to the abodes of the living, the frequency with which the earth is turned over, and the great number of corpses which in a city of the size of Munich must be interred every year, an idea can be formed of the disagreeableness and unhealthiness of the cemeteries.  Moreover, bodies are not brought there to be buried at once, but are placed within twelve hours after death in the dead-house, where they are allowed to remain forty-eight hours before burial.  This provision, which is in force in most of the cities of Germany, is a wise one in view of the number of families inhabiting a single house:  it would seem also to offer additional securities against the horrible fate of being buried alive, though the time allowed is not sufficient to ensure certainty in suspicious cases, and is apt to be infringed upon in seasons of epidemic.  But, be that as it may, the continual presence of scores of corpses lying in open coffins, and separated only by glass doors from the hundreds of spectators who come daily to gaze upon the ghastly sight, cannot be otherwise than injurious to the general health.  Also, the practice of the citizens using the cemeteries as a favorite promenade, and of spending hours in wandering amongst the graves, is highly pernicious:  it would seem as though the people of Munich had fed upon stenches so long that they could not be satisfied with the ordinary smells of the houses and streets, but must seek the fountain-head of corruption to still their morbid craving for the odors of decay.  During the height of the cholera epidemic of the winter of 1873-74 an article appeared in one of the newspapers, written by a citizen who signed himself “A Constant Visitor of the Dead-houses;” and the article was answered by an opponent who signed himself “Another Constant Visitor of the Dead-houses;” as though no more worthy occupation could be imagined than this of prowling like ghouls among the victims of the pestilence!

It is now time to speak of another principal cause of the unhealthiness of Munich, perhaps the most important one of all—­the water.  As before stated, Munich is situated on what was formerly the bed of a lake:  the ground, therefore, is full of springs, and from these the water-supply of the inhabitants has always been obtained.  There is a well in the court of almost every house, in close proximity to the vault, the refuse-pit and the drain, and well impregnated also, doubtless, with that bugbear of Munich hygienists, “the ground-water.”  The most ignorant citizen knows that the well-water is not fit to drink, and avoids it as a beverage; still, its use necessarily enters largely into all domestic arrangements.  Children are frequently thirsty, and cannot be kept from the pumps and fountains; the poor are not able to afford a constant supply of beer (and, for that matter, the beer itself is made with the same material); it is used in cooking and for washing and bathing; and though its impurities are lessened through boiling, it is so corrupt that