The guide wanted us to go up Vesuvius. He said she wuz lookin’ very mild and pleasant, and it would be perfectly safe.
But I didn’t like her looks, or that is, I thought I’d ruther admire her at a distance, some as I would a striped tiger right out of the jungle. But Vesuvius did indeed look beautiful, a-risin’ up above the incomparable Bay of Naples. But I felt for all her good looks I didn’t want to tackle her.
I knew what she’d done in the past to ’em that trusted her too much. Pompey won’t forgit her—no, indeed! After eighteen hundred years have gone don’t memories hant the House of Pansa and the hull of that devoted city of what Vesuvius can do when it gits to actin’? Yes, indeed, indeed! No, I didn’t want to venter.
But I did want to visit that city that has lain buried up in the earth for so many years. And Martin sed that most all of his inflooential friends made a practice of goin’ there. So we all sot off one pleasant mornin’—my Josiah in pretty good sperits, for we had had an oncommon good breakfust, and Alice lookin’ sweet as a flower, and Al Faizi a-knowin’ she did, a-realizin’ her sweetness through all his bein’, as I could see from his big, dark, sad eyes, that wuz bent on her all the way, and her heart all filled up with another’s image and drawin’ her radiant looks from that sun of her heart.
O human hearts; O glory and sadness and rapter that fills ’em! How many jest sech gay young sperits, sech souls, full of the glowin’ rapter of love, the divine sadness of love, went out in darkness on that dretful day, a thousand and a half years ago!
I had fearful riz-up emotions before I got to Pompey, jest a-thinkin’ on’t, and so what could they have been when I at last stood in the city on which fell sech a sudden doom.
To see the silent forms struck down, jest as full of life and love and happiness as Alice and Adrian wuz to-day. There wuz a woman clingin’ to a bag of gold—gold couldn’t help her. A young man and young girl clasped in each others’ arms—love couldn’t save ’em. A priest of Isis, who knew all the secrets of the Mystic Religion—his wisdom couldn’t save him, or what he called his wisdom. A giant form full of courage and defiance—strength couldn’t save him, nor courage. A high-born lady covered with jewels—wealth and high station couldn’t save her.
They all had to bear the common fate, as well as the little maid who died runnin’ away from death, and had covered her face with her garments, she wuz so ’fraid. Poor little creeter! what if it had been Babe?
No; the prisoners shet up in jail, riveted to the rock, the dogs, horses, goats, even the poor little dove, that wouldn’t leave her nest, pretty, little affectionate thing!—all, all had to bear the doom that come down upon ’em on that dretful day.
All on ’em a-doin’ their usual work, jest as if the Heavens should open and pour down a avalanche of ashes and bury us up in our home in Jonesville—Josiah a-doin’ his barn chores, and I a-washin’ dishes, and both on us full of life and joy of livin’. Besides Ury and Philury.