The hypogee was sunk nine feet in the rock, but the roof must have shown above ground. A window was to the east. S. Avitus in the sixth century speaks of the wondrous skill of architects in his day, who contrived to introduce daylight into the crypts. It is evident that no glass was inserted in the window, although the use of glass for windows was becoming general in the sixth century; and Fortunatus, Bishop of Poitiers, died 609, and Gregory, Bishop of Tours, died 595, both speak in terms of admiration of the glazing of windows for churches. It may well be understood that in the mind of the people long after the stream of public devotion had been directed to the churches above ground, a liking for those that are excavated underground should remain. Indeed, it is not extinct yet, as any one may see who visits the church of Ste. Croix at Poitiers, or S. Eutrope at Saintes, or S. Martin at Tours, to mention but three out of many. In all these are mere empty tombs, yet they are the resort of numerous devotees. The darkness, the mystery of these subterranean sanctuaries, impressed the imagination. Accordingly we find, especially in France, many cave-churches. Indeed they are so numerous that I can afford space to describe but a couple of the largest. Many are small, mere chapels, and shall be dealt with under the heading of hermitages. [ILLUSTRATION: INTERIOR OF THE MONOLITHIC CHURCH OF S. EMILION, DORDOGNE. Height from the floor, sixty feet. It is no longer used for divine worship.] Few scenes of quiet landscape can surpass that of the valley of the Dordogne from the road between Sauveterre and Libourne. It broke on me upon a breezy spring morning. The Dordogne, broad and blue, swept through the wide valley between banks dense with poplar and osier. The whole country wore a smiling aspect; the houses, built of freestone, looked fresh and comfortable, and were surrounded by their gardens. The maize-fields were as a rippling green sea. The flax-fields in bloom were sheets of the tenderest blue, and those of the _Trifolium incarnatum_ red as blood, and the road was like a white ribbon binding together a variegated wreath. To the north of the Dordogne rose a grey cluster of buildings, the old town of S. Emilion, famous for its wine. It occupies the edge of a plateau. The only business pursued therein is the making of wine and of macaroons. The entrance to S. Emilion is not striking. None of its buildings, except the keep of its castle are visible. The road dives into a grove of acacias, and then enters the town by a narrow street. The acacias were a mass of pink and white blossom, exhaling a sweet fragrance.