while wandering through these Catacombs. Save for the feeble glimmer
of my own and the guide's lamp, I was in total darkness,--a darkness
that might be felt. Not a sound broke the awful silence except the
echo of our footsteps in the hollow passages. Not a trace or a
recollection of life recalled me from the thought of absolute
impenetrable death around. Each passage seemed so like the other, and
the ramifications were so endless and bewildering, that but for the
presence of my guide I should inevitably have lost myself. Horrible
stories of persons who had gone astray in the inextricable maze, and
wandering about in the empty gloom till they perished of exhaustion
and starvation, recurred to my mind; and my imagination, intensified
by the silence and darkness, vividly realised their sufferings. There
is indeed no chill or damp in these labyrinths, and the atmosphere is
mild and pleasant, but still the gloom was most oppressive. And yet a
deep gratitude fills the soul; for the light there shone in darkness,
and it was this very darkness that preserved our religion, when it ran
the risk of being extinguished. These fearful subterranean passages
were the furrows in which were planted the first germs of the
Christian religion,--in which they were long guarded in persecution as
the seed-corn under the frost-bound earth in winter, to spring up
afterwards when summer smiled upon the world, and yield a glorious
harvest to all nations.

On the opposite side of the Appian Way, in a vineyard, is the Catacomb
of Pretextatus, which is almost as extensive as that of St. Calixtus,
and hardly less interesting. It is especially remarkable for a large
square crypt, inlaid with brick and plaster, and covered with very
fine frescoes and arabesques of birds and foliage. The bodies of St.
Januarius, Agapetus, and Felicissimus, who suffered martyrdom in the
year 162, were interred in this Catacomb; and two churches, at a