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tion of the skeleton indicated that he had perished apparently in the act of escaping from his window. Other incidents of like character are no less striking. The skeletons of the Roman sentries were found, in more than one instance, at their posts, furnishing a remarkable proof of the stern military discipline of imperial Rome. The skeleton of a priest was found in one of the rooms of the Temple of Isis. Near his remains lay an axe, with which he had been trying to break through the door.

“The ruins of Pompeii (says Mr. Eustace) possess a secret power, that captivates and 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, vor a theatre, nor a house, but a whole city rises before us, untouched, unaltered—the very same as it was 1800 years ago, when inhabited by Romans. We range through the same street, 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 we contemplate the same scenery. In the midst of all this, not :: voice is heard to disturb the loneliness of the place. Perhaps the whole world does not exhibit so awful a spectacle üs Pompeii ; and when it was first discovered, when skeletons were found heaped together in the streets and houses, when all the utensils, and even the very bread of the poor suffocated inhabitants were discernible, what a spectacle must this ill-fated city have furnished to a thinking mind! To visit it even now is absolutely to live with the ancient Romans ; and when we see houses, shops, furniture, fountains, streets, carriages, and implements of husbandry, exactly similar to those of the present day, we are apt to conclude, that customs and manners have undergone but little alteration for the last 2000 years.”


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“I entered (says Dupaty) several of the rooms, and found in one of them a mill, with which the soldiers ground their corn for bread; in another an oil-mill, in which they ! crushed the olives. The first resembles our coffee-mills ; the second is formed of two mill-stones, which were moved by the hand, in a vast mortar, round an iron centre. In another of these rooms I saw chains still fastened to the leg of a criminal; in a second, heaps of human bones ; and in a third, a golden necklace. What is become of all the inhabitants? We see nobody in the streets! All the houses are open! Let us begin by visiting all the houses on the right. This is not a private house ; that prodigious number of surgical instruments, shows that it must have been a surgery. These houses are very small; they are exceedingly ill-contrived; all the apartments are detached; but then what neatness, what elegance! In each of them is an inner portico, a mosaic pavement, a square colonnade, and in the middle a cistern, to collect the water falling from the roof. In each of them are hot-baths, and stoves, and everywhere paintings in fresco, in the best taste, and on the most pleasing grounds. Has Raffaelle been here to copy his arabesques ? Suppose we take a step into this temple for a moment, since it is left open. What deity do I perceive in the bottom of that niche? It is the god of Silence, who makes a sign with his finger to command silence, and points to the goddess Isis, in the further recess of the sanctuary. In the front of the porch there are three altars. Here the victims were slaughtered, and the blood, flowing along this gutter into the middle of that basin, fell from thence upon the heads of the priests. This little chamber, near the altar, was undoubtedly the sacristy. The priests purified themselves in this bathingplace. Here is a monument erected to the memory of those who had been benefactors to Isis, that is to say, to her priests. I cannot be far from the country-house of Aufidius ; for there are the gates of the city. Here is the tomb of the family of Diomedes. Let us rest a moment under these porticos, where the philosophers used to sit. I am not mistaken, The country-house of Aufidius is

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charming; the paintings in fresco are delicious. What an excellent effect have those blue grounds! with what propriety, and consequently with what taste are the figures distributed in the panels ! Flora herself has woven that garland. But who has painted this Venus ? this Adonis ? this youthful Narcissus, in that bath ? And here again, this charming Mercury ? It is surely not a week since they were painted. I like this portico round the garden; and this square covered cellar round the portico. Do these amphoræ contain the true Falernian? How many consulates has this wine been kept ? But it is late. It was about this time the play began. Let us go to the covered theatre; it is shut.—Let us go to the uncovered theatre ; that too is shut. I know not how far I have succeeded in this attempt to give you an idea of Pompeii.”

Excellently, we think!


Bremer Steam Mills, near Ipswich,
Moreton Bay, New South Wales,

May 4th, 1857.
To Mr. W. Bartle, Secretary of the Moor-Lane

Sunday-school, Clitheroe.
Dear Sir,

I promised some of my old friends at Clitheroe that I would write to them from Australia out of regard to the Sunday-school which I left in my fatherland; and, as you are one of the oldest teachers, and Secretary as well, I think you are the fittest person to write to. Through you I address the whole school. My memory is stored with school friends and school associations, which very often in this far off land furnish subjects for pleasing, interesting, and, I may say, melancholy reflection ; but the melancholy only arises from the fact that I am separated from many whom I strongly and most sincerely love, and by whom, I have no doubt, I am respected and

loved. You know that I was connected wich the school from its commencement, and I dare say my esteemed friend Mr. John Lofthouse can well remember how | proudly I marched, a patriot boy, at the head of the procession when we left the old school (Wesleyan) headed by many of our good teachers, who were zealous for their rights and principles of religious liberty. You ! well know, too, that those principles, as I grew up to manhood, were closely woven into my very soul ; and I have no doubt but that I shall carry them to the grave with me.

I thank the Almighty Providence of God that I was born in the town of Clitheroe, and educated in the Moore Lane Sabbath-school. Yes, it was there where ! I was educated and trained and inbibed those moral and religious principles which are more than ever of priceless value to me. I was a rough stone in nature's quarry, of rather a coarse grain, and hard and difficult to work. Some of my old teachers, no doubt, thought that they would never be able to make anything of me; but they continued their work with patient industry, until at last I was dressed and squared, pronounced fit to be put into the building, and became a teacher in the school and a member of the church. I never felt that I lived up to my privileges, or that I fully discharged my duties; yet what I did was done with sincerity and with all my heart. For several years I never absented myself from my class in the Sabbath-school, except when sick, and that was but seldom. I do not mention this in the spirit of pride, but because it is one of those things to reflect on which gives me unmingled satisfaction. I often think of those who at one time were my scholars, and sincerely trust that I was of some little use to some of them. How important it is to improve the time as it passes, for, once gone, it is gone for ever, To negleet an opportunity of doing good is to lose a pearl of infinite worth. What would that wicked wretch who now lies upon his last bed, whose body is shrivelled and burnt up by the withering influence of crime and disease, whose memory is stored with time lost and time wasted ; time

spent not in the practice of virtue, in scattering blessings amongst his kind, and bringing them nearer to God and to heaven, but spent in cursing himself by crime and wickedness, and cursing others by his vicious examplewhat would he give now if he could but say that he had dried one tear, or soothed one heavy heart, and tried, at least, to be of some use in his day by showing a good example to the rising generation? These thoughts ought to stimulate us to be useful and diligent in the discharge of our duties, giving all the glory to God, who has put such a treasure (the power of doing good) into earthen vessels.

I am often with you in my thoughts, and, though I may have faults and sins to mourn over, I would not part with the Moore Lane Sunday-school out of my memory for all the riches in this golden land. In my imagination I often enter the Sabbath-school, take my seat on the box in the corner there, and, as the young come in and seat them down on the forms, I inwardly tremble at the duty I have to discharge. And then I see my venerable old friend, Mr. Lofthouse, enter the pulpit, put on his glasses, cry out "silence," and then commence giving out one of his favourite hymns. The tune I hear set by my good brother Mr. John Hayhurst, and before the first line is finished the whole school take it up in full chorus, and send up a song of praise to God, enough to fill angelic hearts with joy. Then “Let us pray," I hear; and perhaps my good friend Mr. John Briggs is superintendent. He begins his prayer in a voice just audible, and, as he enters as it were the presence chamber of the Deity, feelings of inspiration carry him higher, and he prays louder ; his soul catches fire, touched by live coals from the altar, and away he ascends up towards the gates of heaven, carrying myself and all round with him. The gates of paradise are now in view, and now the mansions, and turrets, and domes, and spires of the New Jerusalem appear in sight, and he cries out

“ Yonder's my house and portion fair,
My treasure and my heart are there,
And my abiding home;"

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