, AT PARIS.

(The Morgue, we should premise, is an establishment in Paris for
the reception of all persons found dead in the City or its environs.
Thither it is the duty of the police to convey the bodies, where they
are exposed in a hall open to the public for a stated time,[1] when,
if not identified, and claimed, they are interred in the neighbouring
cemetery.)

[Footnote 1: The bodies are stripped, and placed on sloping slabs of
marble; above each are hung the clothes of the deceased.]

"After describing the exterior, the _Salle de l'Exposition_, which is
the only portion of the building, of course, with which the public
are acquainted, the writer conducts us into the inner recesses of this
house of death, the apartments of the superintendant.

"M. Perrin, is a little old man, who coughs incessantly. When I
explained to him the object of my visit, he very politely offered to
show me all the details of his administration, regretting much, as he
said, that there was not so much variety as could be desired. 'But I
will show you what I have--be pleased to walk up.'

"As we were climbing the narrow stairs, and he was informing me that
his establishment was connected both with the prefecture and the
police, with the one on account of the local expenses, with the other
from its connexion with the public health, we were obliged to stand
close against the wall to allow a troop of young girls to pass, well
dressed, gay, but shivering with the cold, which blew from the river
through the chink which lighted the stair.

"'These are four of my daughters. I have eight children. Francois, the
keeper, has had four, and he has had the good fortune to get them all
married. Francois is a kind father.'

"'So,' said I, 'twelve children then have been born in the Morgue.
Dreams of joy, and conjugal endearments, and parental delights, have
been experienced in this chamber of death. Marriage with its orange
flowers, baptism with its black robed sponsors, the communion, and the
embroidered veil, love, religion, virtue, have had their home here as
elsewhere. God has sown the seeds of happiness every where.'

"'Papa, we are going to a distribution of prizes. My sisters are sure
to get a prize. Don't weary, we will be back in good time.'

"'Go, my children,'--and all four embraced him.

"I thought of the body of the little Norman in the dreary room
beneath, and of the mother who even now, perhaps, was anxiously
looking for her from