known that an armed man patrols throughout
the night, and it is not known where he is
likely to be. The lead on the roof of the
catacombs and chapels is of many hundred
pounds value, and the marble of many of the
statues and tombs is very costly; but these
things are heavy to move, and Mr. Dawe
thinks the existing arrangements a sufficient
protection against robbery. When the wall was
being taken down, and the recently consecrated
thirty acres added, two extra men were employed
as sentries to guard that point, but it is no
longer a weak one, and the original watchman
is once more held to be sufficient. There are
two gatekeepers, several gardeners, a messenger,
who takes a duplicate "sexton's book"
and other papers to the London office every
day, and others. Two of the gardeners and
this messenger are sworn constables, and on
Sundays assume a policeman's dress and keep
order among the visitors. The graves are not
dug by servants of the company, but by contract
with one of the tombstone-makers, whose
house I passed outside. This end of the centre
walk is not occupied near the gravel, because it
is only let on the condition of the lessee spending
not less than from two to three hundred pounds
on a monument, and such people have hitherto
preferred to be at the end nearest the chapel.
The "monumental chambers" above the
catacombs, are devoted to tablets containing the
names and descriptions of many of the people
buried below. Yes, there is an extra charge of
a guinea a foot for all space thus occupied.
(As we walk their length, I discern more than
one piece of mortuary work having a cramped
look, as if the statuary had been restricted in
his scope. Again I had to reproach myself for
an incongruous simile, but the "guinea a foot"
and the closely covered walls reminded me
strangely of advertisement charges, and of the
bill-stickers' hoardings which deface our streets.)
I stoop to look for the inscription on an elaborate
piece of sculpture, occupying a prominent
position at one end of the chamber, and am
told it is not put there in memory of any one.
"Ordered by a lady, sir, to commemorate the
death of a male relative, but she died before it
was finished, and her heirs declining to take it,
it was thrown on the sculptor's hands, and as
he happened to be one of our directors, he had
it brought here" (perhaps as a not unlikely
place to attract a purchaser), "and now he's
dead, so here it's likely to remain." On admiring
the foliage in the grounds, I am told that
all trees are, from their rain droppings, injurious
to tombs, and that the weeping willow is the
most detrimental of all; but for this, there would
be many more planted; but notwithstanding
this drawback, many people like the vicinity
of the last-named tree. What is that little
bed of fine soil, destitute of shrub or plant,
and decked out with empty cups and saucers,
irrelevant and misplaced? A grave. The
cups are for choice flowers, the bed is for rare
plants, but the heirs of its occupier are abroad,
so it remains bald and shabby-looking,
without even its natural covering of turf. Such
cases are not uncommon, says Mr. Dawe; all
melancholy enthusiasm at the funeral; flowers
ordered and the company engaged to keep them
in order, at the regulation charge of a guinea a
year. Two years generally find enthusiasm
cooled down, and the guinea discontinued. For
ten guineas the company undertake to keep up
the flowers for ever; and I agree with Mr. Dawe,
that, the weakness of human nature considered,
this is the best plan. The price for merely
turfing is half-a-crown a year, or four guineas
in perpetuity: the contract for flowers being only
ten times the annual subscription, that for turf
more than thirty times. This, however, is
explained by the fact that flowers add to the
general beauty of the cemetery, and that it
is the interest of the directors, even at a
slight pecuniary sacrifice, to encourage their
growth.

But here are the dissenters' chapel and
catacombs. Both somewhat dingier and smaller
than the other, but managed on a precisely
similar plan. And down here, in a coffin
covered with white velvet, and studded with brass
nails, rests the Indian dancing-woman, whose
strong will and bitter enmity toward England
caused Lord Dalhousie to say of her, when in
exile, that she was the only person our government
need fear. I place my hand on the coffin,
and holding the candle obliquely see a large gilt
plate, whereon her name and titles are engraved.
And now, a hasty visit to the office of the
company at the gateway; a glance through the
registry book; another at the sexton's books—
thirty-five fat volumes, with the particulars of
every burial since the establishment of the
company; another at the huge brass-bound
heap, whereon the entire burial-ground is to
be found in sectional divisions, each name
being written in; and I say good-by to Mr.
Dawe.

THE UNCOMMERCIAL TRAVELLER,
A New Series of Occasional Papers
By CHARLES DICKENS,
WILL BE CONTINUED NEXT WEEK.

Now ready, bound in cloth, price 5s. 6d.,
THE NINTH VOLUME.