We had provided ourselves with wax tapers, which we lighted, each of us carrying one, before we went down a circular flight of some one hundred steps leading to the dismal galleries running in every direction, and containing the ghastly remains of millions of our fellow-creatures, once as merry and ambitious, as fond and foolish, as hopeful and as vain, as any of us are to-day. At the bottom of the staircase a guide placed himself at our head, and, observing that our tapers were all in good order, took the lead, after exhorting us to keep together, and on no account, if we valued our lives, to attempt to explore any other than the main avenues through which we were to pass. The Catacombs hold the victims of the different revolutions so frequent in Paris; and now, moreover, the common graves (_les fosses communes_) in the three principal cemeteries of Montmartre, Mont Parnasse and Père la Chaise, are emptied every five years, and the plebeian relics consigned to the Catacombs, to make room for more bodies in those populous burying-grounds. Thus are the great vaults steadily and rapidly increasing their lifeless hosts, and adding to the horrors of a region necessarily horrible from the first. [Sidenote: THE FIRST OF THE PASSAGES.] [Sidenote: YAWNING PITS AND CAVERNS.] Several hundred yards from the base of the steps which we had descended is an octagonal vestibule, and over it an inscription in Latin to this effect: “Beyond these boundaries repose those who await a blessed immortality.” We passed through a door leading into a long gallery lined with bones from the floor to the roof; the arm, leg, and thigh-bones being closely and regularly piled together in front, their uniformity relieved by three rows of skulls at equal distances, while behind these the smaller bones are thrown, regardless of arrangement of any kind. The gallery conducts to several apartments resembling chapels, called Tombs of the Revolutions, and Tombs of the Victims, because they hold the relics of those who had perished in popular insurrections against existing authority. I had noticed, before reaching the vestibule, and what may be considered the Catacombs proper, that the passage was very narrow,—only two persons being able to walk abreast therein,—and little more than six feet in height. This passage soon made a sharp turn, and at the corner the names of the streets directly above were cut into the stone, and two black arrows painted upon it, one pointing to the entrance of the vaults, and the other to the great charnel-house we were about to explore. We were in chambers of hewn-out rock. Rock was above us, below us, and on every side. The walls were very damp, the water in many places dripping through what might be termed the ceiling, in which were so many cracks and crevices that it seemed as if the walls might tumble and bury us at any moment. Two or three of my companions grew very nervous as they perceived about them such alarming signs of insecurity, and