The herald and news. [volume] (Newberry S.C.) 1903-1937, 1909-04-23

~ ~" ONNNA OO1A'}
Special to The Herald and News.
home. Italy:-Yesterday I made
al interesting subterranean excursion
IN company with a maiden lady from
the West,' who had never heard
OF the Catacombs before she came to
Rome, her nephew, and poetic
souled young preacher, whose eyes
grew wet with tears as he traversed
the labyrinths, which had served as
places Of refuge and worship for the
earliest followers of the faith during
the prosecutions they had to suffer
under the predecessors of Constan-
tine; the preacher was overcome with
emotion, and think, he fancied him
self addressing an early Christian as
sembly. So real was his illusion that
If some predetermined practical
joker had slipped up behind him and
shouted, ''To the ions!" feel sure
he would have solemnly folded his
arms in the most approved martyr
attitude, and answered, ''I am ready,
Lord.'' But it was different with the
aunt. She was sorry she had come.
It had required all the minister s
persuasive power to get her to de-
scend the narrow stone stairway that
opens into the bowels Of the earth
through a low, forbidding door, over
grown with weeds and nettles, and,
once daylight had been left behind,
she was decidedly disinclined to de-
scend further into the winding pass
ages where green mould covered the
walls and water dripped continually.
Also, one Of her overshoes had stuck
in the mud on the downward journey,
and in the Shiny darkness not even
Cinderella's prince would have ven
tured to find the missing footgear.
She was worried too by the marble
"signboards,'' as she called them,
which appeared at every turn; with
the inscription, "In pace"
"And do they allow carriages in
this place?' she exclaimed, while
looking at. one Of these slabs. Her
question seemed Irrelevant until she
explained that she thought "in pace"
was warning against trotting or
galloping horses, an injunction such
as one often sees posted on rickety
wooden bridges. The young preacher,
who was really a thoroughly nice
chap, came out Of his trance long
enough to explain that "in pace"
was a mortuary inscription.
$50 this is a cemetery" shifted
the good lady in response, "I'd like
to know what you brought me here
for anyway!' What s the, use Of visit
ing the graves of people you don't
know anything about, and trying to
read these dull old inscriptions?
Now, I can see the sense Of visiting
the tomb of friend or relative, but
this-Pooh!" There were so many
nice, clean things to be seen around
Rome, she added, but worrying one
self with this kind of sightseeing
was "making toll of what ought to
be PLEASURE" as the man said when
they we're galloping the horses to his
wife's funeral.
But it was wonderfully impress
i've and picturesque place, even if the
maiden lady from the West did fail
to appreciate its charm. We were not
the only party il the Caemiterium
Ostrianum that day, and from the
depths of the black-mouthed tunnels
often came the hollow, ghostly whis-
pers of persons, who though quar-
ter of mile distant, seemed to have
their invisible lips pressed against
our ears. The only lights were pine
torches and wax candles, serving to
make the darkness visible, and their
yellow, smoky flicker, as they moved
to and fro, occasionally gave US
glimpses of other tourists, or black
robed students, who had doubtless
come hither to mediate on death. Far
down a dim passage, in the back of
an aspe of little chapel, stood can
dies burning in the symbolic three
straight lines Of threes and two lines
Of skies, as they have burned for
centuries. 1t was not cheerful spot,
though the skulls which lay scattered
with the broken skeletons on the lit
tie stone shelves cut in the walls
were all grinning with ghastly mirth
I never saw such teeth. I see them
vet. It was a fitting abode for spec
ters. and I don't think any Of us were
enrnrise1-not even the maiden aunt