Connecticut western news., 1871-10-13
The Ruins. of Pomue;i.

The Ruins of Pompeii. \s #
 There is a difficulty in embodging
 Pompeii to the minds eyesof a reader, says 8 writer. You walk it's streets,
 notice the houses on either hand, see the open doors, mark byways and alleys,
 enter the Exchange, look down long ave. nues to the arched gateways, thread | winding lanes, tramp over Jagged side walks, scrutinize the ctrbs fretted by | carriage wheels read the signs beside | and above the entrances to shops and stores, rest in the rooms and mount the. stairs and penetrate the chambers of the dwellings, and yet fail to carry away the right words to convey your impressions.
 There is nothing grand. The place is anything but beautiful. A ruined castle possesses hundredfold greater attracZ tions. Tear the covers from book, lift the crust from 8 pie, or bereave a bureau of it's drawers, and you have homely but exact idea of the impression your visit has left upon your mind as you drive back to Naples. And yet you have been in actual contact with the life of the Pompeiians, and know what they were doing eighteen hundred and one years ago, when the fatal hour struck. ateg Ea8 We took random walk through the streets recently unearthed The south ern sun was shining in at open doors and through broken roofs. In the dwellings everything was pitilessly bright. The secrets of every chamber were revealed. The carriage-road between the two foot paths is of smooth flags, irregular in shape, deftly fitted, like stones in 8 I'church tower. Modern, Florence, is so paved. We turn corner and are startled by the figure of dead man lying inside a'doorway a He lies as he fell. His atti- tude is preserved by a process recently adopted. In the hurry of the storm he had sought refuge in porch. But he never crossed its threshold again, and you cln see yhow death grappled with him there and threw him struggling and fighting for life. Tn the bakers alinpsis the arched oven, with fireplace and fues, all perfect for baking bread to-day. Mills for grinding-c cones of grit stone, convex and concaye, turned capstain7 fashion by cross bar stand in the shop. In his neighbours, the fuller's shop, are the charges for work done chalked upon the walls. 'There they are," said our guide. "Your excellencies can doubt less read Latin. But the poor man was never paid" A more pretentious trades man was the leather=cutter, not far of. Within was the table gashed with knife marks, upon which the man had cut his last strands. He had once been 8 soldier of the Ninth Cohort, and so announced under his name. .g.. ..s....,-.. ....,sr. ;. There was in Pompeii glut of public houses, sometimes four or five in sim | gle street. We stopped at an inn, on the wan-of which was painted an e1e- Iphant, and beneath it the latin words, words, which, translated, were is ss Sit I tins has established the Elephant Oste- ria Trichln1ium, with three beds. Every comfort. i" Inside are the Trichnium or dining-room, the dinner-table, and three divans for convives. It must have been common place in it's best days, and as for its comfort, Pompeiians, in common with modern Neapoitains, were appar- ently not exacting. The house of Sri GUS, lower down the street is curious
 His name is written up in two places in chamber and over the front door. FOn his threshold is cut 'sSalve Lucrum. D FThe interior is well appointed, with a nice garden in the rear, and trellises,
 rockeries and decorations suggestive of woman's ,handiwork.s Skeletons of la little dog, tortoises and two goats, indi- cate that pet animals were about, The windows and doors are bordered with
 graceful designs the walls of the sleep ing apartments are covered with trace
 rles of flowers, festoons, birds dolphins and bachantes, and the choice domicile is decorated with zones of rich colors, now called Raphaelesque. Who Siricus was not even M. Fiorrei can make ap- parent. Turning into another street,
 the visitor comes upon the bagnios.
 They are of three distinct classes, two of which, are happily unknown to the modern world. Each class is. .designa- ted by an emblem carved in stone,
 placed beside the door. In refinement of immortality, Pompeii was miniature Corinth. From the common halls, where courtesans danced with gladiators, to the ] sumptuous boudoirs that invited aristo- 5 cratic matrons, or the luxurious cabinets
 frequented only by the patrician order,
 prohigate life is pictured in colorings and shadings upon every floor and wall
 lndeEcate verses are scribbled on the
 doors. Vile epigrams stared the un-
 blushing habitues from every corner
 AHO NOttOt6 CIet6NU|OS, GuO W4U O1 WHICH IS smothered in nastiness, hide ashamed
 behind cornices and fretwork. Eyi- tdently of the dwellers in the doomed city, it was equally true as in Rome, that
 ''God gave them up unto vile affections. '' A dyer's shop, in the same infamous street, is remarkable only for its window shutters They were closed, being of
 wood, which has mouldered away, their II T
 ashes. They were nine in number. The
 edge of each overlapped its fellow and
 slid into groove. In the central shut
 ter small door was made, closed by
 lock and key. This was for the dyer to
 let himself in and out after he had
 closed the doors. He had done the lat.
 ter on the fatal day, too late, alas, tc escape, and so ended his life among his
 dye-woods and blacking-powders. I TE1<a Mrvdo,. nF. RhinF sTucfian assa