ed upon by strange attendants. Such tributes
to our unsophisticated feelings are, however, denied by the locks,
bolts, and walls, of the metropolitan cemeteries. The practised
grave-digger wonders at the indulgence of unavailing woe--the
unconscious tenants of his domain possess no peculiar claims on his
sympathy--he cannot conceive how any can be felt by others--and, if he
grant permission to enter, it must be for some cause more urgent, and
more apparent, than that of bewailing over a grave! Did it never
occur, however, to the clergymen who superintend these depositories of
mortality, that more respect is due to the feelings of survivors? Is
it necessary for any evident purpose, that the gates should be locked
at any time, or for more than a few hours in the night? And, if even
this privation be suffered merely from the fear of resurrection-men,
is it not due to the best feelings of our nature that the severest
punishment should attach to the crime of stealing dead bodies? What
can now be learnt of anatomy which cannot be found in books and
models, or be taught in the dissection of murderers? I would therefore
rather bury a detected resurrection-man alive with the body he might
be stealing, than shut out the living from all communion with the
dead, and from all the sympathies and lessons addressed to the heart
and understanding by their unrestricted intercourse.

#Barnes# consists of a few straggling houses opposite the Common, of a
mean street leading to the water-side, and of a row of elegant houses
facing the Thames, on a broad terrace nearly half a mile long. On the
opposite side of the river is a tract of new-made swampy ground,
shaped circularly by the winding of the river. The chord of this
circle extends from Chiswick to Strand-on-the-Green; and upon it is
seen the exquisitely beautiful villa of the Duke of Devonshire, where
Charles James Fox lately terminated his patriotic career; and on the
left are the house and extensive grounds long occupied by the amiable
Valentine Morris, esq. who, on his death-bed in Italy, in 1786,
bequeathed these premises and a competent annuity as a provision for
about thirty aged horses and dogs,--and here some of them survived
till within these seven years, dying, from the gradual decay of their
vital powers, at the ages of forty and fifty.

The beauty and seclusion of this terrace have long invited the
residence of persons of wealth and distinction. Many of those
Frenchmen who