The Columbian. [volume] (Bloomsburg, Pa.) 1866-1910, 1876-01-21

| darkness here was of the kind which "can
be felt, something mcnacing, sullcn, almost
savage--a hopeless, blind night which never
dreamed of the day. So sober and solitary,
so unearthly, though earthly, was all this
weary, winding way, bordercd with gloom
and mystery, that il was n positive relief
when We reached the great ossuary. Here,
at least, were the Representatives of what
had once been life for in these long, wide
galleries, these subterranean streets and
courts are gathered the bones Of 5000, 600
| human beings---thc yellow harvest of time.
OF peotilcnce, and of revolution In these
dismal coUiis'as stand silent at last the actors
of many fearful tragedy of French history
but out of those cyclcss sockets stares such
a strange look of watching and waiting and
fellowship that it almost seems n though
they are ready to rush back on the stormy
scene, and take up again the roles of the
conspirator and the reyolutioni,t Thi,
gigantic Golgotha, this mighty magazine of
death, is arranged with frightfil regularity
and system. 1t seems to me that it forms
sort of ghasty complement to the city over
head The great passages are named after
the streets aud bouevarcls whose course they
followed, and suggest, Ivy the contrasts of
stiffness, darkness and immutabiiity, the up.
roar, the brightness and the rush of the
busy day above. They suggest, with more
overpowering force, the great, dead mystery
of death which forever underlies our life
Here, beneath beautiful churches. fragrant
incense, gorgeous with pictures and marbles,
beneath altars bright with tapers and gleam-
ing with golden vessels and crucifiXes, are
chapel-like chambers, cut in the rock,
whose air is heavy with the odor Of mortality
whose ceilings are darkly frescocd with
smoke, on whose rough columns are solemn
inscriptions in black lettering, whose walls
bear crosses of skulls set in mosaics of bones
There is even shown here singular COL
lection arranged by a celebrated surgeon, of
diseased bones-a sort of osSeou3 hospit tai.
The catacombs were congecratcd rs burial
place before the first revolution, but the
bones-brOught from the various cemeteries
by night in funeral cars with religious rites
were shot down a shaft and left in a
mighty indistingushabe heap 1t was not
till the time'of Napoeon-thc man of men
to bring order out of chaos and to discp.
line even death-that tho present system
was adopted and the mass of commngled
mortal remains ranged into ranks. Since
then inscriptions have been placed over
every new section, telling when and from
what cemetery they were removed This is
all the distinction now. Here only is real
equality and fraternity. Here, side by side,
are heads which once toiled at the great
problems Of science and humanity, and
heads that once plotted small thefts aud
assassinations heads that once wore coro-
nets, heads that once fell under the knife of
the guilOtinc, heads once pillowed on the
breasts of princes, heads that have lain on
the black slab of the Morgue. Here are
skeleton ha nds that were once soft and fair
and giittering with jewels strong hands,
once dripping with blood cunning hands Of
musicians, rude hands Of cXecutioners feet
which marched in all the campaigns of
Napoleon, feet that trampled the weary
ways of want, feet that have gone on pious
pilgrimages, feet that have danced at the
Nlabille. Pompadour nlay here have mingled
her bones with those of some gentle Sister
of Mercy.