thousands and thousands of human beings once bought and sold, and

walked

and rode, and made the place resound with the noise and confusion of

traffic and pleasure. They were not lazy. They hurried in those days.

We had evidence of that. There was a temple on one corner, and it was a

shorter cut to go between the columns of that temple from one street to

the other than to go around--and behold that pathway had been worn deep

into the heavy flagstone floor of the building by generations of

time-saving feet! They would not go around when it was quicker to go

through. We do that way in our cities.

Every where, you see things that make you wonder how old these old houses

were before the night of destruction came--things, too, which bring back

those long dead inhabitants and place the living before your eyes. For

instance: The steps (two feet thick--lava blocks) that lead up out of the

school, and the same kind of steps that lead up into the dress circle of

the principal theatre, are almost worn through! For ages the boys

hurried out of that school, and for ages their parents hurried into that

theatre, and the nervous feet that have been dust and ashes for eighteen

centuries have left their record for us to read to-day. I imagined I

could see crowds of gentlemen and ladies thronging into the theatre, with

tickets for secured seats in their hands, and on the wall, I read the

imaginary placard, in infamous grammar, "POSITIVELY NO FREE LIST,

EXCEPT

MEMBERS OF THE PRESS!" Hanging about the doorway (I fancied,) were

slouchy Pompeiian street-boys uttering slang and profanity, and keeping a

wary eye out for checks. I entered the theatre, and sat down in one of

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The Innocents Abroad