kingdom of heaven." Many of the inscriptions testify strong family affection and a warm love of friends, and a deep veneration for those who died the death of martyrs. The graves of infants are commonly decorated with representations of a dove,a lamb, or a rosebud. The words, "sweet friend;" "dearest friend;" "dear and faithful companion;" "candid soul," are constantly repeated. Most of the inscriptions are concise and to the purpose, as the following, "Here lies Gordeanu's, deputy of Gaul, who was executed for the faith, with all his family ;" and then the touching conclusion, "Theophilus, a hand-maid, placed this stone in fear, but full of hope," as if none were left to pay this last sad tribute but the faithful hand-maid of the Gaulish deputy, who has thus handed down to our times the master's faith and the hand-maiden's faithfulness. In one of the galleries, close by the tomb of the martyr Cecelia, is a portrait of our Saviour in his humanity, representing him with one hand extended as if in the act of blessing, clasping with the other a book close to his breast. This is interesting, as it most unquestionably is one of the earliest paintings we have of Christ, being of the fourth or fifth century of our era, and although exceedingly rude in design and finish, clearly furnishing the face from which Cimabue, Giotto, and most of the very early painters have copied. The Romish Church insist upon an earlier date for this portrait. It represents a person with an oval face, straight nose, arched eye-brows, and a smooth but rather high forehead; the hair parted and flowing in curls upon the shoulders; the beard not thick, but short and divided. Over the left shoulder is thrown some drapery. We were some three hours under ground, wandering amid these sepulchral chambers, and deeply interested at every step with the revelations that there opened upon us, bearing the strongest testimony

the truth of our religion, and especially to the devotion of those who in the early day did not count their lives dear unto themselves, so that they might attest with their blood the sincerity of their faith. The Church of Rome, through its Pontiffs, has been for many years engaged in clearing out the rubbish, and strengthening the weak portions of the galleries by substantial brickwork. This is the grand treasure-house from which is drawn the relics of saints, and so long as devotion is paid by the church to these sad remnants of mortality, so long will the catacombs be preserved and cared for with religious veneration.

Most lives, though their strength is loaded with sand and turbid with alluvial waste, drop a few golden grains of wisdom as they flow along.

If a few civil words will render a man happy, he must be a wretch indeed who will not give them to him. Let another man light his candle by your own, and yours loses none of its brilliancy by what his gains.

THE EARLY TRAIN.

BY R. E. THACKERAY.

Who's that tapping at my door?

I

A soft voice whispers, "Half-past four!"
Why surely 'tis not time to rise?
Do take that candle from my eyes!
Must I get up? then farewell sleep.
And, blinking, from my bed I creep.
I've placed my clothes all on one chair:
Here is my brush, I'll dress my hair.
"Twixt lights I look just like a hag.
Now I'll begin to squeeze my bag!
But it resists my ardent strain,
As if 'twould not be closed again!
My bunch of keys falls on the floor;
grope for them at half-past four,
Carpet and room all dim and dark;
The housemaid's dip emits a spark.
Where are your snuffers? "Broken loose."
Then look for them at once, you goose!
Somebody stumbles on the floor:
An early train's a horrid bore!
Now swallow coffee boiling hot,
As if Macadamed throat I'd got.
And there's the carriage on the drive
As some one calls out "Half-past five!"
I've left my handkerchief in bed!
This box is heavier than lead;
Oh what can you have put within it?
These early trains are to a minute.
My glove is torn, quite to a rag,
The other's packed within my bag.
That portmanteau no name has on it:
Hang the valise-and fetch my bonnet!
And the air-cushion, lately bought,
Has sprung a leak, and come to nought.
Umbrellas, shawls, and rug, strap up,
And don't forget my bird and pup.
Give them into my arms, dear Sue,
And you shall hear what next to do:
My travelling flask has fallen down-
It cost last week a good half-crown,
And all the sherry's on the gravel:
Ah me! the pain and cost of travel!
"Drat the straw-paper," says the cook :

'My sandwiches break through-do look!" And, coachman, start; don't lose more time: To be too late would be a crime, After being roused at half-past fourAn early train's an awful bore. My bootmaker, I do declare: Oh dear, I'm driven to despair!

"You should have brought them home before:
Did I not tell you half-past four?
What's that-your bill? To think I'd pay!
(With indigation)-" Drive away!"

As we approach the distant station,
Arises doubt and consternation.
Returning flys and "'bus" quite void
Promotes a feeling not enjoyed.

A coachman winks, with action sly,
Points to the station, then whisks by.

'Oh, horrid wretch! what can he mean? I'm overcome by fear and spleen : Why actually there's no one there!" We gallop up the porters stare: "Is the train gone ?" we, frantic, cry; Official nods; we wipe an eye, The dismal waiting-room receiving The travellers, three hours grieving.

y!"

July 19th.-I have not written anything in this journal for some time, and even now I cannot bear to set down the little daily occurrences of our lives, though the pranks of the young ones sometimes make them lively enough; but, glancing back through its leaves, it struck me as being strange that, in writing of boardingschools, I did not mention a circumstance that happened at a very fashionable one a couple of years back in Q—, just as the pupils were leaving for the Christmas holidays. I had business in town on that day, and had arranged to call for our minister's daughter, who was governess there, and bring her home in our car. I can fancy the scene before me even now: The house was a handsome two-storeyed wooden one, with a centre and two octagon turret wings; a broad flight of steps led to the halldoor, and was surrounded by a richly-laid-out piece of ground, containing many graceful statues and vases, separated from the street, or rather road, by a low wall. This being a sort of gala day the French windows were open to the ground, displaying refreshment tables loaded with good things. The rooms, which were visible from the street, showed costly hangings, rich carpets, a harp, and more than one grand piano. On the verandah and about the garden groups of young girls, dressed in white, were chatting gaily, all life and animation, while their mothers were seated or strolling about evidently admiring the scene. As I stood looking on, much amused and interested, the garden-gate opened and a young man went in, when, quick as lightning, a pretty delighted girl leaped off the verandah into his arms: it was a brother come to take a sister home. Soon after, the lady I waited for came to tell me that she could not accompany me that evening, as the examinations had lasted longer than they expected, and, indeed, as it proved afterwards, very few of the pupils left, as they were detained too late for the train. I sent in the car the next day according to promise to bring my young friend home, when the messenger found the pretty house, which had looked so gay the day before, a mere ruin: a fire had broken out in it in the night, and all they could do (and that with great difficulty) was to save their lives. Miss fortunately, had her boxes in the hall waiting for me, so that when help came they were pulled out; but all the rest were destroyed. It came out in an after-inquiry that the girls

(with something of the licence of colonial manners, which extends itself to what are supposed here to be the most refined circles), instead of going quietly to bed when they retired for the night, had tossed everything upside-down-beds, bedclothes, and everthing else anywhere but where they should be, or could be got at in the confusion, so that they were in their nightdresses only when they escaped from the burning house. However, they were all right enough soon. The pupils being supplied with clothes in profusion by the different drapers, to enable them to reach home, and a large subscription was raised, without delay, for the governesses. Such was the close of the day which had opened so pleasantly.

August 1st. I am getting over my late shock, and that rogue Dick has made me laugh a great deal this evening. Mrs. A-· (mother to little Annie), whose funeral, dear child, formed one of the incidents in the last journal I kept, came to see me some days ago, when she told me there was a very large snake coiled up asleep near the fence. My husband went with her immediately and killed it, throwing it carelessly afterwards to some distance. This morning Dick happened to meet her, when she told him her sister had come on a visit to her, and she would bring her up to tea with me in the evening. This is quite the custom here: each one knows it is such a treat to the other to see a new face. Immediately a thought struck him there was a chance of fun, so he went for the dead snake, brought it to a convenient part of the road, coiled it up as if alive, placed a log before it so that they night not see it until they were quite close, and then came home to await the result. He was more successful even than he expected. Mrs. A- had several friends that day, and they all came with her, two having babies. When they came to the snake there was a gene ral scream, the party scattering in all directions, until one lady, more courageous than the rest, volunteered to kill it with a stick, when she discovered it was already dead. Mrs. Ar who knows Dick's tricks well, decided at once that it was he who had planned the whole thing; and when they got to the house we all had such a merry romp trying to punish him for his roguery, although in the end I had to plead guilty to being in his secret, after which we had a very pleasant evening.

August 24th. This year is a particularly un

-.

fortunate one for all my friends. In a journal I kept a few years back I remember mentioning the death and funeral of little Annie A, the sweet child of Mrs. A————, who was here so full of merriment a few weeks ago. Dear little Annie's father is the stepson of a Mr. La farmer who lived about one mile and a-half from this. Mrs. L-, his wife, is a strange old woman, many years older than her husband, she being sixty-three, he only forty-eight years. She has two sons-one herfirst husband's, the other Mr. L-'s. When we came here first they were making money very fast. Besides their farm, which at that time was a good one, they had a boarding-house and store and what is called here a grog-shop; so that, altogether, it is not too much to say that they made at least thirty pounds aweek clear profit. Mr. A-, the eldest son, got married about this time, and built a house midway between his mother's and ours, when very quickly his wife and I became great friends. As the old people were very fond of drink, she did not care to be with them, and so, being much alone, spent a great deal of her time with me. Meanwhile the L's went on as usual making money and spending it as fast as it was made in the most silly manner they would go off to Qand perhaps stay away from home three weeks together. Next the old woman would go off and buy all sorts of foolish things: she would think nothing of paying five pounds at a time for mere sweets. During harvest also there was no end of drink wasted by them: one season there was fifty pounds worth of rum drank in their place, besides several odd pounds' worth, of which there was no account kept. The sons, who are exceedingly steady young men, did all they could to keep things right, but in vain; so that last summer matters came to a crisis, and, despite all their profits, their establishment had to be sold for debt. Mr. L– then made up all the money he could, and set off for a new digging near Sydney, the sons giving him all the assistance in their power. On his leaving, they gave up the old farm and took a new one for themselves, about six miles away, so thatI lost my neighbour, as the roads are too bad to encourage much visiting. However, she came sometimes on Saturday and stayed over the Sunday with me, but now that she is again near us we see her frequently. The old woman was to stay in the house, lately her own, until it was disposed of, when just as they thought Mr. L- must have reached the end of his journey, back he came, without a penny. He only went half way, when he discovered he had not enough money to carry him on, and so returned, completely ignoring the fact, that what brought him back would have taken him forward. He then retook the farm for twelve months, but was so tardy in sowing that he had no crops, and it was once more taken from him. Next he said he would try New Zealand. Every one told him it was the wrong time of year to go there, but go he would, and did. They re

ceived one letter to say he had landed safely, and about the time they expected a second, home he arrived again farthingless as usual, and even without any clothes but those he wore. It seems he had indulged too freely in Melbourne, on his backward journey, and lost everything he had taken with him. As to New Zealand, he had totally failed there, as had been foretold. He and his wife now took up their abode at the son's farm, but as he was a strong, active man, he had too much spirit to remain dependent on them, and said he would go and work for some farmer until he got a little money together. Consequently, he hired with a man near QHe went there on the Monday, and worked through the week, but, the following Saturday, being very wet, he asked his employer what was to be done: the farmer told him to look after the horses, and get them in, as he feared they had gone over the creek. L- went, but did not return, and, as the day continued wet, the people about took it for granted that he had gone home; while his family, in their turn, wondered why they did not see him. Early on Monday morning poor Mrs. L-- set off to know what had kept him away, when just as she arrived at the farmer's, soaked in wet and mud, some of the other men found him in a quarry-hole, with his throat cut in several places, lying in a pool of his own blood, and of course, quite dead, the knife with which he destroyed himself lay beside him, just as it had fallen from his hand. The poor woman is nearly mad. They brought the remains privately to Tand he now lies quietly enough upon the lonely hill-side, beside the grave of dear little Annie. I went on horse-back with Mrs. M-- to see the family. I felt greatly for Mrs. A as she is near her confinement but they are all as well as one can expect. The whole neighbourhood feels the shock of the unhappy event, as, with all his faults L- was wellknown and liked, being "nobody's enemy but his own," as they say, though I take leave to add in my own mind, "and his family's." I think upon his death frequently, yet I can scarcely realize that he, the strong, healthy man, is gone from amongst us, whilst I am still spared, doubtless, for some merciful purpose: a weak, delicate creature, so fragile that I am sure it is a wonder to many how I live on; and yet so it is, and I work too, and that not a little in my family, enjoying it even sometimes, although it may be a little severe. Last week, for instance: I was making a coat for Frank, which required day-light; I left my ironing for night: so when they all came from school, we had tea together, and soon after I began my work; during which, as Dick read aloud to me from the bible, Willie read to himself, Jonnie and Frank learned their lessons, and Kate and Chady sat at their needle-work: I felt in the midst of them as proud and happy as a queen, and I think it is not in a spirit of boasting, but of thankfulness, that I write that they are considered the best mannered children in the neighbourhood. On Saturday last, Willie came hastening to me after school, his fair, delicate

where there is a very clever surgeon, and was fortunate enough to secure his services. He examined the patient sufferer well, and found the shoulder had slipped from the socket, and from being neglected, had become fast in a wrong place. He then put her under the influence of chloroform, and endeavoured to reduce the dislocation, but the first attempt failed, when the surgeon said he would not recommend her to try it again; but at her own request he did try, and this time succeeded in getting it into its place. This was last week. All the neighbours were, as they ever are, very kind, and I of course took my full share of nursing, as I not only love her, but I respect her very highly. My being with her so much accounts for the long gap in my journal.

Nov. 15th.-I fear much my poor friend has had all her pain for nothing. It is a most deformed shoulder, and every day discovers some new deformity. The large muscle which rounds the shoulder has perished, and all the small sinews are torn away by the operation, two of the fingers are quite dead, and the others are fast following, while the injured shoulder is three inches higher than the other, and the spine, from the pressure on it, is growing out; so that dear Mrs. M—— is a cripple for life, beside undergoing such torture. It is a very sad event in many ways. She was a very clever woman, able to assist her husband efficiently in his ministry, not to speak of her as about the best housekeeper in the district. Now she is unable to do anything. Mr. -'s two daughters keep a school in Q-. Her own daughter is about fifteen, and her little boy seven years old. I cannot say how much I feel for them all.

20th. Mrs. M- was at church to-day, and, as she knew that I had been disappointed in the expected arrival of a dear dear friend from my own home, she stopped, and, forgetful of her own trouble, spoke so sweetly to me about it I was glad, yet sorry, to see her out again-sorry to see her fine form so bent and altered. She afterwards wrote me a very nice note with her one hand, sympathizing with me in my little grievance, with sisterly affection. She is truly pious, and bears her trials with great fortitude and resignation. It is a pleasure to me to know that her health at least is improving fast, though her appearance is so sadly changed.

23rd.-I am delighted and proud I have proved a true prophetess. My little "Fire-fly" is married-very happily, too. I had the letter announcing it this morning. Her husband is a miner, and has been very successful. They are to come and spend Christmas with us before they settle down. To enliven all my black stories this entry at any rate ought to be marked with "a white stone."

27th. I had decided to go with papa and all the children to-day into Q-, to have our cartes taken, to send to the dear Aunt K-, to whom Dick sent his grand epistle; but the day before being my birthday, we celebrated it

by a pic-nic, at one of the farms, when Johnnie, going to a well with Kate to get water to make tea, they let go the windlass, which struck Kate in the eye. Fortunately she was not very near it, or she would have been dangerously injured, but as it is her eye is quite black; so that it would not do to take her into town. Dec. 7th.-To-day we all went into Qand had our cartes taken. Kate and Chady look very pretty among the boys (they were done in a group), while the boys themselves look healthy and sturdy enough to be good protectors to them until they get "A nearer one

Yet, and a dearer one

Still, than all others." My husband and I figure in another, and I am delighted to have them done in time for the next mail, as I know K- would be disappointed sadly at not getting them.

23rd.-Mr. and Mrs. S, the bride and bridegroom, have arrived, and another old Melbourne friend. The little "Fire-fly" looks brighter than ever, and her husband, who seems to be a very sensible man, is just the one I should have chosen for her myself if the choice lay with me. He is very intelligent, and tells the most amusing stories. But he has sometimes grave moods, which his little wife does not heed in the least, but goes sparkling about him as like her namesake as possible. The delight of the children with their guests is indescribable. Of course, according to colonial custom, all business ceases to-day, until the second day of the new year. The intervening time is dedicated solely to pleasure and the celebration of the great Christmas festival. The season is most lovely. Our garden is a wilderness of flowers, our orchard rich with fruit, and the best gold of the new world-namely, the yellow corn ripening in the fields. For a long while after I settled here I could hardly believe it to be Christmas at all without the frost, snow, holly, ivy, great fires, bright lights, and close drawn curtains of the happy hones of the old land; but now I can throw open my dwelling to the refreshing breeze, if fortunately there happen to be one, and look out on (to old-world eyes) these strange Christmas sights as joyously as anyone. Some of our little ones never saw any others, and I trust return the Saviour as humble and as loving thanks for his Advent among us in the midst of this beautiful blooming world as I ever did gazing on the more familiar scene of the earth barren and bleak-looking at this season, yet which bore within her bosom the sure promise of things as beautiful as all I now behold, and as the joyful time approaches-nay, that it is here, "even at the door." Let me once again return fervent thanks to Him that, while many around us have been afflicted, we have been spared; and that at our Christmas dinner-table to-morrow there will not be "one vacant chair." So ends my Journal for 1864, as I know I shall not have time for another entry, mine promising, I fear, to be "a mad world" for some days to come.