ng black on the aperture that once was
a hearth! Seen below, how quickly you would cross over the way! That
great crack forebodes an avalanche; you hold your breath, not to bring
it down on your head. But seen above, what a compassionate, inquisitive
charm in the skeleton ruin! How your fancy runs riot,--re-peopling the
chambers, hearing the last cheerful good-night of that destined Pompeii,
creeping on tiptoe with the mother when she gives her farewell look
to the baby. Now all is midnight and silence; then the red, crawling
serpent comes out. Lo! his breath; hark! his hiss. Now, spire after
spire he winds and he coils; now he soars up erect,--crest superb, and
forked tongue,--the beautiful horror! Then the start from the sleep, and
the doubtful awaking, and the run here and there, and the mother's rush
to the cradle; the cry from the window, and the knock at the door,
and the spring of those on high towards the stair that leads to safety
below, and the smoke rushing up like the surge of a hell! And they run
back stifled and blinded, and the floor heaves beneath them like a bark
on the sea. Hark! the grating wheels thundering low; near and nearer
comes the engine. Fix the ladders,--there! there! at the window, where
the mother stands with the babe! Splash and hiss comes the water; pales,
then flares out, the fire! Foe defies foe; element, element. How sublime
is the war! But the ladder, the ladder,--there, at the window! All else
are saved,--the clerk and his books; the lawyer with that tin box of
title-deeds; the landlord, with his policy of insurance; the miser,
with his bank-notes and gold: all are saved,--all but the babe and the
mother. What a crowd in the streets; how the light crimsons over the
gazers, hundreds on hundreds! All those faces seem as one face, with
fear. Not a than mounts the ladder. Yes, there,--gallant fellow! God
inspires, God shall speed thee! How plainly I see him! his eyes are
closed, his teeth set. The serpent leaps up, the forked tongue darts
upon him, and the reek of the breath wraps him round. The crowd has
ebbed back like a sea, and the smoke rushes over them all. Ha! what
dim forms are those on the ladder? Near and nearer,--crash come the
roof-tiles! Alas and alas! no! a cry of joy,--a "Thank Heaven!" and the
women force their way through the men to come round the child and the
mother. All is gone save that skeleton ruin. But the ruin is seen from
above. O Art! study life from the roof-to