We succeeded though. Nobody else ever did, in the Vatican museums. The guide was bewildered nonplussed. He walked his legs off, nearly, hunting up extraordinary things, and exhausted all his ingenuity on us, but it was a failure; we never showed any interest in anything. He had reserved what he considered to be his greatest wonder till the lasta royal Egyptian mummy, the best-preserved in the world, perhaps. He took us there. He felt so sure, this time, that some of his old enthusiasm came back to him:

"See, genteelmen! - Mummy! Mummy!"

The eyeglass came up as calmly, as deliberately

as ever.

"Ah,- Ferguson-what did I understand you to say the gentleman's name was?"

་་

Name?- he got no name! - Mummy! — 'Gyptian mummy!"

"Yes, yes. Born here?"

"No! 'Gyptian mummy!”

"Ah, just so. Frenchman, I presume?"

"No!-not Frenchman, not Roman!-born in Egypta!"

"Born in Egypta. Never heard of Egypta before. Foreign locality, likely. Mummy-mummy. How calm he is how self-possessed. Is, ah—is he dead?"

"Oh, sacré bleu, been dead three thousan' year!" The doctor turned on him savagely:

"Here, now, what do you mean by such conduct

as this! Playing us for Chinamen because we are strangers and trying to learn! Trying to impose your vile second-hand carcasses on us!-- thunder and lightning, I've a notion to-to-if you've got a nice fresh corpse, fetch him out!-or, by George, we'll brain you!"

We make it exceedingly interesting for this Frenchman. However, he has paid us back, partly, without knowing it. He came to the hotel this morning to ask if we were up, and he endeavored as well as he could to describe us, so that the landlord would know which persons he meant. He finished with the casual remark that we were lunatics. The observation was so innocent and so honest that it amounted to a very good thing for a guide to say.

There is one remark (already mentioned) which never yet has failed to disgust these guides. We use it always, when we can think of nothing else to say. After they have exhausted their enthusiasm pointing out to us and praising the beauties of some ancient bronze image or broken-legged statue, we look at it stupidly and in silence for five, ten, fifteen minutes as long as we can hold out, in fact- and

then ask:

"Isis he dead?"

That conquers the serenest of them. It is not what they are looking for- especially a new guide. Our Roman Ferguson is the most patient, unsuspecting, long-suffering subject we have had yet. We shall be sorry to part with him.. We have enjoyed

his society very much. We trust he has enjoyed ours, but we are harassed with doubts.

We have been in the catacombs. It was like going down into a very deep cellar, only it was a cellar which had no end to it. The narrow passages are roughly hewn in the rock, and on each hand, as you pass along, the hollowed shelves are carved out, from three to fourteen deep; each held a corpse once. There are names, and Christian symbols, and prayers, or sentences expressive of Christian hopes, carved upon nearly every sarcophagus. The dates belong away back in the dawn of the Christian era, of course. Here, in these holes in the ground, the first Christians sometimes burrowed to escape persecution. They crawled out at night to get food, but remained under cover in the daytime. The priest told us that St. Sebastian lived under ground for some time while he was being hunted; he went out one day, and the soldiery discovered and shot him to death with arrows. Five or six of the early Popes those who reigned about sixteen hundred years ago held their papal courts and advised with their clergy in the bowels of the earth. During seventeen years—from A. D. 235 to A. D. 252 — the Popes did not appear above ground. Four were raised to the great office during that period. Four years apiece, or thereabouts. It is very suggestive of the unhealthiness of underground graveyards as places of residence. One Pope afterward spent his entire pontificate in the catacombs-eight years.