The Sponge animal belongs to the great group of Proozoa, the very lowest form in which animal life can defiitely be said to exist. But the Coral animal belongs to a nore highly organized group, the simplest of which is called Madrephylle, and the most complex are popularly known is Sea Anemones. Scientifically they are called "Anthozoa," i. e., Living Flowers, because in many of the specics the tentacles have 30 floral an aspect, that for many centuries they were conidered to be flowers of the sea, having, like the sensitive plants, the habit of contracting when touched. It is only with those Anthozoa which deposit a solid skeleton that we have at present to deal, and so we will proceed at once to the Madrephylles, the best-known example of which is that which has been already mentioned. If we look at the upper surface of the Madrepore, we shall see that it presents a curiously striking resemblance to the under surface of the common mushroom, a number of thin laminæ, or stony plates, radiating from a common centre, just as do the vegetable "gills" of the mushroom. Turn it over, and a number of rounded ridges are seen on the concave under surface, each being covered with thorny projections, and having between each pair of ridges a variable number of the small thin laminæ. If we could re-invest this mass of stony plates with the creature that formed them, we should find that there would be nothing but a thin film of gelatinous matter, apparently without any more appearance of a living structure than if it were so much glue washed over the lamina with a brush. Yet, if touched, the membranous film will withdraw itself between the laminæ, and not return to its place until some time after the irritating cause has been removed. Organs it has none at least none that have as yet been detected. There seem to be no tentacles for inducing currents of water to pass over its surface, no mouths for the admission of food, no digestive organs, no nerves, no muscles. Still, in some way to us unknown, this shapeless and apparently inorganic film is able to assume a definite form, to separate from the sea water the calcareous particles which are floating in it, and to build them up into a beautifully elaborate arrangement. "The unknown abyss Of Nature's laboratory, where she hides Her deeds from every eye except her Maker's." It might seem that when once the stony particles were deposited and arranged, they must be out of the control of the creature that separated them from the sea water. But careful investigations have shown that the earthy matter is deposited in the substance of the film, and that its particles can not only be deposited by the animal, but removed as occasion requires, or even absorbed again into the gelatinous film. There are vast numbers of these fungus-like Madrephylles, another well-known example of which is the commen Brain-stone Coral, Mœandrina, so called because its convolutions and general shape present a striking resemblance to the human brain when removed from the skull. Many of the common Madrepores look very much as if a vast number of the mushroom Madrephylles had been moulded into a convex mass, very much diminished in size, and viewed through the pseudoscope, so that each individual appears concave instead of convex. Those, however, which are the most conspicuously apparent in their submarine office are the beautiful species which are here represented by the Plantain Madrepore (Madrepora plantaginea), so common in drawing-room ornaments. These are the formers of the so-called Coral Islands, and in spite of the small size of the living polypes, and the minuteness of the calcareous particles which they deposit, they actually alter the surface of the globe so rapidly that impor tant changes are made within the compass of a single human life-time, and the physical geography of enormous tracts is entirely transformed. In the first place, it must be understood, that not even the apparently inorganic film of the Madrephylles can exist at any great depth of water, a certain amount of light and warmth being necessary for them. When we come to the better organized beings which produce the true Madrepores, we find that a larger supply of light and warmth is required, and that in consequence they are brought more within the scope of personal observation. Moreover, the water is so translucent in such localities that objects are clearly discernible at a depth of forty or fifty feet. If The whole surface of the Madrepore is covered with polypes of various sizes and colors, furnished with feathery arms that radiate like the petals of a flower, and are perpetually in motion, evidently for the sake of catching food. touched, the polype contracts itself into the soft, gelatinous film from which it had proceeded, and is only visible as a small and slightly-projecting tubercle. The spot on which each polype has rested is marked in the stony skeleton by being the centre to which all the little laminæ converge. If these polype-cells be examined with a tolerably powerful lens, a wonderful beauty of structure will be revealed, the little spicules of which the general mass is composed being arranged with a regularity that wonderfully resembles the ice-crystals of the snowflake. Care must be taken to hold it in a good light, the system on which the structure is based will then be easily seen. Round the edge of the aperture are ranged in order a vast number of the white stony spicules of which the mass is composed. Radiating from the circumference toward the centre, but not quite meeting, are six very delicate laminæ. When viewed directly from above, so that only their upper edges are seen, they look very like the spokes of a wheel, and indeed have been so represented in more than one book, the artist having evidently drawn from a microscopical preparation. If, however, we take a piece of the Madrepore in our hands, and turn it about as we are examining it with the lens, we shall find no difficulty in tracing the laminæ down to the extremity of the cell, if we may so call it. As each of these cells was once inhabited by a living sixarmed polype, always keeping its beautiful tentacles in motion, it is easy to imagine the extreme beauty of the object when its living envelope is still encrusting it. How the Coral Islands are produced must now be seen. The bed of the ocean is not one uniform plain, but, like the surface of the earth, has its deep valleys and lofty mountains. Sometimes, the tops of the mountains are not covered by water, and then we call them islands; but they are not the Coral islands of which we are now treating. These appear mysteriously, and give no premonitions of their appearance. A ship, perhaps, passes over the track which has been traced by hundreds of vessels previously, strikes upon a rock that is not in the charts, and sinks. She has come upon a coral island that has not yet reached the surface, but which in a few years will be known, and its place noted in the charts. Below the surface is the apex of a mountain-peak, submerged so deeply that a ship cannot touch it with her keel. But upon that peak the Coral colonies have settled, and have continued their hidden work until their sharp, stony ridges have gradually approached the surface and become a danger to the next vessel that sails in that direction. By degrees, the Coral reaches the limits of high water, and the polypes which make it not being able to exist without water, can rise no higher, but spread laterally in all directions, until, according to Captain Basil Hall's graphic simile, it looks like a huge cauliflower on its stem. Conse quently, there is deep water within a foot of its edge, the lead gives no warning, and so a vessel is wrecked without any fault of those in charge of her. Another well-known form of Coral Island is that which forms a large circle. There is deep water close to the edge both inside and outside, forming a natural harbor, so perfect that although a tempest may rage outside it, there is smooth water within. This is also due to a submarine mountain. In those regions volcanic action is a conspicuous element, and volcanoes, both active and extinct, are plentiful. When an extinct volcano rears its summit tolerably near the surface of the sea, the Coral-makers are sure to settle upon it sooner or later. As the Coral must necessarily be founded on the edge of the crater, it is evident that when it reaches the surface of the water it must retain the circular form. The Coral, not being able to extend itself upwards, in consequence being almost invisible by day, and quite so at night, both these types of Coral Islands would become exceedingly dangerous, and, indeed, make navigation almost impossible. But another provision steps in, and not only robs them of their terrors, but converts them into havens of rest and safety. Before very long, seaweeds accumulate, and are flung by the storms upon the surface of the "reef," as the Coral mass is called. Mixed with the seaweed are quantities of marine worms, molluscs, and other specimens of ocean life. Being unable to exist out of the water, they die, and by their decay form a fertile earth capable of affording nourishment to plants of a higher order. Floating cocoa-nuts, which have the power of drifting for immense distances while retaining the principle of life, are arrested by the new reef, strike root and become the progenitors of palm-trees innumerable. Birds are sure to follow, bringing with them the seeds of various plants, and so by degrees the almost invisible coral reef becomes a fertile island. Man then visits the newly-found region, attracted by the waving palm-trees, and finds a spot exactly suited to his wants. The natives of these climates are essentially maritime, and nothing better for them could be imagined than this palm-fringed ring of fertile land resting upon its coral base. In its centre is an absolutely perfect harbor, affording refuge for their canoes in stormy weather. The harbor is, in fact, the crater of the submerged volcano, so that whether within or without, the vessels can be brought so close to the shore that the tops of the cocoa-palms actually overhang the masts of the canoes. Food is to be found in abundance. As to vegetable food, there are, in the first place, the cocoa-nut palms, each of which trees can afford subsistence to a family. Then there are sure to be bread-fruits, yams, pine-apples, mangoes, and the other vegetable productions which thrive so abundantly in tropical regions. Animal food is found in abundance in the sea. Fishes come for shelter in the coral-reefs, and absolutely swarm under the overhanging ledges of rock. The interior of the island is also full of them, the central lake, with its quiet waters being precisely what the fishes most need, and becoming a vast natural fish-hatching establishment. Cuttles, which are largely eaten by the natives, also hide in the rocky crevices, and are deluded to their destruction by cunningly devised baits made of cowrie-shells. The turtles also abound in these seas, and when the time comes for depositing their eggs, haunt the shore in search of convenient nurseries. So, by the unseen and unheard labors of the Coral-makers, the earthy particles which were entangled in the water are separated and built into a form suitable for the habitation of Man, thus giving m more earth to replenish and subdue, and enabling him to fulfil more completely the mission for which he was created. Having now glanced at the most conspicuous achievements of the Corals, we will take a hasty review of some of the endlessly varied forms which they assume. There are the various Caryophylle Madrepores, specimens of which are favorite inhabitants of marine aquaria, the lovely colors of their animal envelope being even more attractive to the eye than the delicate stony lamine which they deposit. Several species are found on our own southern coasts. The reader must imagine to himself that the groundwork of this beautiful object is pure dead white, and that the upper portion is colored with crimson, yellow, "eau-de-Nile" green, pale grey, and other hues, no two specimens being exactly of the same color. Then there are the true Corals of commerce, sometimes white, sometimes red, sometimes pink, the last mentioned being of the most value in the manufacture of ornaments. All the true Corals have the stony core, solid and branchlike, and slightly grooved on the exterior. At irregular intervals there are small rounded projections, radiated in star-like fashion above. These mark the spots in which the living polypes were placed, the remainder being covered with the common gelatinous envelope to which they are attached, or rather from which they proceed. If a transverse section be made of a branch of Coral, it will be seen to have some resemblance to the porcupine quill, or the spine of the sea-urchin, the lines of the corrugated surface being continued inwards until they nearly meet in the center. The polypes stand out boldly from the general mass, each one with its eight fringed tentacles fully extended for the capture of food. Just on its right is a half-extended polype, and below is one which is just beginning to protrude its arms. The rounded projections, with their star-like radiations show the position of other polypes which have withdrawn themselves into the general envelope. As in the common red Coral the general envelope is scarlet, and the polypes are snowy white, the extreme beauty of the living creatures can be easily imagined. The whole life-history of the Coral is singularly interesting, dating from the day when it swims freely through the water in search of a favorable locality, to the time when it has settled down and developed into the beautiful branched structure with which we are so familiar. But it is beyond the scope of this present article, and we most reluctantly pass it by. In the true Corals the branches are short, stout, and sturdy, and therefore capable of sustaining the force of the waves. But there are some allied species which have very long and slender branches, which would be broken to pieces by a wave which has no effect on the true Coral. On account of the tangled mode in which the branches of these beings are interlaced they are called Gorgonias by the scientific. Fishermen mostly know them by the name of Sea Fans, or Fan Corals, because they are flat and spread in fan-fashion from the base. In some of them the animal envelope is a bright scarlet, and retains its color after it is dry, so that a good specimen of Gorgonia is really a handsome object. The spicules which are deposited by the animal are wonderful objects when seen under a moderate microscopical power, say a half-inch object-glass. They are transparent, stick-shaped, covered with knobs, and having the most lovely tints of pink, very pale blue, and yellow. Indeed, they look so much like barley-sugar that all young people to whom I have shown the spicules through the microscope have said that they must be good to eat, if they were only large enough. In all these curious beings the central axis of the stem and branches is composed alternately of horny matter and stone, the former producing flexibility, and the latter giving strength. When beaten by the waves this compound structure yields to their force, and is enabled to recover itself again when the force of the storm has passed away. Another beautiful and well-known example of this group is the Organ-pipe Coral, of which there are several kinds. The color of the tubes is pinky red, and as the animal that deposits it is bright green, the appearance of a living specimen is singularly beautiful. These tubes radiate slightly from each other, though they ean scarcely be said to have a common center. They are supported at intervals by horizontal laminæ, through which they pass, so that they bear a resemblance to the arrangement of organ pipes too evident to be unnoticed. Now and then they envelope a stone, shell, or other foreign object, and in such cases have a curious way of turning aside for a space, and resuming their original course when they have passed round the obstruction. In all the species belonging to this group, the polypes, instead of being on the outside of the stony deposit, are within it, forming it into tubes, in and out of which they can freely project the tentacle by which they obtain food. These beings enter largely into the constituents of Coral Islands, and occur most numerously within the tropics. They are, however, found in most of the warmer seas, either north or south of the equator, and are very plentiful in the Red Sea. How these tubes and their supporting laminæ are produced no one as yet knows. It seems that there must be vessels or secreting sacs, but none have as yet been found. How the creature is able to protrude and retract itself, spread or fold its tentacles, is another mystery. There are no perceptible muscular fibres, still less any nerves, by which the will of the animal-for it evidently has a will— can be conveyed to them. We do know that the membrane is capable of contraction and relaxation, but there our knowledge ceases. The last of these wonderful beings that can be mentioned is the Sea Pen. These remarkable compound animals are not attached to any object which could support them, but seem to lie loosely THE CATACOMBS OF ROME.* PART I. "When I was a boy attending school at Rome," says one of the early Christian Fathers, the monk Jerome, "I used often, with others of my own age and tastes, to visit the sepulchres of the apostles and martyrs, dug in the very heart of the earth. The walls on either side are lined with graves, and here and there light is let in to mitigate the gloom. As we advance, the words of the poet are brought to mind: 'Horror on all sides; the very silence fills the soul with dread.'"' This description of the catacombs in the fourth century is equally applicable to their appearance in the nineteenth. Their main features are unchanged, although time and decay have greatly impaired their structure and defaced their beauty. These Christian cemeteries are situated chiefly near the great roads leading from the city of Rome, for the most part within a circle of three miles from the walls. The openings of the catacombs are scattered over the desolate campagna; often amid the mouldering monuments that rise, like stranded wrecks, above the rolling sea of verdure of the tomb-abounding plain. On every side are tombstombs above and tombs below-the graves of contending races, the sepulchres of vanished generations. How marvelous that beneath the remains of a proud pagan civilization exist the early monuments of that power before which the myths of paganism faded away, as the spectres of darkness before the rising sun. Beneath the ruined palaces and villas, the crumbling tombs and temples of the august mistress of the world, we find the most interesting relics of early Christianity on the face of the earth. In traversing these tangled labyrinths we are brought face to face with the primitive ages; we are present at the worship of the infant Church; we observe its rites; we study its institutions; we witness the deep emotions of the first believers as they commit their dead-often their martyred dead-to their last long resting place; we decipher the touching record of their sorrow, of the holy hopes by which they were sustained, of their “faith triumphant o'er their at the mercy of the waves. They are all more or less phos-fears," and of their firm assurance of the resurrection of the phorescent, and at night have a peculiarly striking appearance, owing to their graceful and boldly curved outlines. The Sea Pens are to be found in nearly all the warmer seas, and are common in the Mediterranean. NEIGHBORS. If we're cowards about trouble, His own heart, and others' too. How to act a neighbor's part. Yet we still shall shrink from braving Shame and wrong and pain and loss, Till we learn there is no saving Life or lives, without a cross. We must share the great salvation- Then, we joy in tribulations, Join in work the martyr throng, As they toil amongst the nations, Turning trouble into song. D dead and of the life everlasting. We read, in the testimony of the catacombs, the confession of faith of the early Christians; sometimes accompanied by the records of their persecution, the symbols of their martyrdom, and even the very instruments of their torture. For, in these halls of silence and gloom slumbers the dust of many of the martyrs and confessors who sealed their testimony with their blood during the sanguinary ages of persecution; of many of the early bishops and pastors of the Church, who shepherded the flock of Christ amid the dangers of those troublous times; of many who heard the words of life from teachers living in or near the apostolic age, perhaps from the lips of the apostles themselves. Indeed, if we would accept ancient tradition, we would believe that the bodies of St. Peter and St. Paul were laid to rest in those hallowed crypts a true "holy ground," inferior in sacred interest only to that rock-hewn sepulchre consecrated evermore by the body of our Lord. These reflections will lend to the study of the catacombs an interest of the highest and intensest character. It is impossible to discover with exactness the extent of this vast necropolis, on account of the number and intricacy of its tangled passages. That extent has been greatly exaggerated, however, by the monks who guide visitors through their labyrinths. They have said, for instance, that there are sixty separate catacombs, and that the entire length of their * A lecture delivered August 19, 1881, in the Amphitheatre at Chautauqua. passages is nine hundred miles. There are, in fact, only forty-two in all now known, and from a careful survey of part, it is computed that the aggregate length of their passages is five hundred and eighty-seven geographical miles-equal to the entire extent of Italy from Ætna's fires to Alpine snows. The entrance to the abandoned catacomb is sometimes a low-browed aperture, like a fox's burrow, almost concealed by long and tangled grass, and overshadowed by the melancholy cypress or gray-leaved ilex. Sometimes an ancient arch can be discovered, or the remains of a church or of a chamber for celebrating the festivals of the martyrs. In all cases there is a stairway, often long and steep, crumbling with time and worn with the feet of pious generations. The catacombs are excavated in the volcanic rock which abounds in the neighborhood of Rome. It is of a coarse, loose texture, easily cut with a knife, and bearing still the marks of the mattocks with which it was dug. They consist essentially of two parts-corridors and chambers, or cubicula. The former are long, narrow and intricate passages, forming a complete underground network. They are for the most part straight, and intersected by others at approximate right angles. The main corridors vary from three to five feet in width, but the side passages are much narrower, often giving room for but one person to pass. They will average about eight feet in height, and are generally vaulted, though sometimes flat. The walls are, for the most part, of the naked rock, but are sometimes plastered and occasionally strengthened with masonry. At the corners of these passages are frequently niches in which lamps were placed, without which, indeed, they must have been an impenetrable labyrinth. A touching legend is recounted of a young girl who was employed as a guide to the places of worship in the catacombs, because, on account of her blindness, their sombre avenues were as familiar to her accustomed feet as the streets of Rome to others. Both sides of the corridors are thickly lined with loculi, or graves, which have somewhat the appearance of berths in a ship, or of the shelves in a grocer's shop; but the contents are the bones and ashes of the dead, and for labels we have their epitaphs. They are of all sizes: from that of the infant of an hour to that of an adult man. But here, as in every place of burial, the vast preponderance of children's graves is striking. How many blighted buds there are for every full blown flower, or ripened fruit! It is difficult, if not impossible, to compute the number of graves in these vast cemeteries. Some 70,000 have been counted, but they are a mere fraction of the whole, as only a small part has been fully explored. Father Marchi computed the entire number to be 7,000,000. The more accurate estimate of De Rossi reduces the number to nearly 4,000,000. Even this seems almost incredible, but we know that for at least 300 years, or for ten generations, the entire Christian population of Rome was buried here, and that population, even at an early period, was of considerable size. In the time of persecution, too, the Christians were hurried to the tomb in crowds. In this silent city of the dead, we are surrounded by "a mighty cloud of witnesses," "a multitude which no man can number," whose names, unrecorded on earth, are written in the Book of Life. For every one who walks the streets of Rome to-day are hundreds of its former inhabitants calmly sleeping in this vast encampment of death around its walls-"Each in his narrow cell forever laid;" "Till the archangel awake them they slumber." These graves were once all hermetically sealed by slabs of marble, or tiles of terra cotta, or baked clay. The slabs were generally of one piece, which fitted into a groove or mortice cut in the rock, and were firmly cemented to their places. In The tiles were generally smaller, two or three being required for an adult grave. They were arranged in panels and were cemented with plaster, on which, while soft, a name or symbol was often rudely scratched with a trowel. Most of these slabs and tiles have disappeared, and many of the graves have long been rifled of their tenants. others may still be seen the mouldering remains of what was once man in his strength, woman in her beauty, or childhood in its innocence and glee. If these bones be touched they will generally crumble into a white flaky powder, which sometimes retains the outline of the human form. Verily, we are but dust and ashes. The other essential constituent of the catacombs, besides the galleries of which I have spoken, consists of the cubicula. These are chambers hewn out of the rock on either side of the galleries, generally opposite each other. They often bear the character of family vaults, and are lined with graves like the corridors without. They were probably used as chapels for the holding of funeral services, and for observing the religious festivals of the martyrs. They are too small to have been used for regular worship, except, perhaps, in time of persecution, being only from eight or ten feet square to twenty feet square, though sometimes four or five were united, so as to accommodate an audience of over a hundred. It is thought that their construction in pairs was designed for the separation of the sexes in worship. The floor was frequently paved with tiles or mosaic. The walls were often plastered and beautifully frescoed, as was also the vaulted ceiling. I have as yet spoken of only one level of the catacombs. But frequently "beneath this deep there is a lower deep,” or even three or four tiers of galleries, excavated as the upper ones became filled with graves, and separated by thick strata of rock. Access to these different stories is gained by stairways. The awful silence and almost palpable darkness of these deepest dungeons, which are nearly 100 feet below ground, are absolutely appalling. Here death reigns supreme. Not even a lizard or a bat dwells in this eternal gloom. Naught but skulls and skeletons, dust and ashes are on every side. The air is dense and deadly, and difficult to breathe. "The cursed dew of the dungeon's damp" distills from the walls, and a sense of oppression, like the patriarch's "horror of great darkness," broods over the scene. The catacombs were ventilated and partially lighted by numerous openings, variously called spiragli, or breathingholes, and luminari or light-holes. While but a few faint rays struggled to the lowest depths, many of the upper chambers were well lighted. The brilliant Italian sunshine to-day lights up the pictured figures on the wall, as it must have illumined the fair brow of the Christian maiden, the silvery hair of the venerable pastor, or the calm face of the holy dead waiting for interment, in those early centuries so long ago. The more technical description of the catacombs, however, gives no conception of the thrilling interest felt in traversing their long-drawn corridors and vaulted halls. One's footsteps echo strangely down the distant passages and hollow vaults, dying gradually away in the solemn stillness of this valley of the shadow of death. The graves yawn wierdly as he passes, torch in hand. Deep, mysterious shadows crouch around, and unfleshed skeletons seem to stretch their bony hands, as if to arrest his progress. Almost appalling is the sudden transition from the busy city of the living to the silent city of the dead-from the golden glory of the Italian sunlight to the funereal gloom of these sombre vaults. The sacred influence of the place subdues the soul to tender emotions. The fading pictures on the walls, and the pious epitaphs of the departed, breathe on every side an atmosphere of faith and hope; and awaken a sense of spiritual kinship, that overleaps the intervening centuries. We speak with bated breath, and thought is busy with the past. "It seems as if we had the sleepers known." We see the mother, the while her heart is wrung with anguish, laying on its stony bed-rude couch for such a tender thing-the little babe torn from her fond embrace; the husband bearing to its final rest the pulseless form of the loved wife of his youth, and the widow weeping, broken hearted, because the strong arm on which she so long had leaned is forever palsied in death. We behold the persecuted flock following, it may be, the mangled remains of the faithful pastor and valiant martyr for the truth, which, at the risk of their lives, they have stealthily gathered at dead of night. With holy hymns broken by their sobs, they commit his mutilated body to the grave, where, after life's long toil he sleepeth well. We hear the Christian chant, the funeral plaint, the pleading tones of prayer, the words of holy consolation and of lofty hope with which the dead in Christ are laid to rest. Perchance those sacred sounds stealing through the distant corridors may have fallen with strange awe on the souls of the rude soldiery, stealthily approaching their prey, and perhaps not unfrequently with saving and sanctifying power. But sometimes, tracked by the sleuth-hounds of persecution, or betrayed by some wretched apostate, the Christians were surprised at their devotions, and their refuge became their sepulchre. Such was the tragic fate of St. Stephen, one of the early bishops, slain even while ministering at the altar, and sprinkling with his blood the sacred table; such the event described by Gregory of Tours, when a hecatomb of victims were immolated at once by heathen hate; such the peril which wrung from a stricken heart, the cry, not of anger, but of grief, recorded on a tomb; "O sad times, in which, among sacred rites and prayers, even in caverns we are not safe." The Christians in time of persecution, walled up the principal passages of the catacombs, and made secret stairways and other means of escape into the adjacent sand pits, and to the surface of the ground. It requires no great effort of imagination to conceive the perils and "hair breadth 'scapes," which must have been frequent episodes in the heroic lives of the early soldiers of the cross. With what emotions must they have held their solemn worship and heard the words of life, surrounded by the dead in Christ! With what power would come the promise of the resurrection of the body amid the crumbling relics of mortality! How fervent their prayers for their companions in tribulation, when they themselves stood in jeopardy every hour! They won, ofttimes, amid the crackling of fagots and the roar of the flames, not a crown of laurel or of bay, but a crown of life, starry and unwithering, that can never pass away. Their humble graves are grander monuments than the trophied tombs of Rome's proud conquerors upon the Appian way. Lightly may we tread beside their ashes. Reverently may we mention their names. "Brave were the sleepers all, living and dying." Catching the glow of their intrepid spirits, we exclaim: O, death, where is thy sting? O, grave, where is thy victory? The exploration of the catacombs, it may be easily conceived, is not unattended with danger. Several persons have lost their lives in their mysterious depths. As late as 1837 a party of some thirty Roman students entered their gloomy crypts, and were never heard of again. Less tragieal in its issue is the exciting event thus described by the Abbe de Lille: Eager to know the secrets of the place, A youthful artist threads those inmost cells, And lowest crypts, where darkness ever dwells. No friend to cheer him, and no guide to lead, The crypts diverge, the labyrinths are crossed, Dropped from his hand while tracing out an urn. He halts, he moves, he thinks, he rushes on, And now his torch's light That grave his tomb, for who shall help and save? Of the lost clew. He quick upstarts, and, cautious grown, When Christianity, under the protection of the emperor Constantine, came forth in triumph from the catacombs, subterannean interment fell gradually into disuse. With the incursions of the northern barbarians, and the breaking up of the Roman empire, these ancient sanctuaries of the faith became forgotten, and for nearly 1000 years their very existence was practically unknown. In the year 1578 some laborers digging in a vineyard discovered by accident one of these cemeteries of the primitive church. The event caused a profound sensation, and successive adventurers have been attracted by the fascination of the task to the exploration of this great whispering gallery of the past. Bosio spent five and thirty years in this work. 'D'Agincourt came to Rome intending to spend six months in the task, but it so grew upon him that it occupied the remaining fifty years of his life. The most thorough and costly exploration was that undertaken by the French government at an expense of 180,000 francs, by means of an organized corps of scholars, artists, and engineers. The result is a magnificent work in seven huge folio volumes, which costs. about $600. The most important discoveries, however, are those of De Rossi, during the last ten or fifteen years. I must now say a few words upon the art and symbolism of the catacombs. The paintings of these ancient crypts give evidence that art was not, as has been asserted, entirely abjured by the primitive believers, on account of its idolatrous employment by the pagans, but was baptized into the service of Chris |