for twenty-four hours, the animal had, during the whole morning, testified a singular and restless uneasiness, which the keeper had attributed to the pangs of hunger. Yet its bearing seemed rather that of fear than of rage; its roar was painful and distressed; it hung its head--snuffed the air through the bars--then lay down--started again--and again uttered its wild and far-reaching cries. The editor's lip quivered, and his cheek grew pale; he looked anxiously around--hesitated--delayed; the crowd became impatient. Slowly he gave the sign; the keeper, who was behind the den, cautiously removed the grating, and the lion leaped forth with a mighty and glad roar of release. The keeper retreated hastily through the grated passage leading from the arena, and left the lord of the for-est--and his prey. Glaucus had bent his limbs so as to give himself the firmest posture at the expected rush of the lion, with his small and shining weapon raised high, in the faint hope that one well directed thrust might penetrate through the eye to the brain of his grim foe. At the first moment of its release the lion halted in the arena, raised itself half on end, snuffing the upward air with impatient sighs; then suddenly sprang forward, but not on the Athenian. At half speed it circled around and around the arena; once or twice it endeavored to leap up the parapet that separated it from the audience. At length, as if tired of attempting to escape, it crept with a moan into its cage, and once more laid itself down to rest. The first surprise of the assembly at the apathy of the lion soon grew into resentment at its cowardice; and the populace already merged their pity for the fate of Glaucus into angry compassion for their own disappointment. The editor called the keeper. [Pg 29]"How is this? Take the goad, prick him forth, and then close the door of the den." As the keeper, with some fear, but more astonishment, was preparing to obey, a loud cry was heard at one of the entrances of the arena; there was a confusion--a bustle--voices of remonstrance suddenly breaking forth, and suddenly silenced at the reply. All eyes turned in wonder at the interruption, toward the quarter of disturbance; the crowd gave way, and suddenly Sallust appeared on the senatorial benches, his hair disheveled,--breathless--half exhausted. He cast his eyes hastily round the ring. "Remove the Athenian," he cried. "Haste,--he is innocent. Arrest Arbaces the Egyptian. He is the murderer of Apaecides." "Art thou mad, O Sallust?" said the praetor, rising from his seat. "What means this raving?" "Remove the Athenian. Quick! or his blood be on your head. Praetor, delay and you answer with your own life to the Emperor. I bring with me the eye-witness to the death of Apaecides. Room there--stand back--give way. People of Pompeii, fix every eye on Arbaces--there he sits. Room there for the priest Calenus." "The priest Calenus,--Calenus," cried the mob. "Is it he?" "It is the priest Calenus," said the praetor. "What hast thou to say?" "Arbaces of Egypt is the murderer of Apaecides, the priest of Isis; these eyes saw him deal the blow. It is from the dungeon into 19 which he plunged me--it is from the darkness and horror of a death by famine--that the gods have raised me to proclaim his crime. Release the Athenian--he is innocent." "A miracle--a miracle," shouted the people. "Remove the Athenian. Arbaces to the lion!" "Officers, remove the accused Glaucus--remove, but guard him yet," said the praetor.[Pg 30] "Calenus, priest of Isis, thou accusest Arbaces of the murder of Apaecides?" "I do." "Thou didst behold the deed?" "Praetor--with these eyes--" "Enough at present--the details must be reserved for more suiting time and place. Ho! guards--remove Arbaces--guard Calenus! Sallust, we hold you responsible for your accusation. Let the sports be resumed." "To the lion with the Egyptian!" cried the people. With that cry up sprang--on moved--thousands upon thousands! They rushed from the heights--they poured down in the direction of the Egyptian. In vain did the aedile command--in vain did the praetor lift his voice and proclaim the law. The people had been already rendered savage. Arbaces stretched his hand on high; over his lofty brow and royal features there came an expression of unutterable solemnity and command. "Behold!" he shouted with a voice which stilled the roar of the crowd; "behold the gods protect the guiltless! The fires of the avenging Orcus burst forth against the false witness of my accusers!" The eyes of the crowd followed the gesture of the Egyptian, and beheld, with ineffable dismay, a vast vapor shooting from the summit of Vesuvius, in the form of a gigantic pine tree; the trunk, blackness,--the branches, fire,--a fire that shifted and wavered in its hues with every moment, now fiercely luminous, now of a dull and dying red, that again blazed terrifically forth with intolerable glare. There was a dead heart-sunken silence. Then there arose on high the universal shrieks of women; the men stared at each other, but were dumb. At that moment they felt the earth shake beneath their feet; the walls of the theater trembled; and beyond in the distance, they heard the crash of falling roofs; an instant more and the mountain-cloud seemed to[Pg 31] roll towards them, dark and rapid, like a torrent; at the same time, it cast forth from its bosom a shower of ashes mixed with vast fragments of burning stone! Over the crushing vines,--over the desolate streets,--over the amphitheater itself,--far and wide,--with many a mighty splash in that agitated sea,--fell that awful shower! The crowd turned to fly--each dashing, pressing, crushing, against the other. Trampling recklessly over the fallen--amidst groans, and oaths, and prayers, and sudden shrieks, the enormous crowd vomited itself forth through the numerous passages; prisoner, gladiator and wild beast now alike freed from their confines. Glaucus paced swiftly up the perilous and fearful streets, having learned that Ione was yet in the house of Arbaces. Thither he fled to release--to save her! Even as he passed, however, the darkness that covered the heavens increased so rapidly, that it was with difficulty he could guide his steps. He ascended to the upper rooms--breathless he paced along, shouting out aloud the name of Ione; and at length he heard, at the end of a gallery, a voice--her voice, in wondering reply! He rescued her and they made their way to the sea, boarded a vessel and were saved from the wrath of Vesuvius. Arbaces returned to his house to seek his wealth and Ione ere he fled from the doomed Pompeii. He found them not; all was lost to him. In the madness of despair he rushed forth and hurried along the street he knew not whither; exhausted or lost he halted at the east end of the Forum. High behind him rose a tall column that supported the bronze statue of Augustus; and the imperial image seemed changed to a shape of fire. He advanced one step--it was his last on earth! The ground shook beneath him with a convulsion that cast all around upon its surface. A simultaneous crash resounded through the city, as down toppled many a roof and pillar!--The lightning, as if caught by the metal, lingered an instant on the Imperial Statue--then shivered bronze and column![Pg 32] Down fell the ruin, echoing along the street, crushing Arbaces and riving the solid pavement where it crashed! The prophecy of the stars was fulfilled! So perished the wise Magician--the great Arbaces--the Hermes of the Burning Belt--the last of the royalty of Egypt. 20 FOOTNOTE: [4] An adaptation by R. I. Fulton from the "Last Days of Pompeii." DORA Alfred Lord Tennyson With farmer Allan at the farm abode William and Dora. William was his son, And she his niece. He often look'd at them, And often thought, "I'll make them man and wife." Now Dora felt her uncle's will in all, And yearn'd toward William; but the youth, because He had been always with her in the house, Thought not of Dora. Then there came a day When Allan call'd his son, and said, "My son, I married late, but I would wish to see My grandchild on my knees before I die; And I have set my heart upon a match. Now therefore look to Dora; she is well To look to; thrifty too beyond her age. She is my brother's daughter; he and I Had once hard words, and parted, and he died In foreign lands; but for his sake I bred His daughter Dora. Take her for your wife; For I have wish'd this marriage, night and day, For many years." But William answer'd short; "I cannot marry Dora; by my life, I will not marry Dora." Then the old man Was wroth, and doubled up his hands, and said,[Pg 33] "You will not, boy! you dare to answer thus! But in my time a father's word was law, And so it shall be now for me. Look to it; Consider, William, take a month to think, And let me have an answer to my wish; Or, by the Lord that made me, you shall pack, And never more darken my doors again." But William answer'd madly; bit his lips, And broke away. The more he look'd at her The less he liked her; and his ways were harsh; But Dora bore them meekly. Then before The month was out he left his father's house, And hired himself to work within the fields; And half in love, half spite, he woo'd and wed A laborer's daughter, Mary Morrison. Then, when the bells were ringing, Allan call'd His niece and said, "My girl, I love you well; But if you speak with him that was my son, Or change a word with her he calls his wife, My home is none of yours. My will is law." And Dora promised, being meek. She thought, "It cannot be, my uncle's mind will change!" And days went on, and there was born a boy To William; then distresses came on him; And day by day he pass'd his father's gate, 21 Heart-broken, and his father help'd him not. But Dora stored what little she could save, And sent it them by stealth, nor did they know Who sent it; till at last a fever seized On William,
