“What is become of all the inhabitants? We see nobody in the shops! not a creature in the streets! all the houses are open! Let us begin by visiting the houses on the right. This is not a private house; that prodigious number of chirurgical instruments prove this edifice must have had some relation to the art in which they are used. This was surely a school for surgery. These houses are very small; they are exceedingly ill contrived; all the apartments are detached; but then what neatness! what elegance! In each of them is an inner portico, a mosaic pavement, a square colonnade, and in the middle a cistern, to collect the water falling from the roof. In each of them are hot-baths, and stoves, and everywhere paintings in fresco, in the best taste, and on the most pleasing grounds. Has Raffaele been here to copy his arabesques? “Let us pass over to the other side of the street. These houses are three stories high; their foundation is on the lava, which has formed here a sort of hill, on the declivity of which they are built. From above, in the third story, the windows look into the street; and from the first story, into a garden. “But what do I perceive in that chamber. They are ten death’s-heads. The unfortunate wretches saved themselves here, where they could not be saved. This is the head of a little child: its father and mother then are there! Let us go up stairs again; the heart feels not at ease here. Suppose we take a step into this temple for a moment, since it is left open. What deity do I perceive in the bottom of that niche? It is the god of Silence, who makes a sign with his finger, to command silence, and points to the goddess Isis, in the further recess of the _sacrarium_. “In the front of the porch there are three altars. Here the victims were slaughtered, and the blood, flowing along this gutter into the middle of that basin, fell from thence upon the head of the priests. This little chamber, near the altar, was undoubtedly the sacristy. The priests purified themselves in this bathing-place. “Here are some inscriptions: ‘Popidi ambleati, Cornelia celsa.’ This is a monument erected to the memory of those who have been benefactors to Isis; that is to say, to her priests. “I cannot be far from the country-house of Aufidius; for there are the gates of the city. Here is the tomb of the family of Diomedes. Let us rest a moment under these porticoes, where the philosophers used to sit. “I am not mistaken. The country-house of Aufidius is charming; the paintings in fresco are delicious. What an excellent effect have those blue grounds! With what propriety, and consequently with what taste, are the figures distributed in the panels! Flora herself has woven that garland. But who has painted this Venus? this Adonis? this youthful Narcissus, in that bath? And here again, this charming Mercury? It is surely not a week since they were painted.