We trace them again in those massive archi- | majestic ruins still cast their sombre shadows upon the soil they have pressed so long. When the long civil war ended in the subversion of the Republic, and the establishment of the empire, the demand for building material must have become more extensive than ever. Under Augustus, the aspect of Rome, we know, was changed; and this resort to these quarries continued under the twelve Caesars down to the period of the decline of the empire, when the Romans left off quarrying, and destroyed old edifices to make room and furnish the materials for new ones. This theory, when the period of time is considered during which these quarries were used, sufficiently accounts for their origin and immense extent. It is exceedingly difficult to ascertain at what particular period of time the Christian Church made these caves hiding-places, houses of refuge for its persecuted members, or when they commenced burying in these crypts. The dreadful persecutions of Nero, the first to which the early Christian Church at Rome was subject, drove many no doubt of the new converts to these quarries in the Campagna outside the walls. Superstition at that day had made them the resort of sorcerers and magicians. The gay Horace peopled the quarries about Rome with the practisers of the mysterious arts. He makes the god of gardens say: 66 The birds and thieves that were wont to hover round this place were not half so troublesome to me as these pestilent sorcerers, who seek, by enchantment and poison, to work on the minds of men nor is it in my power to drive them away, or hinder them, when the moon shows her sweet face, from gathering bones and poisonous herbs. The spot is filled with serpents and infernal dogs; and the moon, blushing, hides herself, so as not to be a witness to their abominations." A superstition like this would very naturally keep away all intruders, and here, therefore, persecuted Christians would very naturally resort as a safe place of refuge. Here they Here, then, we have, to say the least of it, a could worship in security; here they commenced plausible theory, to account for the origin of living to themselves and for their faith, and here these subterranean recesses. This primitive they brought the bodies of their dead, and mutipeople must have drawn largely upon these lated remains of their brethren who had perished valuable materials beneath the soil, for the erec-by the fire and the sword, and the wild beasts tion of the numerous cities that once undoubtedly covered its surface; and it is not at all improbable that they who are known to have buried, and not burned, their dead, may have used some of them as places of sepulture at a very early day. Then came the period of the Roman conquest, and the rising city of Romulus made still farther drafts upon the building materials beneath the soil. After the second Punic war, when the Republic was waxing wealthy, and extending her conquests in every direction, the requisitions made upon these quarries must have been immense. Beside public and private buildings in the city, palaces, theatres, thermæ, etc., bridges were thrown over the Tiber, and aqueducts across the Campagna, whose towering of the arena. As imperial persecution after persecution swept over the church, blood gave fertility to the soil, and these catacombs received the myriad dead who died in the faith and for the faith, until in process of time they became vast necropoli of precious dust, and in aftertimes treasure-houses of relics, from which a superstitious and corrupted church filled its shrines and coffers together. The Catacombs of Callextus, which I often visited, are certainly the earliest, and are said to have been used as a burial-place by the Christians during the first persecution. It was in this, the Neronian persecution, that St. Paul perished, and it may be, that the tradition of the church, which points to these catacombs as the first resting-place of the body of St. Paul, is Correct. There certainly seems no reason for digtrust in the main features of the legend. The story derives probability from the fact that it was an event which would cling most tenaciously to the memory of the early church. The bones of this apostle are said to have been removed to their present resting-place beneath the dome of St. Peter's about the year 375 A.C., when it is fairly to be presumed that the Christian church would not have forgotten where they laid him. The patriotism of New-England still cherishes authentic memorials of the Pilgrim Fathers; "and their sepulchres, are they not with us to this day?" Now certainly there is much more abundant reason why the early Christian church should keep in remembrance the burial-place of that most zealous of all the apostles of our Lord, "Who counted not his life dear unto himself, if he might finish his course with joy." The entrance into most of the great catacombs opens upon one or other of the high roads of ancient Rome. Thus some are upon the Via Appia; some upon the Via Ostiensis, and some upon the Via Tebartina. Into the Catacombs of Callextus, the entrance of which, as I have mentioned, is in the middle of an open field, close by the Appian Way, you descend by a flight of narrow stone steps of modern construction. The guide who accompanies you, and furnishes the torches at your expense, invariably prefaces your descent with a short discourse upon the wonders of this subterranean world you are about to visit, mingled most ludicrously with warnings as to the penalties you incur if detected in carrrying off any of the sacred relics. Nothing can be more solemn than the subterranean gloom that encompasses you a few feet from the entrance. Yawning tombs are on either side of you, with here and there the outline of the human skeleton traceable in dust, which has been undisturbed for centuries. The passages, lined on each side with these tombs, which tombs are cut horizontally, and are ranged above one another like the shelves of a book-case, are very narrow; and as the explorer proceeds, a stifling sense of suffocation at times comes over him. At intervals you come to large spaces with vaulted ceilings. These niches ate said to have served as chapels and baptistries, and in some of them may be still discerned the font of baptism set up at the dawn of the Christian era, still erect and undefaced, with its cavity for water. Both roof and walls of these little chapels are covered with the remains of rude frescoes, representing incidents in Bible history; but none of them are of a later date than the fifth century, and must have been executed at a time when corruptions had crept into the early church, and when empty forms were substituted for the spirit of the early day. Indeed I have my doubts whether these chapels were the work of the earlier Christians at all. They appeared to me as if they were the after-work of the church, when these catacombs had become a sort of holy place, where the devout used to resort, to be in the presence of the relics of the saints. In many of the tombs the side slabs are away, and nothing remains but a few mouldering relics. In some the skeleton is almost perfect, while in others the skull is the only part that remains. Many of the slabs that closed the tombs are gone, while here and there a broken one discloses the mouldering remnants within. A few have remained undisturbed, and the inscription upon them is still plainly visible. The entire length of few of these solemn aisles of the dead are known; for as a measure of precaution, many of them have been closed by stone walls, while others are so blocked up by rubbish and fallen pozzulano, that the boldest explorer is compelled to halt. At irregular distances, and usually on both sides the main aisle narrower passages branch off, leading to other crypts. Mostly these passages strike off at right angles, but they seldom run far in a straight line, while many become very tortuous. From the second crypt, or main aisle, which you reach, there are other passages conducting to another crypt, and thence from another to another, according to the greater or less extent of the catacomb. In most of the catacombs there are crypts, galleries, and passages underneath those which you first enter; and in many of them, there is beneath this lower deep a deeper still, or a third or even a fourth range of crypts. The awful silence of these recesses and subterranean galleries adds horror to the darkness. The atmosphere, smelling and tasting of earth and dust, is hot, dry, and stifling. It is not the "Cursed dews of dungeon's damp," but something far more irksome and oppressive. But far more interesting and affecting than these gloomy tombs are the early epitaphs and lapidary inscriptions found in the catacombs. They are generally extremely brief, the name and age of the deceased, with short comments testifying their faith in brighter worlds beyond. "One sleeps in Christ;" another "is buried that she may live in the Lord Jesus;" while on another may be noticed almost the words of St. Paul himself: "Dying, yet behold she lives." The inscriptions are generally in Latin, often misspelt; now and then there are inscriptions in Greek characters, most generally simple, but in some cases exceedingly affecting. A parent briefly names the age of a beloved child, or a husband that of his wife, and the years of their wedded life; or the epitaph has an added prayer, that the dead may rest in peace, with some rudely-carved emblem of the believer's hope and faith. But most of all may be noticed the cross in its simplest form. Whatever ignorance and blind credulity may have accomplished in later times, here, in these catacombs, upon these marble slabs that shut their beloved dead from their sight, the early Christians have clearly shown that with them there was a full appreciation of that glorious sacrifice, "whereby alone we obtain the remission of sins, and are made partakers of the kingdom of heaven." Many of the inscriptions testify strong family affection and a warm love of friends, and a deep veneration for those who died the death of martyrs. The graves of infants are commonly decorated with representations of a dove,a lamb, ora rosebud. The words, "sweet friend;" "dearest friend;" "dear and faithful companion;""candid soul," are constantly repeated. Most of the inscriptions are concise and to the purpose, as the following, "Here lies Gordeanu's, deputy of Gaul, who was executed for the faith, with all his family;" and then the touching conclusion, "Theophilus, a hand-maid, placed this stone in fear, but full of hope," as if none were left to pay this last sad tribute but the faithful hand-maid of the Gaulish deputy, who has thus handed down to our times the master's faith and the hand-maiden's faithfulness. In one of the galleries, close by the tomb of the martyr Cecelia, is a portrait of our Saviour in his humanity, representing him with one hand extended as if in the act of blessing, clasping with the other a book close to his breast. This is interesting, as it most unquestionably is one of the earliest paintings we have of Christ, being of the fourth or fifth century of our era, and although exceedingly rude in design and finish, clearly furnishing the face from which Cimabue, Giotto, and most of the very early painters have copied. The Romish Church insist upon an earlier date for this portrait. It represents a person with an oval face, straight nose, arched eye-brows, and a smooth but rather high forehead; the hair parted and flowing in curls upon the shoulders; the beard not thick, but short and divided. Over the left shoulder is thrown some drapery. We were some three hours under ground, wandering amid these sepulchral chambers, and deeply interested at every step with the revelations that there opened upon us, bearing the strongest testimony to the truth of our religion, and especially to the devotion of those who in the early day did not count their lives dear unto themselves, so that they might attest with their blood the sincerity of their faith. The Church of Rome, through its Pontiffs, has been for many years engaged in clearing out the rubbish, and strengthening the weak portions of the galleries by substantial brickwork. This is the grand treasure-house from which is drawn the relics of saints, and so long as devotion is paid by the church to these sad remnants of mortality, so long will the catacombs be preserved and cared for with religious veneration. Most lives, though their strength is loaded with sand and turbid with alluvial waste, drop a few golden grains of wisdom as they flow along. If a few civil words will render a man happy, he must be a wretch indeed who will not give them to him. Let another man light his candle by your own, and yours loses none of its brilliancy by what his gains. I THE EARLY TRAIN. BY R. E. THACKERAY. Who's that tapping at my door? As we approach the distant station, A YEAR OF BUSH LIFE IN AUSTRALIA. (From a Lady's Journal in 1864.) ARRANGED BY ELIZABETH TOWNBRIDGE. PART TWO. July 19th.-I have not written anything in this journal for some time, and even now I cannot bear to set down the little daily occurrences of our lives, though the pranks of the young ones sometimes make them lively enough; but, glancing back through its leaves, it struck me as being strange that, in writing of boardingschools, I did not mention a circumstance that happened at a very fashionable one a couple of years back in Q, just as the pupils were leaving for the Christmas holidays. I had business in town on that day, and had arranged to call for our minister's daughter, who was governess there, and bring her home in our car. I can fancy the scene before me even now: The house was a handsome two-storeyed wooden one, with a centre and two octagon turret wings; a broad flight of steps led to the halldoor, and was surrounded by a richly-laid-out piece of ground, containing many graceful statues and vases, separated from the street, or rather road, by a low wall. This being a sort of gala day the French windows were open to the ground, displaying refreshment tables loaded with good things. The rooms, which were visible from the street, showed costly hangings, rich carpets, a harp, and more than one grand piano. On the verandah and about the garden groups of young girls, dressed in white, were chatting gaily, all life and animation, while their mothers were seated or strolling about evidently admiring the scene. As I stood looking on, much amused and interested, the garden-gate opened and a young man went in, when, quick as lightning, a pretty delighted girl leaped off the verandah into his arms: it was a brother come to take a sister home. Soon after, the lady I waited for came to tell me that she could not accompany me that evening, as the examinations had lasted longer than they expected, and, indeed, as it proved afterwards, very few of the pupils left, as they were detained too late for the train. I sent in the car the next day according to promise to bring my young friend home, when the messenger found the pretty house, which had looked so gay the day before, a mere ruin: a fire had broken out in it in the night, and all they could do (and that with great difficulty) was to save their lives. Miss -, fortunately, had her boxes in the hall waiting for me, so that when help came they were pulled out; but all the rest were destroyed. It came out in an after-inquiry that the girls (with something of the licence of colonial manners, which extends itself to what are supposed here to be the most refined circles), instead of going quietly to bed when they retired for the night, had tossed everything upside-down-beds, bedclothes, and everthing else anywhere but where they should be, or could be got at in the confusion, so that they were in their nightdresses only when they escaped from the burning house. However, they were all right enough soon. The pupils being supplied with clothes in profusion by the different drapers, to enable them to reach home, and a large subscription was raised, without delay, for the governesses. Such was the close of the day which had opened so pleasantly. August 1st. I am getting over my late shock, and that rogue Dick has made me laugh a great deal this evening. Mrs. A. (mother to little Annie), whose funeral, dear child, formed one of the incidents in the last journal I kept, came to see me some days ago, when she told me there was a very large snake coiled up asleep near the fence. My husband went with her immediately and killed it, throwing it carelessly afterwards to some distance. This morning Dick happened to meet her, when she told him her sister had come on a visit to her, and she would bring her up to tea with me in the evening. This is quite the custom here: each one knows it is such a treat to the other to see a new face. Immediately a thought struck him there was a chance of fun, so he went for the dead snake, brought it to a convenient part of the road, coiled it up as if alive, placed a log before it so that they might not see it until they were quite close, and then came home to await the result. He was more successful even than he expected. Mrs. A had several friends that day, and they all came with her, two having babies. When they came to the snake there was a gene ral scream, the party scattering in all directions, until one lady, more courageous than the rest, volunteered to kill it with a stick, when she discovered it was already dead. Mrs. Ar who knows Dick's tricks well, decided at once that it was he who had planned the whole thing; and when they got to the house we all had such a merry romp trying to punish him for his roguery, although in the end I had to plead guilty to being in his secret, after which we had a very pleasant evening. August 24th. This year is a particularly un fortunate one for all my friends. In a journal I kept a few years back I remember mentioning the death and funeral of little Annie A, the sweet child of Mrs. A. who was here so full of merriment a few weeks ago. Dear little Annie's father is the stepson of a Mr. L a farmer who lived about one mile and a-half from this. Mrs. L-, his wife, is a strange old woman, many years older than her husband, she being sixty-three, he only forty-eight years. She has two sons-one herfirst husband's, the other Mr. L-'s. When we came here first they were making money very fast. Besides their farm, which at that time was a good one, they had a boarding-house and store and what is called here a grog-shop; so that, altogether, it is not too much to say that they made at least thirty pounds aweek clear profit. Mr. A-, the eldest son, got married about this time, and built a house midway between his mother's and ours, when very quickly his wife and I became great friends. As the old people were very fond of drink, she did not care to be with them, and so, being much alone, spent a great deal of her time with me. Meanwhile the L's went on as usual making money and spending it as fast as it was made in the most silly manner they would go off to Qand perhaps stay away from home three weeks together. Next the old woman would go off and buy all sorts of foolish things: she would think nothing of paying five pounds at a time for mere sweets. During harvest also there was no end of drink wasted by them: one season there was fifty pounds worth of rum drank in their place, besides several odd pounds' worth, of which there was no account kept. The sons, who are exceedingly steady young men, did all they could to keep things right, but in vain; so that last summer matters came to a crisis, and, despite all their profits, their establishment had to be sold for debt. Mr. Lthen made up all the money he could, and set off for a new digging near Sydney, the sons giving him all the assistance in their power. On his leaving, they gave up the old farm and took a new one for themselves, about six miles away, so that I lost my neighbour, as the roads are too bad to encourage much visiting. However, she came sometimes on Saturday and stayed over the Sunday with me, but now that she is again near us we see her frequently. The old woman was to stay in the house, lately her own, un til it was disposed of, when just as they thought Mr. L- must have reached the end of his journey, back he came, without a penny. He only went half way, when he discovered he had not enough money to carry him on, and so returned, completely ignoring the fact, that what brought him back would have taken him forward. He then retook the farm for twelve months, but was so tardy in sowing that he had no crops, and it was once more taken from him. Next he said he would try New Zealand. Every one told him it was the wrong time of year to go there, but go he would, and did. They re ceived one letter to say he had landed safely, and about the time they expected a second, home he arrived again farthingless as usual, and even without any clothes but those he wore. It seems he had indulged too freely in Melbourne, on his backward journey, and lost everything he had taken with him. As to New Zealand, he had totally failed there, as had been foretold. He and his wife now took up their abode at the son's farm, but as he was a strong, active man, he had too much spirit to remain dependent on them, and said he would go and work for some farmer until he got a little money together. Consequently, he hired with a man near Q-He went there on the Monday, and worked through the week, but, the following Saturday, being very wet, he asked his employer what was to be done: the farmer told him to look after the horses, and get them in, as he feared they had gone over the creek. L- went, but did not return, and, as the day continued wet, the people about took it for granted that he had gone home; while his family, in their turn, wondered why they did not see him. Early on Monday morning poor Mrs. L- set off to know what had kept him away, when just as she arrived at the farmer's, soaked in wet and mud, some of the other men found him in a quarry-hole, with his throat cut in several places, lying in a pool of his own blood, and of course, quite dead, the knife with which he destroyed himself lay beside him, just as it had fallen from his hand. The poor woman is nearly mad. They brought the remains privately to Tand he now lies quietly enough upon the lonely hill-side, beside the grave of dear little Annie. I went on horse-back with Mrs. M-- to see the family. I felt greatly for Mrs. A——, as she is near her confinement but they are all as well as one can expect. The whole neighbourhood feels the shock of the unhappy event, as, with all his faults L was wellknown and liked, being "nobody's enemy but his own," as they say, though I take leave to add in my own mind, "and his family's." I think upon his death frequently, yet I can scarcely realize that he, the strong, healthy man, is gone from amongst us, whilst I am still spared, doubtless, for some merciful purpose: a weak, delicate creature, so fragile that I am sure it is a wonder to many how I live on; and yet so it is, and I work too, and that not a little in my family, enjoying it even sometimes, although it may be a little severe. Last week, for instance: I was making a coat for Frank, which required day-light; I left my ironing for night: so when they all came from school, we had tea together, and soon after I began my work; during which, as Dick read aloud to me from the bible, Willie read to himself, Jonnie and Frank learned their lessons, and Kate and Chady sat at their needle-work: I felt in the midst of them as proud and happy as a queen, and I think it is not in a spirit of boasting, but of thankfulness, that I write that they are considered the best mannered children in the neighbourhood. On Saturday last, Willie came hastening to me after school, his fair, delicate |