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and a bottle of his blood are kept. It was told us that when St. January was killed for his love to Jesus, a wo man caught his blood, and preserved it. A part of the blood was taken to Spain, and the remainder to Naples. The portion brought to Naples was bottled, and, with the golden bust which contains the skull of the saint, or somebody else, is shut up in a silver tabernacle. The bust is separated from the blood; and it was told us that, when the skull and the blood are brought into contact, a miracle is produced. The coagulated blood liquefies as soon as it is brought to the bust. The dead skull owns the dry substance, and responds to its appeal. The miracle is performed three times every year the first eight days of May, the first eight days of September, and the 16th of December, which is the annual feast day of the saint. Our profane eyes were not allowed, of course, to see this sacred blood, which is guarded with great care. There are two ponderous locks to the tabernacle; one key is kept by the bishop, and the other by the governor of Naples; and if one lock is picked, the other remains safe. The whole chapel is full of relics and statues of great worth, and must have cost an immense sum of money. The gate alone cost about thirty thousand dollars, or thirty-two thousand ducats. The high altar, an immense block of porphyry, with cornices of silver inlaid with gold, and the paintings, many of which are by the famous Domenichino, must have been purchased at a vast

expense.

I presume we might have seen other relics, and perhaps witnessed some of the miracles, if we had been willing to have paid the price. The Italian priests will perform almost any miracle, if you will pay them enough to rig out the machinery. Money is the key

which unlocks the doors of churches, shows you the way into convents, makes you acquainted with priests, and takes you into every place of interest; and I doubt not some of the monks would undertake to procure you some of the veritable blood of our divine Savior for a good round sum.

It is a wonder how so many men of apparent goodness and undoubted scholarship can be deceived by the priests and monks. Their tricks and artifices are so shallow, their miracles are so absurd, their pretensions are so preposterous, that we, who have been educated under the influence of the Bible, fail to see how intelligent men can be so blinded. The delusion of the people is a striking illustration of the influence of early education and the force of long-standing usages and precedents. Well, mind must wake up ere long. God speed the day!

XXV.

CATACOMBS

CEMETERY-TOMB OF VIRGIL.

THE catacombs are the sepulchers of ages, and one trembles as he enters the dim and dark vestibule. These catacombs are dug out under hills, through rocks and ledges, and extend into the country for miles around. They are excavations, made at first, probably, for the sand and stone which were taken out, and at length were converted into sepulchers, and finally were the abodes of darkness to which the afflicted Christians fled in the times of bloody persecutions. The main entrance to the catacombs is reached by passing along through a pile of buildings used for charitable purposes. On one side of the street or passage is an institution for aged and indigent men, and on the other a similar charity for orphan girls. These men and girls are let out for service sometimes, but more generally as mourners at funerals. They are employed in great numbers to weep, and wail, and groan, in which delightful work they succeed after a short course of instruction. On such occasions, the men are dressed in a peculiar uniform, consisting of a blue cloak and mourning hat. They carry a halberd and a small banner, with the coat of arms or the name of the deceased upon it. The girls are designed for nuns on their becoming of sufficient age, but are often sold by the church to make wives for those who cannot secure partners in any other way. A rich gentleman 40

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sees and fancies one of these girls, and the church, ever ready to line her coffers, consents to let her go for a consideration, which varies according to the ability of the person to pay. At the entrance of the catacombs is an arch, in which are ancient frescoes painted several hundred years ago, and representing scenes in the life of St. January. One of them represents his martyrdom, and the Neapolitan woman is seen with a bowl in her hand, catching the blood as it falls from his wounds.

The catacombs are in three stories or stratums, hewn out of the rock, running under the whole city, and ex tending as far as Pozzuoli. All along these arched subterranean passages are niches cut in the walls, just large enough for the corpse, whether it be man or child The ceilings are adorned with mosaics and frescoes. Some of these are pagan and some are Christian, teach ing the lessons of several different ages. Little monuments, with inscriptions, one to the god of gardens, are set up here, and they seem to speak and live as the red glare of the torch falls upon them. Joseph told us that one of the passages had been explored twenty-nine miles, which may possibly be true. These tombs, now decaying, filled with bones and ashes, have melancholy tales to tell as the stranger goes down into them. They have been used alike, in times past, for prison, sepulcher, temple, and palace. Kings and slaves have fled to them; pagans and Christians, in turn, have sought this refuge a refuge which the boldest dare not invade. Here has been heard the groan of the murdered victim, and anon has the song of Jehovah's children made the very walls give back sweet music. Beneath these dim arches men have bowed in hopeless despair, and here have they turned with love and reverence to

the mighty Maker of us all. It required no effort of imagination to bring back old scenes; and while I stood in the flickering light of the torch, which, as the guide moved on, now seemed to blaze out with supernatural brightness, and anon to die away as if about to go out, I heard again the cry of the disciples as they came rushing on, followed by the hounds of Nero and his bloody minions. It became louder and more terrible as rank after rank of the followers of the Nazarene threw themselves, covered with blood and dust, into the dens and caves of the earth. Down they rushed into deeper darkness, where no sun could pierce the gloom. Then heard I, too, the wild psalm, chanted in an unknown tongue by those strange choristers, as they found themselves in a place where none dare follow them.

It

came in stronger, wilder, and more sublime strains, echoing along the walls, and breaking on the ears of the pursuing soldiery, who thronged around the mouth of the passage.

From these burial-places of the past, we pursued our way to the new cemetery of Naples, as near as I could judge in the north-east part of the city. Here a beautiful lot of land is laid out, with great neatness and regularity, for burial purposes. It is so unlike our cemeteries, that a description may not be uninteresting. It was laid out several years ago, in the time of the plague, when burials in the churches and in churchyards were deemed dangerous. It is located on an elevation, from which is obtained a very fine view of Vesuvius, the broad, beautiful Bay of Naples, and the surrounding country. Each of the churches in the city, or the most distinguished of them, has here a chapel designed for burials. Any person paying a yearly fee to the church can be buried in one of them

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