By this time, day had come, but not the dawn: for it was still pitch dark. They went down to their boats upon the shore; but the sea raged so horribly that there was no getting on board.

Then Pliny grew tired and made his men spread a sail for him that he might lie down upon it. But suddenly there came down upon them a rush of flames and a strong smell of sulphur, and all ran for their lives.

Some of the slaves tried to help the admiral; but he sank down again, overpowered by the brimstone fumes, and so was left behind. When they came back again, there he lay dead, but with his clothes in order, and his face as quiet as if he had been only sleeping. And that was the end of a brave and learned man, a martyr to duty and to the love of science.

But what was going on in the meantime? Under clouds of ashes, cinders, mud, lava, three of those happy cities - Herculaneum, Pompeii, Stabiæ — were buried at once. They were buried just as the people had fled from them, leaving the furniture and the earthenware, often even jewels and gold behind, and here and there a human being who had not had time to escape from the dreadful rain of ashes and dust.

The ruins of Herculaneum and Pompeii have been dug into since, and partly uncovered; and the paintings, especially in Pompeii, are found upon the

walls still fresh, preserved from the air by the ashes which have covered them. At Naples there is a famous museum containing the curiosities which have been dug out of the ruined cities; and one can walk along the streets in Pompeii and see the wheel tracks in the pavement along which carts and chariots rolled two thousand years ago.

And what had become of Vesuvius, the treacherous mountain? Half, or more than half, of the side of the old crater had been blown away; and what was left stands in a half circle round the new cone and the new crater, which is burning at this very day. True, after that eruption which killed Pliny, Vesuvius fell asleep again, and did not awake for one hundred and thirty-four years, and then slept again for two hundred and sixty-nine years; but it has been growing more and more restless as the ages have passed on, and now hardly a year passes without its sending out smoke and stones from its crater, and streams of lava from its sides.

ples, on the bay, and at the foot of Mount Vesuvius.

Ve su'vi us, a volcano, or burning Her cu la'ne um, a town east of Namountain, in Italy, near the Bay of Naples. brim'stone, sulphur.

A ver'nus, a lake ten miles west of

Naples, in Italy.

A.D., Anno Domini, used with dates, meaning so many years after the birth of Christ.

Plin'y, a Roman admiral and author.

Pom pe'ii (-pay'ye), a town eight
miles southeast of Herculaneum.
Sta'bi æ (-ee), a town southwest of
Pompeii.

pum'ice-stone, a volcanic stone full of
pores and very light.

HABIT, if not resisted, soon becomes necessity.

ODE ON SOLITUDE

ALEXANDER POPE

HAPPY the man whose wish and care
A few paternal acres bound,
Content to breathe his native air

In his own ground:

Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread,
Whose flocks supply him with attire;
Whose trees in summer yield him shade,
In winter fire:

Blest, who can unconcern'dly find

Hours, days, and years slide soft away;
In health of body, peace of mind,
Quiet by day:

Sound sleep by night, study and ease,
Together mixed, sweet recreation;
And innocence, which most does please,
With meditation.

Thus let me live, unseen, unknown;
Thus, unlamented, let me die,
Steal from the world, and not a stone
Tell where I lie.

pa ter'nal, received from a father. | un con cerned', not troubled.

ALEXANDER POPE (1688-1744) was the most popular English poet of the eighteenth century. His "Essay on Man" and his translation of Homer's "Iliad " are among his best works.

DON QUIXOTE AND THE WINDMILLS

MIGUEL DE CERVANTES

Don Quixote (Kee ho'te) is the hero of a Spanish romance. He has read so many tales of daring, and is so delighted with them, that he sets forth with his attendant, Sancho (San' ko) Panza, in search of adventures, with very amusing results. His head is so filled with the exaggerated stories that he has read that he imagines the simplest things to be quite other than they are.

As they were thus talking, they discovered some thirty or forty windmills in the plain. As soon as the knight saw them he cried, "Fortune directs our affairs better than we could have wished. Look yonder, Sancho, there are at least thirty monstrous giants, whom I intend to encounter. Having deprived them of life, we will begin to enrich ourselves with their spoils, for they are lawful prize, and the destruction of that cursed brood will be an acceptable service to heaven."

"What giants?" quoth Sancho Panza.

"Those whom thou seest yonder," answered Don Quixote, "with their long extended arms; some of that detested race have arms of so immense a size that sometimes they reach two leagues in length."

"Pray look better, sir," quoth Sancho. "Those things yonder are not giants, but windmills, and the arms are their sails, which, being whirled about by the wind, make the mill go."

"'Tis a sign," cried Don Quixote, "that thou art but little acquainted with adventures! I tell thee, they are giants; and therefore, if thou art afraid, go aside and say thy prayers, for I am resolved to engage in combat with them all.”

This said, he clapped spurs to his horse, without giving ear to his squire, who bawled out to him, and assured him that they were windmills, and no giants. But he was so fully possessed with a strong belief to the contrary, that he did not so much as hear his squire, nor did he perceive what they were, although he was already very near them.

"Stand, cowards!" cried he as loud as he could; "stand your ground, ignoble creatures, and fly not basely from a single knight, who dares encounter you all."

The wind now rising, began to move the millsails; whereupon Don Quixote cried out, "Base miscreants, though you move more arms than the Giant Briareus, you shall pay for your arrogance."

He most devoutly recommended himself to his Lady Dulcinea, imploring her assistance in this perilous adventure. So, covering himself with his shield, and couching his lance, he rushed with Rozinante's utmost speed upon the first windmill he could come at, and as he ran his lance into the sail, the wind whirled it about with such swiftness, that the rapidity of the motion presently broke the lance into shivers, and hurled away both knight and