The girls and the man lay with their faces upon their arms, as if they had tried to shield them from the enveloping cinders.

In one apartment eighteen skeletons were found, all in sitting postures, and blackened places on the walls still mark their shapes and show their attitudes, like shadows.

One of them, a woman, still wore upon her skeleton throat a necklace, with her name engraved upon it--JULIE DI DIOMEDE.
But perhaps the most poetical thing Pompeii has yielded to modern research, was that grand figure of a Roman soldier, clad in complete armor; who, true to his duty, true to his proud name of a soldier of Rome, and full of the stern courage which had given to that name its glory, stood to his post by the city gate, erect and unflinching, till the hell that raged around him burned out the dauntless spirit it could not conquer.
We never read of Pompeii but we think of that soldier; we can not write of Pompeii without the natural impulse to grant to him the mention he so well deserves.

Let us remember that he was a soldier--not a policeman -- and so, praise him.

Being a soldier, he staid,--because the warrior instinct forbade him to fly.