a great way off with something religious in the attitude of these two unkempt and haggard women; and I drew near faster, but still cautiously, to hear what they were saying.  Surely on them the spirit of death and decay had descended; I had no education to dread here:  should I not have a chance of seeing nature?  Alas! a pawnbroker could not have been more practical and commonplace, for this was what the kneeling woman said to the woman upright—­this and nothing more:  ‘Eh, what extravagance!’

O nineteenth century, wonderful art thou indeed—­wonderful, but wearisome in thy stale and deadly uniformity.  Thy men are more like numerals than men.  They must bear their idiosyncrasies or their professions written on a placard about their neck, like the scenery in Shakespeare’s theatre.  Thy precepts of economy have pierced into the lowest ranks of life; and there is now a decorum in vice, a respectability among the disreputable, a pure spirit of Philistinism among the waifs and strays of thy Bohemia.  For lo! thy very gravediggers talk politics; and thy castaways kneel upon new graves, to discuss the cost of the monument and grumble at the improvidence of love.

Such was the elegant apostrophe that I made as I went out of the gates again, happily satisfied in myself, and feeling that I alone of all whom I had seen was able to profit by the silent poem of these green mounds and blackened headstones.

NURSES

I knew one once, and the room where, lonely and old, she waited for death.  It was pleasant enough, high up above the lane, and looking forth upon a hill-side, covered all day with sheets and yellow blankets, and with long lines of underclothing fluttering between the battered posts.  There were any number of cheap prints, and a drawing by one of ‘her children,’ and there were flowers in the window, and a sickly canary withered into consumption in an ornamental cage.  The bed, with its checked coverlid, was in a closet.  A great Bible lay on the table; and her drawers were full of ‘scones,’ which it was her pleasure to give to young visitors such as I was then.

You may not think this a melancholy picture; but the canary, and the cat, and the white mouse that she had for a while, and that died, were all indications of the want that ate into her heart.  I think I know a little of what that old woman felt; and I am as sure as if I had seen her, that she sat many an hour in silent tears, with the big Bible open before her clouded eyes.

If you could look back upon her life, and feel the great chain that had linked her to one child after another, sometimes to be wrenched suddenly through, and sometimes, which is infinitely worse, to be torn gradually off through years of growing neglect, or perhaps growing dislike!  She had, like the mother, overcome that natural repugnance—­repugnance which no man can conquer—­towards the infirm