Let us not sow these places with salt, nor strew them with lime, to destroy every trace of what they really are--spots sanctified by tears and prayers, and the bodies of our brother men; but, if necessity demands it, remove some of their remains tenderly to other places of sepulture, and make gardens over the graves of those who are left undisturbed--spots above which the blue sky might be seen, while the sunshine slept below; amid which we could obtain glimpses of the face of heaven, while musing over the memory of those who have long since entered the gates of the "golden city." Let not these old burial-grounds be closed with no more reverence than if we were shutting up a common sewer; let us not speak of them as loathsome, disgusting, and revolting, because they are made so by unfeeling, money-loving men--gnomes, who feed and fatten on the dead--who look on coffins as they do on cabbages--digging, planting, cutting down, and re-setting the ground, and only studying how to make more money; but let us remember that the mute and inoffensive dead contribute not unto the evils complained of until they are dislodged with brutal violence--that they cannot defend themselves, for "They are very mild and meek; Though (sextons) smite them on the cheek And on the mouth--they cannot speak." The inhuman vultures who prey on them injure the living, and only insult the dead through our sensitiveness. To the dead it matters not: "They hear not (Poor-law guardians) rave, Nor moaning household shelter crave (When carted from each thrice-sold grave)." When our old churches were first built, they stood in wide, open, breezy spaces, at the remote ends of parish boundaries: such was Bartholomew Church, when Smithfield was really a field, and the lofty elm-trees towered high above the ancient gallows which was erected there. We have hemmed in the spots with streets and tall warehouses which our forefathers left free and open between the living and the dead, until they have become so close and breathless, that even the sparrows forsake their "old ancestral eaves," and seek for other roosting-places. Open cheap cemeteries, and conveyances thither, will spring up rapidly enough; funeral omnibuses will be started at little more than the present fares. If nothing else will do, let us be rated for burying our dead: we do not murmur at supporting them while living, nor should we begrudge the slight tax that would be required for interring them in Suburban Cemeteries. There are thousands of acres of land to be sold within five miles of the City of London; if we go to the distance of ten miles it will be all the better for our children's children; but let no buildings be erected within a measured mile of these Silent Cities of the Dead, but each for ever remain a Great Garden of Graves.