ingless by their removal. It was
a pleasant enough place on this summer afternoon, contrasted with the
dingy street whence we had come, though its grass was faded and yellow
and the twitter of the birds in the trees mingled with the hideous
Board-school drawl of the children who played around the seats and the
few remaining tombs.

"So this is the last resting-place of the illustrious house of
Bellingham," said I.

"Yes; and we are not the only distinguished people who repose in this
place. The daughter of no less a person than Richard Cromwell is buried
here; the tomb is still standing--but perhaps you have been here before,
and know it."

"I don't think I have ever been here before; and yet there is something
about the place that seems familiar." I looked around, cudgelling my
brains for the key to the dimly reminiscent sensations that the place
evoked; until, suddenly, I caught sight of a group of buildings away to
the west, enclosed within a wall heightened by a wooden trellis.

"Yes, of course!" I exclaimed. "I remember the place now. I have never
been in this part before, but in that enclosure beyond which opens at
the end of Henrietta Street, there used to be and may be still, for all
I know, a school of anatomy, at which I attended in my first year; in
fact, I did my first dissection there."

"There was a certain gruesome appropriateness in the position of the
school," remarked Miss Bellingham. "It would have been really convenient
in the days of the resurrection men. Your material would have been
delivered at your very door. Was it a large school?"

"The attendance varied according to the time of the year. Sometimes I
worked there quite alone. I used to let myself in with a key and hoist
my subject out of a sort of sepulchral tank by means of a chain tackle.
It was a ghoulish business. You have no idea how awful the body used to
look, to my unaccustomed eyes, as it rose slowly out of the tank. It was
like the resurrection scenes that you see on some old tombstones, where
the deceased is shown rising out of his coffin while the skeleton,
Death, falls vanquished with his dart shattered and his crown toppling
off.

"I remember, too, that the demonstrator used to wear a blue apron, which
created a sort of impression of a cannibal butcher's shop. But I am
afraid I am shocking you."

"No, you are not. Every profession has its unpresentable aspects, which
ought not to be seen by out-siders. Think of a sculpt