d naturally belong
to a class which was not remarkable for culture; nevertheless, they seem
to have had the good sense to leave intact some of their predecessor's
most cherished works of decoration, and for this exhibition of restraint
we must feel duly grateful towards our dead-and-gone hosts, the maligned
Vettii.

But it is not only for purposes of examining Roman internal decoration _in
situ_ that this art gallery of the Casa Nuova is available. Below the
painted panels of the dining-room runs a long string of ornament, whereon
are represented Cupids and Psyches engaged in the various occupations of
Pompeian daily life. Full of dainty grace and of lively expression, these
little winged figures initiate us into a number of the trades and customs
of the ancients. For they are made to appear before us as goldsmiths,
vine-dressers, makers and sellers of olive oil, dealers in wine, fullers
of cloth, and as partakers in a dozen other scenes of town or country
life. Where learned antiquaries had hitherto doubted and disputed, the
discovery of the paintings of these celestial little mechanics and
merchants helped to solve many a difficulty, for the secret of half the
arts and crafts of Pompeii is revealed to us in this playful guise. Nor
are the designs themselves contemptible from an artistic point of view;
look how intent, for example, is the pose of the tiny jeweller working
with a graver's tool upon the gold vessel before him; how steadily he
bears himself at a task which requires at once strength of hand and
delicacy of workmanship. Look again at the nervous pose of the pretty elf
who is gingerly pouring wine out of a huge amphora, which he holds in his
arms, into a shallow tasting cup offered by a brother Cupid. How
thoroughly must the unknown artist have enjoyed the task of painting this
frieze! How unfettered his fancy, as his brush glided smoothly and deftly
over the carefully prepared wall-surface! Excellent, no doubt, he thought
his work at the time of execution, but even the most conceited of
Campanian artists could hardly have dreamed that these creations of his
brush would still at the end of two thousand years be admired, commented
upon and even reproduced in thousands, by a process he never dreamed of,
for the benefit of citizens of nations as yet unborn or unforeseen.

As the spring evening softly steals over the city and the shadows of the
colonnades lengthen, let us leave the silent halls and chambers of t