolation.

"Reaching the end of the street of tombs, and making an easy ascent, we arrived at the gateway already mentioned. Every part is now in ruin; but originally the entrance consisted of a central and two side arches. When the rubbish which encumbered the street and gateway was cleared away, the skeleton of a Roman soldier was found in a niche, marked on the side of the pathway: his lance was in his hand; and, like a faithful sentinel, he had died rather than desert his post.

"Turning up a cross street to the left, we were shown the remains of one of the largest private dwellings in the city, usually styled the house of Pansa, a public officer. In this great mansion, the water for drinking and cooking was brought in buckets from public fountains; for, although the city was supplied with water by an aqueduct, from hills eight miles distant, it was not introduced by pipes into the houses. This defect, however, did not arise from an ignorance of hydraulics, because in Pompeii there are paintings of fountains spouting water. As large numbers of slaves and menials were employed in carrying water, and in various cleansing operations, the inconvenience of having no provision for introducing water to the houses in pipes was not probably felt. Another deficiency was the absence of chimneys or fire-places. Suitable enough for summer or pleasant, dry weather, the houses could not fail to be uncomfortable in winter. Excepting where flues of warm air were led through the walls for furnaces employed for hot baths, the method of heating was by pans of burning wood or

charcoal, over which the people sat shivering in cold weather.

"Cooking was likewise performed over pans of charcoal sunk in counters of stone work. Ancient Roman writers make grievous complaints of the smoke rising from the heating-pans, which, having no contrivance to rid themselves of, wound in clouds through the apartments, spoiling the appearance of the statues and pictured walls, and in certain seasons making life within doors almost insupportable. How remarkable does it now appear, that a people so far advanced in taste and luxury, so accomplished in all ornamental arts, should not have arrived at the discovery and use of chimneys! With these things forced on our notice, the feelings of regret which we experienced in wandering through the roofless halls of Pansa's palace were considerably modified. We thought of our neat dwelling at home, which, without any pretensions to magnificence, surpassed in every useful and substantial accommodation this once proud and lordly mansion."-From Chambers' Miscellany.

WITH

THE GRAY FOREST EAGLE.

ITH storm-daring pinion and sun-gazing eye, The gray forest eagle is king of the sky! Oh, little he loves the green valley of flowers, Where sunshine and song cheer the bright summer

hours,

For he hears in those haunts only music, and sees Only rippling of waters and waving of trees;

There the red robin warbles, the honey-bee hums,
The timid quail whistles, the sly partridge drums;
And if those proud pinions, perchance, sweep along,
There's a shrouding of plumage, a hushing of song;
The sunlight falls stilly on leaf and on moss,
And there's naught but his shadow black gliding

across;

But the dark, gloomy gorge, where down plunges the

foam

Of the fierce, rock-lashed torrent, he claims as his

home;

There he blends his keen shriek with the roar of the

flood,

And the many-voiced sounds of the blast-smitten wood;

From the crag-grasping fir top, where morn hangs its wreath,

He views the mad waters white writhing beneath.
On a limb of that moss bearded hemlock far down,
With bright azure mantle and gay mottled crown,
The kingfisher watches, while o'er him his foe,
The fierce hawk, sails circling, each moment more low.
Now poised are those pinions, and pointed that beak,
His dread swoop is ready, when, hark! with a shriek,
His eye-balls red blazing, high bristling his crest,
His snake-like neck arched, talons drawn to his
breast,

With the rush of the wind gusts, the glancing of light,

The gray forest eagle shoots down in his flight; One blow of those talons, one plunge of that neck, The strong hawk hangs lifeless, a blood-dripping wreck,

And as dives the free kingfisher, dart-like on high With his prey soars the eagle, and melts in the sky.

A fitful red glaring, a low, rumbling jar,
Proclaim the storm-demon yet raging afar:

The black cloud strides upward, the lightning more red,

And the roll of the thunder more deep and more

dread;

A thick pall of darkness is cast o'er the air,

And on bounds the blast with a howl from its lair; The lightning darts zigzag and forked through the

gloom,

And the bolt launches o'er with crash, rattle, and

boom;

The gray forest eagle, where, where has he sped? Does he shrink to his eyry, and shiver with dread? Does the glare blind his eye? Has the terrible blast On the wing of the sky-king a fear-fetter cast?

No, no, the brave eagle! he thinks not of fright;
The wrath of the tempest but rouses delight;
To the flash of the lightning his eye casts a gleam,
To the shriek of the wild blast he echoes his scream,
And with front like a warrior that speeds to the fray,
And a clapping of pinions, he's up and away!
Away, oh, away, soars the fearless and free!
What recks he the sky's strife? its monarch is he!
The lightning darts round him, undaunted his sight;
The blast sweeps against him, unwavered his flight;
High upward, still upward, he wheels, till his form
Is lost in the black, scowling gloom of the storm.

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