Truly may that splendid temple, open to the sky, claim its title of “St. Mary of the Martyrs,” and rightly did the Pontiff and his followers, as they brought them in, raise the triumphal shout, “The Saints shall rejoice in their beds! Arise, ye friends of God, and enter into the glory He has prepared for His elect!” After all these great names it seems strange to have to record a very humble one, that of a poor working-man, in connection with the Pantheon, but I can never pass the famous church without remembering a certain Giovanni Borgi whose memory was held in great benediction in Rome in my young days. During the preceding century the city was really in a fairly peaceful and prosperous condition, but the many institutions of charity which flourished under Gregory XVI and Pius IX had not reached the point where they could provide night refuges for its many waifs and vagrants. There were numbers of poor boys—street Arabs, as we should call them—who wandered about in the daytime, earning a little here and there, but subsisting chiefly on charity and having no fixed dwelling-place of any kind. To these the broad steps and portico of the Pantheon offered at least shelter from the weather, and they used to gather there in crowds after dark, and sleep—as boys can sleep—on the stones. Now there was in Rome, towards 1780 or thereabouts, a poor mason called Giovanni Borgi. He belonged to the “opera di San Pietro”—that is, he was one of the workmen engaged for life by the administration of St. Peter’s for the maintenance and repair of the Basilica, the Vatican Palace and its many dependent buildings. The “opera” was a close corporation and included artisans of every necessary craft, from mosaic workers to bricklayers, plumbers, and carpenters. Of course the privileges were largely hereditary, the Italian traditions of Guilds leading the son to follow the trade or profession of his father whenever possible, but high character and a blameless record were also indispensable qualifications for every appointment.