ound therein; but owing to the excessive difficulty, time, and
expense, which the attempt to bring it to light would occasion, excavations
in this city, are now almost, if not entirely, abandoned; for it is to be
remembered, that Herculaneum was destroyed by a flood of liquid lava, which
as it cools, hardens into solid and impenetrable _rock_; whereas the hot
ashes of Vesuvius overwhelmed Pompeii, and consequently it is much less
difficult to clear.

[2] "Witness," said my friend, "the bracelets which I am now
wearing; they are modelled from a pair found in Pompeii." These
were made of gold, quite in the fashion of the present day;
beautifully chased, but by no means of an uncommon pattern.

* * * * *

THE CONVICT'S DREAM.

_(For the Mirror.)_

"A wreck of crime upon his stony bed."

R. MONTGOMERY.

He who would learn the true remorse for crime
Should watch (when slumbers innocence, and guilt
Or wakes in sleepless pain, or dreams of blood)
The convict stretched on his reposeless bed.
Then conscience plays th' accusing angel;
Spectres of murder'd victims flit before
His eyes, with soul-appalling vividness;
Hideous phantasma shadow o'er his mind;
Guilt, incubus-like, sits on his soul
With leaden weight,--types of the pangs of hell.
His memory to the scene of blood reverts;
He hears the echo of his victims' cry,
Whose agonizing eyes again are fixed
Upon his face, pleading for mercy.
See! how he writhes in speechless agony!
As morning dew-drops on the face of nature,
So hangs upon his brow the clammy sweat.
Each feature of his face, each limb, each nerve,
Distorted with remorse and agony,
Is fraught with nature's speechless eloquence,
And is a faithful witness to his sin.
It is not _all_ a dream, but memory holds
Before the sleeper's eyes her magic glass,
In which he sees the image of the past.

_Huddersfield_. S.J.

* * * * *

ANTICIPATION.

_(For the Mirror.)_

'Twixt the appointment and the day
Ages seem to roll away--
Lingering doubts and cares arise,
Fancy glows with sweet surmise;
Now a hope--and now a fear,
First a smile--and then a tear;
But that day may never come,
Death may seal thine earthly doom.
Or that day may prove unkind,
Thine anticipation blind!
The best pleasure thou wilt know
May be to brood upon t