If the opinion be well founded, that on the day of judgment the dead will arise in their proper persons, the unfortunates buried in the Catacombs of Paris will find it an extremely arduous task to collect themselves together. One might imagine, in such a universal resumption of long-cast-off and worn-out fleshly garments, that some nondescript individual might appear on the awful scene with the head of a marquis on the trunk of a rag-picker, borne along by the legs of a ballet dancer, and a cripple gesticulating to the angelic host with the right arm of a cardinal and the left arm of a lorette. It has long been a theological problem whether, on that solemn occasion, the dead will recognize each other; but it will be a matter of even more serious moment to them whether many of the Parisians will be able, so strangely will they be made up, to recognize themselves. That there will be a rattling among the dry bones no one who has entered the Catacombs can doubt, and that much of the rattling will arise from Monsieur Bonjour’s effort to make a complete conjunction with his remains, and from Madame Beaujoli’s endeavor to hunt herself up, must be plain to everybody. Some of these anticipated troubles may be partially obviated, however, by the fact that the bones from one cemetery have been kept apart from the bones of another; and as this predicted resurrection is not likely to occur for some time, we need not concern ourselves in regard to the hypothetical awkwardness and inconveniences of so distant a future. [Sidenote: ENTERING THE CATACOMBS.] Until within a few years, admission to the Catacombs could be readily obtained; but their insecurity, resulting in a number of accidents, has recently prevented the authorities from opening these gloomy recesses to the public more than once annually,—usually about the first of October,—when a few persons are permitted, after obtaining tickets from the inspector general, to accompany him in his subterranean tour. The first time I visited Paris I was extremely anxious to wander through the Catacombs; but finding many obstacles in my way, and being much occupied otherwise, I quitted the city without gratifying my curiosity. I returned, however, ere long, and was so diligent in prosecuting my purpose that one pleasant autumn morning, in company with a dozen strangers, I descended from the garden of the city custom-house at the Barrière d’Enfer to explore the stony chambers of the dead.