But what would a volcano leave of an American city, if it once rained its cinders on it?
Hardly a sign or a symbol to tell its story.
In one of these long Pompeiian halls the skeleton of a man was found, with ten pieces of gold in one hand and a large key in the other.

He had seized his money and started toward the door, but the fiery tempest caught him at the very threshold, and he sank down and died.

One more minute of precious time would have saved him.

I saw the skeletons of a man, a woman, and two young girls.

The woman had her hands spread wide apart, as if in mortal terror, and I imagined I could still trace upon her shapeless face something of the expression of wild despair that distorted it when the heavens rained fire in these streets, so many ages ago.