even upside down."

"Yes, noble sir," continued the old man, "not many mighty, not many
noble are called--most of those who sleep around us are God's great
family of the poor. Indeed, most of them were slaves. That poor fellow
was a martyr in the last persecution. I mind it well, though it is years
agone. We buried him by stealth at dead of night, and did not notice
that the hastily written inscription was reversed."

The dim rays of their lamp and taper made but a faint ring of light
about their feet. Their steps, as they walked over the rocky floor,
echoed strangely down the long-drawn corridors and hollow vaults, dying
gradually away in the solemn stillness of this valley of the shadow of
death. The sudden transition from the brilliant Italian sunlight to this
sepulchral gloom, from the busy city of the living to this silent city
of the dead, smote the heart of the susceptible youth with a feeling of
awe. And all around in this vast necropolis, each in his narrow cell
forever laid, were unnumbered thousands, who were once like himself,
full of energy and life.

[Illustration: SECTIONAL VIEW OF GALLERY AND CHAMBERS, SHOWING LIGHT AND
AIR SHAFT]

As they advanced, a faint light in the distance seemed to penetrate the
gloom. It grew brighter as they approached, and attracted by the sound
of the footsteps, a venerable figure emerged from a doorway and stood in
the flood of light which poured down from an opening in the vaulted
roof, which extended to the bright free air above. Almost like an
apparition from the other world, in the strong, Rembrandt-like
illumination in which he stood, looked the venerable Primitius, clothed
in white, with silvery hair and flowing beard, and high, bare brow. As
Isidorus glanced up the shaft, he saw the blue sky shining far above,
and the waving of the long grass that fringed the opening for light and
air. This construction--a very frequent one in the Catacombs--is shown
in sectional view on the previous page. On each side of the corridor was
a chamber about twelve feet square, also lit up by this shaft, which,
plastered with white stucco, reflected the light into every part.

"Welcome, my son," said the venerable presbyter, as he sat down on a
bench hewn out of the dry pummice-like rock "Welcome to these abodes of
death; may they prove to thee the birthplace to eternal life;" and he
laid his hand benignantly on the head of the young man, whom he had
motioned to a seat beside him.