Pompeii formerly lay nearer the sea and nearer the river than at present. In the course of the centuries alluvial deposits have pushed the shore line further and further away. It is now about a mile and a quarter from the nearest point of the city to the sea; in antiquity it was less than a third of a mile. The line of the ancient coast can still be traced by means of a clearly marked depression, beyond which the stratification of the volcanic deposits thrown out in 79 does not reach. The Sarno, too, now flows nearly two thirds of a mile from Pompeii; in antiquity, according to all indications, it was not more than half so far away. In point of climate and outlook, a fairer site for a city could scarcely have been chosen. The Pompeian, living in clear air, could look down upon the fogs which in the wet season frequently rose from the river and spread over the plain. And while in winter Stabiae, lying on the northwest side of Monte Sant' Angelo, enjoyed the sun for only a few hours, the elevation on which Pompeii stood, sloping gently toward the east and south, more sharply toward the west, was bathed in sunlight during the entire day. Winter at Pompeii is mild and short; spring and autumn are long. The heat of summer, moreover, is not extreme. In the early morning, it is true, the heat is at times oppressive. No breath of air stirs; and we look longingly off upon the expanse of sea where, far away on the horizon, in the direction of Capri, a dark line of rippling waves becomes visible. Nearer it comes, and nearer. About ten o'clock it reaches the shore. The leaves begin to rustle, and in a few moments the sea breeze sweeps over the city, strong, cool, and invigorating. The wind blows till just before sunset. The early hours of the evening are still; the pavements and the walls of the houses give out the heat which they have absorbed during the day. But soon--perhaps by nine o'clock--the tree tops again begin to murmur, and all night long, from the mountains of the interior, a gentle, refreshing stream of air flows down through the gardens, the roomy atriums and colonnades of the houses, the silent streets, and the buildings about the Forum, with an effect indescribably soothing. [Illustration: Fig. 3.--View from Pompeii, looking south.] How shall I undertake to convey to the reader who has not visited Pompeii, an impression of the beauty of its situation? Words are weak when confronted with the reality. Sea, mountains, and plain,--strong and pleasing background,--great masses and brilliant yet harmonious colors, splendid foreground effects and hazy vistas, undisturbed nature and the handiwork of man, all are blended into a landscape of the grand style, the like of which I should not know where else to look for.