Chapter 4

My mother now besought, urged, even commanded me to make my escape at any rate, which, as I was young, I might easily do; as for herself, she said, her age and corpulency rendered all attempts of that sort impossible; however, she would willingly meet death if she could have the satisfaction of seeing that she was not the occasion of mine. But I absolutely refused to leave her, and, taking her by the hand, compelled her to go with me. She complied with great reluctance, and not without many reproaches to herself for retarding my flight.

The ashes now began to fall upon us, though in no great quantity. I looked back; a dense, dark mist seemed to be following us, spreading itself over the country like a cloud. "Let us turn out of the highroad," I said, "while we can still see, for fear that, should we fall in the road, we should be pressed to death in the dark by the crowds that are following us."

We had scarcely sat down when night came upon us, not such as we have when the sky is cloudy, or when there is no moon, but that of a room when it is shut up and all the lights put out.

The Terror of the People.

You might hear the shrieks of women, the screams of children, and the shouts of men; some calling for their children, others for their parents, others for their husbands, and seeking to recognize each other by the voices that replied; one lamenting his own fate, another that of his family; some wishing to die, from the very fear of dying; some lifting their hands to the gods, but the greater part convinced that there were now no gods at all, and that the final endless night of which we have heard had come upon the world.

Among these there were some who augmented the real terrors by others imaginary or wilfully invented. I remember some who declared that one part of Misenum had fallen, that another was on fire; it was false, but they found people to believe them.

It now grew rather lighter, which we imagined to be rather the forerunner of an approaching burst of flames (as in truth it was) than the return of day; however, the fire fell at a distance from us; then again we were immersed in thick darkness, and a heavy shower of ashes rained upon us, which we were obliged every now and then to stand up to shake off, otherwise we should have been crushed and buried in the heap.

I might boast that during all this scene of horror not a sigh or expression of fear escaped me, had not my support been grounded in that miserable though mighty consolation that all mankind were involved in the same calamity, and that I was perishing with the world itself.

At last this dreadful darkness was dissipated by degrees, like a cloud or smoke; the real day returned, and even the sun shone out, though with a lurid light, as when an eclipse is coming on. Every object that presented itself to our eyes (which were extremely weakened) seemed changed, being covered deep with ashes as if with snow.

We returned to Misenum, where we refreshed ourselves as well as we could, and passed an anxious night between hope and fear, though indeed with a much larger share of the latter, for the earthquake still continued, while many frenzied persons ran up and down, heightening their own and their friends' calamities by terrible predictions.

However, my mother and I, notwithstanding the danger we had passed, and that which still threatened us, had no thoughts of leaving the place till we could receive some news of my uncle.

You will read this narrative without any view of inserting it in your history, of which it is not in the least worthy, and indeed you must put it down to your own request if it should appear not worth even the trouble of a letter. Farewell.

THE OLDEST CITY IN THE WORLD.

The Damascus Seen by Saul of Tarsus Still Exists, Presenting the Same Scenes and Cherishing the Same Customs That Characterized It 1,000 Years Ago.

If you were suddenly asked to name the oldest city in the world which is still in a flourishing condition, what would be your answer?

In nine cases out of ten, the person to whom such a query might be propounded would hark back to Egypt, Greece, or Rome. He would be wrong. The oldest city in the world is Damascus.

Tyre and Sidon have crumbled on the shore; Baalbec is a ruin; Palmyra is buried in a desert; Nineveh and Babylon have disappeared from the Tigris and the Euphrates. Damascus remains what it was before the days of Abraham--a center of trade and travel--an isle of verdure in the desert; "a presidential capital," with martial and sacred associations extending through thirty centuries.

It was near Damascus that Saul of Tarsus saw the light above the brightness of the sun; the street which is called Strait, in which it was said "he prayed," still runs through the city.

The city which Mohammed surveyed from a neighboring height and was afraid to enter "because it was given to man to have but one paradise, and for his part he was resolved not to have it in this world," is to-day what Julian called the "Eye of the East," as it was in the time of Isaiah "the head of Syria."

From Damascus came the damson, our blue plums, and the delicious apricot of Portugal called damasco; damask, our beautiful fabric of cotton and silk, with vines and flowers raised upon a smooth, bright ground; the damask rose introduced into England in the time of Henry VIII; the Damascus blade, so famous the world over for its keen edge and wonderful elasticity, the secret of whose manufacture was lost when Tamerlane carried the artist into Persia; and that beautiful art of inlaying wood and steel with gold and silver, a kind of mosaic engraving and sculpture united--called damaskeening--with which boxes, bureaus, and swords are ornamented.

A FEAST OF AUTO SONG.

The Egotism of the Motor-Car, Even in the Realm of Poesy, Proves More Than a Match for the Wit of People Who Continue to Traduce It Until They Decide What Model They Will Buy.

UNCLE HENRY ON THE PASSING OF THE HORSE.

Every little while they tell us that the horse has got to go; First the trolley was invented 'cause the horses went so slow, And they told us that we'd better not keep raisin' colts no more. When the street cars got to moting that the horses pulled before, I thought it was all over for old Fan and Doll and Kit, S'posed the horse was up and done for, But he ain't went yit!

When the bike craze first got started people, told us right away, As you probably remember, that the horse had saw his day; People put away their buggies and went kitin' 'round on wheels; There were lots and lots of horses didn't even earn their meals. I used to stand and watch 'em with their bloomers as they'd flit, And I thought the horse was goin', But he ain't went yit!

Then they got the horseless carriage, and they said the horse was done. And the story's been repeated twenty times by Edison; Every time he gets another of his batteries to go He comes whoopin' out to tell us that the horse don't stand a show. And you'd think to see these chauffeurs, as they go a-chauffin', it Was good-by to Mr. Dobbin, But he ain't went yit!

When the people git to flying in the air I s'pose they'll say, As we long have been a-sayin', that the horse has had his day. And I s'pose that some old feller just about like me'll stand Where it's safe, and watch the horses haulin' stuff across the land; And he'll mebby think as I do, while the crows above him flit, "Oh, they say the horse is done for, But he ain't went yit!"

_Chicago Record-Herald._

HE BIDED HIS TIME

There lived, one time, a shiftless chap, who wasn't satisfied; To settle down and plug along he never could abide. He felt the fire of greatness burn within his eager breast, And knew himself cut out for deeds the highest and the best. His spirit fairly fumed and frothed at cruel Fate's restraint; Of favorless environment he ever made complaint. "But some fine day," he used to say, "I'll set the world afire; It's not for me unknown to be when I do so aspire."

Each day our hero might have found some labor to pursue; On every side stood waiting work for willing hands to do; The neighborhood wherein he dwelt had crying need of men To mow the lawns, for instance, and to beat the rugs--but then A man so keenly conscious of his real inward worth Could hardly care to tackle toil so tainted of the earth. And so, to pass the time away until his chance should come, He boarded with his mother when he wasn't drinking rum.

No doubt, good-natured reader, you opine and apprehend That this vain, shiftless person met a mean and sorry end. The facts are these: He waited till the time, for us so sad, When wagons run with gasoline became the reigning fad. A sudden, wild demand arose for drivers, men with cheek, And Shifty got a handsome job at fifty bones a week, The people stare, where'er he goes; he's gained his great desire, And every-day he sets the world, or part of it, afire.

_Newark Evening News._

WHAT THEY CALL IT.

Grandma says we're right in style, A-sittin' in our automobile.

Grandpa says we're fit to kill, A-ridin' in our automo-bill.

Ma, she says we ought to feel Grateful fer our automo-beel.

Pa says there ain't no other man Kin run an auto like he can.

Auntie preaches near and far 'Bout our lovely touring car.

Uncle Bill says he ain't seen Nowhere such a good machine.

Brother Jim, he keeps a-braggin' 'Bout the speed of our new wagon.

But, oh, it sounds so grand and noble When sister Sue says automoble.

_Puck._

AN "AUTO" IDYL.

The automobile owner crawled With haste into his car And said good-by, for he was called To travel fast and far.

He grasped the steering wheel with glee And gave the clutch a yank, And then, with objurgations, he Climbed down again to crank.

Again he mounted to the seat Prepared like wind to fly, Yet there he lingered in the street; The water tank was dry.

He filled the tank; it seemed a cinch, Once more he starts to chauff, Behold, he does not move an inch-- The differential's off.

In rage he toils with might and main Till he is faint and weak; Again he starts--and stops again; The tire's sprung a leak.

The shades of night are falling fast, But joy illumes his brow, He shoots ahead--his trouble past, Pray who can catch him now?

And yet, around the corner we May find the same machine; Its owner is not there, for he Has gone for gasoline.

_Council Bluffs Nonpareil._

SHORT STORY OF SPEED.

Thisisthewayheracedalong Ateighteenmilesanhour; This the speed he walked back home When busted was his power.

_Exchange._

SONG OF THE AUTOMOBILE.

By Joe Cone.

I am coming, I am coming, don't you hear my thunder roll, Don't you feel my mighty power thro' your body and your soul; Don't you dread my awful presence, my momentous throbbing feel? I'm a dashing, thrashing, bucking, clucking Auto-mo-bile!

I'm a wonder, I'm a snorter, I'm a bull put on parade, I'm a devil, I'm a terror for the people who're afraid; I can paralyze the horses, I can make 'em dance a reel, I'm a rearing, tearing, rumbling, grumbling Auto-mo-bile!

Clear the track, ye meek and lowly, for I claim the right of way! There's no limit to my tenure, or my speed by night or day; To the woods with everybody, that's the way we devils feel, I'm a lusty, dusty, ramming, jamming Auto-mo-bile!

_The Pneus._

GRAVE, GAY, AND EPIGRAMMATIC.

LOVE, THE ILLUSION.

Love is just a cobweb, wet with morning dew; Love is just a fairy spell, invisible to view; A tread--a touch too heavy, and the cobweb is not there! A sigh too long, and lo!--the spell has vanished into air! Love is just a morning-glory, doomed at noon to die; Love is only half a story, told in passing by; Love is gold so delicate, the faintest flame would melt it; Love's--NOTHING; but--God help the man who's never known nor felt it!

_Helen Rowland in Life._

WON HIS BET.

General Miles, in company with a friend, was walking down Pennsylvania Avenue, when a person, entirely unknown to the veteran soldier, rushed up to him, and grasping his hand, said, warmly, "Well, Nelse, old boy, I'll bet anything you don't remember me!"

"You win!" coldly and laconically replied Miles, as he released himself from the grasp of the stranger and resumed his walk.--_Woman's Home Companion._

SORRY HE LEARNED IT.

Attorney William S. Barnes, of San Francisco, has a new office boy. The last boy with whom he was associated resigned a few days ago because the law business did not suit his peculiar temperament.

"How long have you been here?" asked Barnes, when the small boy made known his intention to engage in a different vocation.

"Six months," replied the boy.

"And you don't like the law business?"

"Naw. It's no good, and I tell you straight, I'm mighty sorry I learned it."--_Technical World._

WHAT FIELD WANTED.

Eugene Field, sad of countenance and ready of tongue, strayed into a New York restaurant and seated himself at a table. To him there came a swift and voluble waiter, who said:

"Coffee, tea-chocolate, ham 'n' 'ggs--beef-steak--mutton--chop--fishballs --hash'n'--beans," and much more to the same purpose.

Field looked at him long and solemnly, and at last replied:

"Oh, friend, I want none of these things. All I require is an orange and a few kind words."

DECIDEDLY "WILLIN'."

Miss Maude Adams has a favorite story about a certain "Miss Johnsing" and an uncertain "Culpeper Pete."

Pete became enamored of the dusky maiden and not having the courage to "pop" face to face, called up the house where she worked and asked for her over the telephone. When he got her on the line he asked:

"Is dat Miss Johnsing?"

"Ya-as."

"Well, Miss Johnsing, I'se got a most important question to ask you."

"Ya-as."

"Will you marry me?"

"Ya-as! Who is it, please?"--_Exchange._

A HEROIC RESCUE.

The following sublime paragraph is from one of the latest fashionable novels:

"With one hand he held her beautiful head above the chilling waves, and with the other called loudly for assistance!"--_Exchange._

WHY SHE WAS MADE OF A RIB.

A young woman having asked a surgeon why woman was made from the rib of a man in preference to any other bone, he gave the following gallant answer:

"She was not taken from the head lest she should rule over him; nor from his feet, lest he should trample upon her; but she was taken from his side, that she might be his equal; from under his arm, that he might protect her; from near his heart that he might cherish and love her."--_Exchange._

A GRACIOUS JUDGE.

Lord Ellenborough once said to a barrister, upon his asking in the midst of a boring harangue: "Is it the pleasure of the court that I should proceed with my statement?" "Pleasure, Mr. Smith, has been out of the question for a long time, but you may proceed."--_Old scrap book._

LIGHT.

The night has a thousand eyes, And the day but one; Yet the light of the bright world dies With the dying sun. The mind has a thousand eyes, And the heart but one; Yet the light of a whole life dies When love is done.

_Francis W. Bourdillon._

CURE FOR A NAGGING WIFE.

Having advertised as a widower in search of Wife No. 2, a man of St. Gall, Switzerland, showed the fifty replies and photographs which he had received to his wife, and, stating that if she did not want him there were others who did, he effectively cured her of her "nagging" habits.--_Le Petit Parisien._

A RICH RETORT.

It is said of the late Marquis of Townsend that when a young man and engaged in battle, he saw a drummer at his side killed by a cannon ball, which scattered his brains in every direction. His eyes were at once fixed on the ghastly object, which seemed to engross his thoughts.

A superior officer observing him, supposed he was intimidated by the sight, and addressed him in a manner to cheer his spirits.

"Oh," said the young marquis, with calmness but severity, "I am not frightened; I am only puzzled to make out how any man with such a quantity of brains ever came to be here!"--_Old scrap book._

GREELEY ON JOURNALISM.

Horace Greeley's favorite poem of his own make was:

Man's a vapor, Full of woes; Starts a paper-- Up she goes!

JUST AROUND THE CORNER.

Lloyd Osbourne says that Robert Louis Stevenson once invited a friend to visit him in Samoa. His friend replied that nothing would give him greater pleasure, if he could secure the leisure to do so.

"By the way, Louis," added he, "how do you get to Samoa, anyhow?"

"Oh, easily," responded Stevenson, "you simply go to America, cross the continent to San Francisco, and it's the second turning to the left."--_Woman's Home Companion._

THE ANGEL'S KINDNESS.

The recording angel suddenly put his fingers in his ears.

"What was that for?" asked St. Peter, when they had been removed.

"Oh, I saw Brown's new derby hat blow off, just as he was getting on a car," was the explanation of this kind-hearted action.--_Smart Set._

DUNBAR'S RESIGNATION.

Paul Laurence Dunbar, the negro poet, is dead. Incomparable in his presentation of his race's language and thoughts, he occupied a unique position in the literary world. W.D. Howells called him the only man of pure African blood and of American civilization to feel the negro life esthetically and express it lyrically. Last year, while he was dying of consumption, he contributed to _Lippincott's_ this verse-sermon of resignation:

Because I had loved so long, God in his great compassion Gave me the gift of song. Because I had loved so vainly And sung with such faltering breath, The Master in infinite mercy Offers the boon of death.

A RETORT TURKISH.

The following we take to be of Turkish origin:

"As a woman was walking, a man looked at and followed her.

"'Why,' said she, 'do you follow me?'

"'Because,' he replied, 'I have fallen in love with you.'

"'Why so? My sister, who is coming after me, is much handsomer than I am. Go and make love to her.'

"The man turned back, and saw a woman with an ugly face, and, being greatly displeased, returned, and said:

"'Why should you tell me a falsehood?'

"The woman answered 'Neither did you tell _me_ the truth; for, if you were in love with _me_, why did you look back for another woman?'"

FLASHES OF ROYAL REPARTEE.

While there is no royal road to cleverness, the real road, such as it is, frequently is traveled by royal feet. In these days the functions of royalty are not of a nature that is likely to develop merry dispositions.

Rich in sly humor was the reply of Henry IV of France, who one day reached Amiens after a prolonged journey. A local orator was deputed to harangue him, and commenced with a lengthy string of epithets:

"Very great sovereign, very good, very merciful, very magnanimous----"

"Add also," interrupted the weary monarch, "very tired."

The same king, who appears to have been a constant sufferer from the stupid orations of these wordy windbags, was listening to a speech in a small country town, when an ass brayed at a distance.

"Pardon me, gentlemen," said the witty sovereign; "one at a time, please."

Henry's minister, Sully, was a Protestant, and happening to hear that a famous physician had quitted Calvinism for Catholicism, the king said to him:

"My friend, your religion is in a bad way--the doctors give it up."

George III was the author of many clever sayings. Meeting Lord Kenyon at a levée soon after that eminent justice had been guilty of an extraordinary explosion of ill humor in the Court of King's Bench, the king remarked to him:

"My lord chief justice, I hear that you have lost your temper, and from my great regard for you I am glad to hear it, for I hope you will find a better one."

On another occasion, when coming out of the House of Lords after opening the session, he said to the lord chancellor:

"Did I deliver the speech well?"

"Very well indeed," was the reply.

"I am glad of that," said the king, "for there was nothing in it."

When Royalty Had Worst of It.

The laugh, however, has not always been upon the side of royalty. When the Prince-Bishop of Liège was riding to battle at the head of a fine body of troops he was asked by a spectator how he, a minister of religion, could engage in the iniquities of war.

"I wage war," said the prelate, "in my character of prince, not of archbishop."

"And pray," continued the interrogator, "when the devil carries off the prince, what will become of the archbishop?"

Decidedly the worst of the exchanges did an Eastern sovereign receive when, having bought several horses from some merchants, he gave them a lac of rupees to purchase more for him. Soon after they had departed, he, in a sportive humor, ordered his vizier to make out a list of all the fools in his dominions. The vizier did so, and put his majesty's name at the head of them. The king asked why. The vizier replied:

"Because you entrusted a lac of rupees to men you didn't know, and who will never come back."

"Aye, but suppose they should come back?"

"Then," said the vizier, "I shall erase your name and insert theirs."

In the answer which a German prince was given there seems to be a rebuke for his misgovernment implied. Having in a dream seen three rats, one fat, the other lean, and the third blind, he sent for a celebrated Bohemian gipsy and demanded an explanation.

"The fat rat," said she, "is your prime minister, the lean rat your people, and the blind rat yourself."

Court Laureate Too Frank.

One of the Shahs of Persia was more anxious than able to acquire fame as a poet. He had just completed a new performance in very "peculiar meter," and summoned the court poet into the royal presence to hear the poem read.

The laureate, when his opinion was asked (in theatrical language), "damned" the composition.

The Shah, enraged at this uncourtly criticism, gave orders that the court poet should be taken to the stable and tied up in the same stall with a donkey. Here the poor sinner remained until his royal rival had perpetrated another poem, when he was again commanded to appear before the throne and submit to a second infliction of sovereign dulness.

He listened in silence while the new poem was read, and at the conclusion, his opinion being required, he fell upon his knees and significantly exclaimed to the royal author:

"Send me back to the donkey!"

The Nation's Debt to Mothers.

BY GILSON WILLETS.

Great Americans Who Have Achieved World-Wide Reputations By Reason of the Success That Has Attended Their Careers, Ascribe Their Triumphs to Maternal Influence.

_An original article written for_ THE SCRAP BOOK.

The debt which the United States owes to the mothers of its citizens is one that is beyond the expression of either figures or language. It is a debt on which the republic can only pay the interest--interest that consists of the manifestation of an ever-increasing reverence for American motherhood; for, with all its magnificent resources, the nation is too poor to make even a feeble attempt to pay the principal.