Always a strange place, however often the guide-books beat their iterations upon it, a place that leaps at imagination, peering into other days through the mists that lie between, and blinds it with a rush of light--the place where they have gathered together what was left of the dead Pompeiians and their world.

There they lay before us for our wonderment as they ran, and tripped, and struggled, and fell in the night of that day when they and the gods together were overwhelmed, and they died as they thought in the end of time.

And through an open door Vesuvius sent up its eternal gentle woolly curl again the daylight sky, and vineyards throve, and birds sang, and we, who had survived the gods, came curious to look.

The figures lay in glass cases, and Dicky remarked, with unusual seriousness, that it was like a dead-house.
"Except," said poppa, "that in this mortuary there isn't ever going to be anybody who can identify the remains.

When you come to think of it--that's kind of hard." "No chance of Christian burial once you get into a museum," said Dick with solicitude.
"I should like," remarked Mrs.Portheris, polishing her _pince nez_ to get a better view of a mother and daughter lying on their faces.