Strange it is, however, that the young antiquarian, whom we have frequently named with honor, should have re-discovered two of the basilicas over the entrance to the cemetery of Callistus, almost entire; the one being a stable and bakehouse, the other a wine-store. One is, most probably, that built by Pope Damasus, so often mentioned. The earth washed down, through air-holes, the spoliation practised during ages, by persons entering from vineyards through unguarded entrances, the mere wasting action of time and weather, have left us but a wreck of the ancient catacombs. Still there is much to be thankful for. Enough remains to verify the records left us in better times, and these serve to guide us to the reconstruction of our ruins. The present Pontiff[100] has done more in a few years for these sacred places, which he has appointed have done wonders. With very limited means, they are going systematically to work, finishing as they advance. Nothing is taken from the spot where it is found; but every thing is restored, as far as possible, to its original state. Accurate tracings are made of all the paintings, and plans of every part explored. To secure these good results, the Pope has, from his own resources, bought vineyards and fields, especially at Tor Marancia, where the cemetery of SS. Nereus and Achilleus is situated; and we believe also over that of Callistus. The French emperor too has sent to Rome, artists, who have produced a most magnificent work, perhaps somewhat overdone, upon the catacombs: a truly imperial undertaking. [Illustration: The Tomb of Cornelius.] It is time, however, for us to rejoin our party below, and finish our inspection of these marvellous cities of departed saints, under the guidance of our friends the excavators. CHAPTER IV. WHAT DIOGENES DID TELL ABOUT THE CATACOMBS. All that we have told our readers of the first period of the history of subterranean Rome, as ecclesiastical antiquarians love to call the catacombs, has no doubt been better related by Diogenes to his youthful hearers, as, taper in hand, they have been slowly walking through a long straight gallery, crossed, indeed, by many others, but adhered to faithfully; with sundry pauses, and, of course, lectures, embodying what we have put together in our prosaic second chapter. At length Diogenes turned to the right, and Torquatus looked around him anxiously. “I wonder,” he said, “how many turns we have passed by, before leaving this main gallery?” “A great many,” answered Severus, drily. “How many do you think, ten or twenty?” “Full that, I fancy; for I never have counted them.” Torquatus had, however; but wished to make sure. He continued, still pausing: “How do you distinguish the right turn, then? Oh, what is this?” and he pretended to examine a small niche in the corner. But Severus kept too sharp a look-out, and saw that he was making a mark in the sand.