tions, and covering their hands with oakum to avoid any unpleasant sensation from touching the body, they laid it in a coffin, which was conveyed to the shaft in a bier made for the purpose, and drawn "to bank” in a net made of strong cords.

When the first shift of men came up, at ten o'clock, a message was sent for a number of coffins to be in readiness at the pit. These being at the joiner's shop, piled up in a heap to the num ber of 92, (a most gloomy sight,) had to pass by the village of Low Felling. As soon as a cart-load of them was seen, the howlings of the women, who had hitherto continued in their houses, but now began to assemble about their doors, came on the breeze in slow fitful gusts, which presaged a scene of much distress and confusion being soon exhibited near the pit; but happily, by representing to them the shocking appearance of the body that had been found, and the ill effects upon their own bodies and minds, likely to ensue from suffering themselves to be hurried away by such violent convulsions of grief, they either returned to their houses,. or continued in silence in the neighbourhood of the pit.

From the 8th of July to the 19th of September, the heart-rending scene of mothers and widows examining the putrid bodies of their sons and husbands, for marks by which to identify them, was almost daily renewed; but very few of them were known by any personal mark-they were too much mangled and scorched to re tain any of their features. Their clothes, tobacco-boxes, shoes, and the like, were, therefore, the only indexes by which they could be recognised.

At the crane twenty-one bodies lay in ghastly confusion: some like mummies, scorched as dry as if they had been baked. One wanted its head, another an arm. The scene was truly frightful. The power of the fire was visible upon them all; but its effects were extremely various: while some were almost torn to pieces, there were others who appeared as if they had sunk down overpowered with sleep.

The ventilation concluded on Saturday the 19th of September, when the 91st body was dug from under a heap of stones. At six o'clock in the morning the pit was visited by candle-light, which had not been used in it for the space of 117 days; and at eleven o'clock in the morning the tube-furnace was lighted. From this time the colliery has been regularly at work; but the 92d body has never yet been found.

All these persons (except four, who were buried in single graves) were interred in Heworth Chapel-yard, in a trench, side by side, two coffins deep, with a partition of brick and lime between every four coffins.

[From Eustace's Tour through Italy.]

BEYOND Torre d'Annonciato the road turns a little from the sea, and crosses the ancient Palus Pompeiana, once perhaps a marsh, now a rich plain, raised and fertilized by the very ashes which buried the unfortunate Pompeii. We stopped at a farmhouse in appearance, and alighting in the court, found ourselves in the quarters of a legion of Roman soldiers: the destination and date of this edifice, its form and colouring, the names and jests of the soldiers scribbled on the walls, fresh as if written yesterday, are objects sufficiently curious to interest without the aid of architecture, of which this building cannot boast; it is an oblong square, with a portico on all sides, supported by Doric pillars of brick plastered over and painted alternately red and yellow, with the exception of the two in the middle of each side, which are blue; behind are numerous apartments, about fourteen feet square. Immediately behind the barracks are two theatres, one small, and supposed to have been covered, the other large; both these edifices were lined with marble, beautifully paved, and in every respect highly finished. The pavement of the arena of the smaller theatre is entire; and engraved on it, in a line parallel with the stage, are the following words in large brass letters:

M. Oculatius, M. F. Verus 11 Vir pro ludis.

In other respects, these theatres are exactly of the same form as the Teatro Olimpico of Palladio at Verona: having, like it, a narrow proscenium, and three entrances (one large, the other two less) to the stage from the scenery behind. In the larger of these fabrics the seats rest on the side of a hill, above which was a colonnade or portico communicating with a public walk, or rather forming a part of a forum. The side of a hill was indeed peculiarly favourable to the arrangements of an ancient theatre, and seems to have been frequently chosen for the purpose. These theatres, when discovered, were nearly entire; they have since been stripped of their decorations, but still retain all their great characteristic features.

The street, which runs from the neighbourhood of the soldiers' quarters to the gate is narrow, that is, only about thirteen feet wide, formed like the Via Appia at Itri and other places, where it remains entire, of large stones fitted to each other in their original form, without being cut or broken for the purpose. There are on each side parapets raised about two feet above the middle, and about three feet wide. The pavement is furrowed by two deep ruts, which show evidently that the carriages always kept the same line, and that the wheels were about four feet asunder; of

course, they must have all moved in the same direction, and had regular hours for coming and going, as there is not room for two; and even if there were, a stone post placed at intervals would oblige them to return to the track. The houses on either side stand close to each other, seem to have been shops of different kinds, were of the same elevation, and nearly the same size, all paved and painted, much in the same manner. In one of these buildings were found several unfinished statues, that announce the workshop of a statuary. In another the word Salve, engraved in large characters on the threshold in mosaic, indicates, it may be supposed, the readiness of a publican to welcome his guests. In one, the amphora, which contained wine, still remain; and on the marble slab, that served as a shopboard, are the marks of cups or glasses. The gate has one large central, and two less openings on the side, with parapets of the same breadth as the street; without, but close to it, are semicircular recesses with stone seats, and beyond, a tomb and a palumbarium, or receptacle of cinerary urns. The most perfect and most curious object that has been yet discovered is a villa at a little distance from the town. It consists of three courts; in the first and largest is a pond, and in the centre an edicula, or little temple; there are numerous apartments of every description paved in mosaic, coloured and adorned with various paintings on the walls, all in a very beautiful style. The baths in this villa seem to have been the principal object of luxurious indulgence, and are laid out with a refinement of art and contrivance that can receive few or no improvements from all our modern inventions. In the cellars under the portico of the great court, were discovered several female skeletons in a row, with their backs against the wall: the ashes, which had gradually worked their way into every corner, had hardened into a solidness, which, when removed, was found in some places imprest with the form of the bosom, and even retaining part of the garment. At the door of the same court were found two other skeletons, one with a key, the other with a purse grasped in its hand. This villa is said to have belonged to Arrius; the name of Arrius has no charm in its sound! What traveller, while visiting it, would not wish to persuade himself that he was ranging over the apartments of Cicero's Pompeianum. It stood in the neighbourhood of this town, and possibly on this very spot. It was a favourite retreat, and much frequented by Cicero, and his friends Atticus, Hortensius, Sulpicius, &c. From it he sailed to Greece, in order to join Pompey, after having declined the dubious offer of the three cohorts stationed at Pompeii. At all events, if the excavations were carried on with spirit, and on a large scale, there is no doubt but that Cicero's villa would be found, and probably some inscription, statue, or other circumstance, recording the name of the most illustrious of its proprietors. The houses are

on a small scale, generally of one, sometimes of two stories; the principal apartments are always behind, enclosing a court with a portico round it, and a marble cistern in the middle; two had glass windows, in the others shutters only were used. The pavements are all mosaic, and the walls are stained with mild colours. The decorations are basso relievos in stucco, and paintings in medallions. Marble seems to have been common. On the whole, Pompeii, in all the circumstances which I have mentioned, bears a strong resemblance to modern Italian towns, with this only difference, that in point of general appearance the latter have, I think, the advantage. It must, however, be remembered, that Pompeii had already been damaged by an earthquake,* that the roofs and upper parts of the houses have been borne down by the weight of ashes and pumice-stones upon them; and, in short, that as not more than a quarter of the town has been hitherto explored, buildings of greater magnificence may still remain buried.

Stripped as it is of almost all its moveable ornaments, Pompeii possesses a secret power that captivates and fixes, I had almost said, melts the soul. In other times, and in other places, one single edifice, a temple, a theatre, a tomb, that had escaped the wreck of ages would have enchanted us; nay, an arch, the remnant of a wall, even one solitary column was beheld with veneration; but to discover a single ancient house, the abode of a Roman in his privacy, the scene of his domestic hours, was an object of fond but hopeless longing. Here not a temple, nor a theatre, nor a column, nor a house, but a whole city rises before us untouched, unaltered, the very same as it was eighteen hundred years ago, when inhabited by Romans. We range through the same streets, tread the very same pavement, behold the same walls, enter the same doors, and repose in the same apartments. We are surrounded by the same objects, and out of the same windows contemplate the same scenery. While you are wandering through the abandoned rooms, you may, without any great effort of imagination, expect to meet some of the former inhabitants, or perhaps the master of the house himself, and almost feel like intruders who dread the appearance of any of the family. In the streets you are afraid of turning a corner lest you should jostle a passenger; and on entering a house, the least sound startles, as if the proprietor was coming out of the back apartments. The traveller may long indulge the illusion, for not a voice is heard, not even the sound of a foot to disturb the loneliness of the place, or interrupt his reflections. All around is silence, not the silence of solitude and repose, but of death and devastation, the silence of a great city without one single inhabitant.

Horror ubique animos, simul ipsa silentia terrent. n. 11.

Motu terræ celebre Campaniæ oppidum Pompeii corruit. Tac. Ann. XV 22.

80

Immediately above the buildings, the ground rises, not into a cliff casting gloom, as the sides of a grave, on the hollow below, but as a gentle swell formed by nature to shelter the houses at its base. It is clothed with corn, poplars, mulberries, and vines, in their most luxuriant graces, waving from tree to tree, still covering the greater part of the city with vegetation, and forming with the dark brown masses half buried below, a singular and most affecting contrast. This scene of a city, raised as it were from the grave, where it had lain forgotten during the long night of eighteen centuries, when once beheld, must remain forever pictured on the imagination, and whenever it presents itself to the fancy, it comes, like the recollection of an awful apparition, accompanied by thoughts and emotions solemn and melancholy.

FURTHER ANECDOTES OF SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS.

[From his Memoirs by Mr. Northcote, recently published in England.]

"JAMES MAC ARDELL, the mezzotino engraver, having taken a very good print from the portrait of Rubens, came with it one morning to Sir Joshua Reynolds, to inquire if he could inform him particularly of the many titles to which Rubens had a right, in order to inscribe them properly under his print; saying, he believed that Rubens had been knighted by the kings of France, Spain and England; was secretary of state to Flanders, and to the privy council in Spain; and had been employed in a ministerial capacity from the court of Madrid to the court of London, to negotiate a treaty of peace between the crowns, and that he was also a magistrate of Antwerp, &c.

"Dr. Johnson happened to be in the room with Sir Joshua at the time, and understanding Mac Ardell's inquiry, interfered rather abruptly, saying, 'pooh! pooh! put his name under the print, Peter Paul Rubens; that is full sufficient, and more than all the rest.'

"This advice of the doctor's was accordingly followed.”

"When Goldsmith's comedy of 'She Stoops to Conquer,' was to be brought out on the stage, on the 15th of March in this year, he was at a loss what name to give it till the very last moment, and then in great haste called it She Stoops to Conquer, or the Mistakes of a Night.' Sir Joshua, who disliked this name for a play, offered a much better to him, saying, You ought to call it the Belle's Stratagem, and if you do not, I will damn it.' However, Goldsmith chose to name it himself, as above; and Mrs. Cowley has since given that name to one of her comedies.