Which way could they wend? All was rayless to thema maze without a clew. Wearied, despondent, bewildered, they passed along, the ashes falling upon their heads, the fragmentary stones dashing up in sparkles at their feet. "Alas! alas!" murmured Ione.

"I can go no farther;

my steps sink among the scorching cinders."

Advancing, as men grope for escape in a dungeon, Ione and her lover continued their uncertain way. At the moments when the volcanic lightning lingered over the streets they were enabled, by that awful light, to steer and guide their progress; yet, little did the view it presented to them cheer or encourage their path. Cinders and rock lay matted in heaps, from beneath which emerged the half-hid limbs of some crushed and mangled fugitive. The groans of the dying were broken by wild shrieks of women's terror. And ever as the winds swept howling along the street, they bore sharp streams of burning dust, and such sickening and poisonous vapors as took away, for the instant, breath and consciousness.

"Oh, Glaucus! I can go no further!"

"For my sake, for my life-courage, yet, Ione; see-torches -this way!"

The torches flashed full on the eyes of Glaucus and Ione. Several slaves were bearing, by the light, panniers and coffers, heavily laden; in front of them-a drawn sword in his hand-towered the lofty form of Arbaces.

"By my fathers!" cried the Egyptian. "Fate smiles upon me even through these horrors, and, amid the dreadest aspect of woe and death, bodes me happiness and love! Away, Greek! I claim my ward, Ione!"

"Traitor and murderer!" cried Glaucus, glaring upon his foe. "Approach-touch but the hand of Ione, and thy weapon shall be as a reed-I will tear thee limb from limb!”

"Advance slaves!—Athenian, resist me, and thy blood be on thine own head! Thus, then, I regain Ione!"

He advanced one step-it was his last on earth! The ground shook beneath him with a convulsion that cast all round upon its surface. The lightning, as if caught by the metal, lingered an instant on the imperial statue beneath which he stood-then shivered bronze and column! Down fell the ruin, echoing along the street, and riving the solid pavement where it crashed!

Glaucus caught Ione once more in his arms and fled along the street that was yet intensely luminous. But suddenly a duller shade came over the air. Instinctively he turned to the mountain, and behold! one of the two gigantic crests, into which the summit had been divided, rocked and wavered to and fro; and then, with a sound, the mightiness of which no language can describe, it fell from its burning base, and rushed, an avalanche of fire, down the sides of the mountain! At the same instant gushed forth a volume of blackest smoke-rolling on over air, sea and earth.

Glaucus, his bold heart at last quelled and despairing, sank beneath the cover of an arch of the Forum, and resigned himself to die.

Meanwhile Nydia, whose blindness rendered the scene familiar to her, had been searching for Glaucus.

She has gained the Forum-the arch; she stoops downshe feels round-and calls on the name of Glaucus.

A weak voice answers.

"Arise, follow me! Take my hand! Glaucus, thou shalt be saved."

In wonder and sudden hope, Glaucus arose. "Nydia still? Ah! thou, then, art safe!"

Half leading, half carrying Ione, Glaucus followed his guide. With admirable discretion, she sought the shore, and after many pauses and incredible perseverance, they gained

the sea. And in the feeling that the worst was past, the overwearied ones turned round, and fell placidly to sleep. And the bark containing the faithful trio drifted calmly onward to safety.

VARIETIES OF PAUSE AND PROMINENCE.

[The selections under this head illustrate most of the varieties of Pause and Prominence.]

The Call to Arms.

PATRICK HENRY.

Mr. President-It is natural to man to indulge in the illusions of hope. We are apt to shut our eyes against a painful truth, and listen to the song of that siren, till she transforms us to beasts. Is this the part of wise men, engaged in a great and arduous struggle for liberty? Are we disposed to be of the number of those who, having eyes, see not, and having ears, hear not, the things which so nearly concern our temporal salvation? For my part, whatever anguish of spirit it may cost, I am willing to know the whole truth; to know the worst, and to provide for it.

I have but one lamp by which my feet are guided; and that is the lamp of experience. I know of no way of judging of the future but by the past. And judging by the past, I wish to know what there has been in the conduct of the British ministry for the last ten years, to justify those hopes with which gentlemen have been pleased to solace themselves and the House? Is it that insidious smile with which our petition has been lately received? Trust it not, sir; it will prove a snare to your feet. Suffer not yourselves to be "betrayed with a kiss!" Ask yourselves, How this gracious reception of our petition comports with those warlike preparations which cover our waters and darken our

land? Are fleets and armies necessary to a work of love and reconciliation? Have we shown ourselves so unwilling to be reconciled, that force must be called in to win back our love? Let us not deceive ourselves, sir. These are the implements of war and subjugation; the last arguments to which kings resort.

I ask gentlemen, sir, what means this martial array, if its purpose be not to force us to submission? Can gentlemen assign any other possible motive for it? Has Great Britain any enemy in this quarter of the world, to call for all this accumulation of navies and armies? No, sir, she has none They are meant for us; they can be meant for no other. They are sent over to bind and to rivet upon us those chains which the British ministry have been so long forging. And what have we to oppose to them? Shall we try argument? Sir, we have been trying that for the last ten years. Have we anything new to offer upon the subject? Nothing. We have held the subject up in every light of which it is capable; but it has been all in vain. Shall we resort to entreaty and humble supplication? What terms shall we find which have not been already exhausted? Let us not, I beseech you, sir, deceive ourselves longer. Sir, we have done everything that could be done, to avert the storm which is now coming on. We have petitioned, we have remonstrated, we have supplicated, we have prostrated ourselves before the throne, and have implored its interposition to arrest the tyrannical hands of the ministry and parliament. Our petitions have been slighted; our remonstrances have produced additional violence and insult; our supplications have been disregarded; and we have been spurned with contempt from the foot of the throne. In vain, after these things, may we indulge. the fond hope of peace and reconciliation. There is no longer any room for hope. If we wish to be free, if we mean to preserve inviolate those inestimable privileges for which

we have been so long contending; if we mean not basely to abandon the noble struggle in which we have been so long engaged, and which we have pledged ourselves never to abandon until the glorious object of our contest shall be obtained, we must fight; I repeat it, sir, we must fight! An appeal to arms, and to the God of Hosts, is all that is left us!

They tell us, sir, that we are weak-"unable to cope with so formidable an adversary!" But when shall we be stronger? Will it be the next week, or the next year? Will it be when we are totally disarmed, and when a British guard shall be stationed in every house? Shall we gather strength by irresolution and inaction? Shall we acquire the means of effectual resistance, by lying supinely on our backs, and hugging the delusive phantom of hope, until our enemies have bound us hand and foot? Sir, we are not weak, if we make a proper use of those means which the God of Nature hath placed in our power. Three millions of people, armed in the holy cause of Liberty, and in such a country as that which we possess, are invincible by any force which our enemy can send against us. Besides, sir, we shall not fight our battles alone. There is a just Power who presides over the destinies of nations, and who will raise up friends to fight our battles for us. The battle, sir, is not to the strong alone; it is to the vigilant, the active, the brave. Besides, sir, we have no election. If we were base enough to desire it, it is now too late to retire from the contest. There is no retreat, but in submission and slavery. Our chains are forged. Their clanking may be heard on the plains of Boston. The war is inevitable; and let it come! I repeat, sir, let it come! It is in vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen may cry, "Peace, peace!" but there is no peace! The war is actually begun! The next gale that sweeps from the north will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms! Our brethren are already in the field! Why stand we here idle? What is it that gentle