“There was the body of a newly imported subject, that had just been got ready for use upstairs, lying in ghastly whiteness on a coffin lid in the middle of the place. I noticed that its right arm was attached to a rope and pulley in the ceiling, and had been left in that position when the beadle had injected his preservative fluid into the arteries. The weight which acted as counterpoise was lying on a heap of old rags on the edge of the table. I did not like the look of the raised arm; it seemed pointing at me in a nasty ghostly sort of way, and I pulled it down. Then exploring further, I came upon a great store of tow and old sacking, and with these I made up a tidy sort of bed on a wide shelf, and determined when bedtime came to try and get some sleep. I was downright mad when I thought of my jolly little fire at my diggings, and the kidneys and stout I had ordered for supper. I wasn’t in much of a humour for reading, and had nothing to read with me except my Gray’s Anatomy. I hadn’t light enough to dissect, or would have kept at it all night. I could hear the clock of St. Andrew’s tolling out the lazy hours—how long they seemed! At nine I couldn’t stand it any more, and lay down on my shelf, and covering myself with the sacks tried to go to sleep. It was past ten before I dropped off; my bed was most uncomfortable, and my pillow too low—a low pillow always makes me dream so. I rested badly, and soon awoke. As I lay thinking and praying for morning, I became aware of a peculiar low moaning noise, as of some creature in great pain in a distant corner, as it seemed. Listening with the intensified sense that such circumstances arouse, I heard, in addition to the moans, a regular clank of some machine working like a bellows, and then I remembered that on the day before I had been trying some experiments on two dogs in the next vault. To one I had given curare, and had to keep his respiration going by Paul Bert’s beautiful little machine, invented for the purpose; the other dog had been horribly mangled by Crowe, and ought to have been killed, but there was a question of the bile duct on which I hadn’t completely satisfied myself, and he told me to take the animal below, and I am ashamed to say I had forgotten the poor little beggar.” “Was that the rough little terrier which followed Dr. Arnold in the Laboratory when he was starving? I have heard him laugh at the misplaced confidence of the brute,” said Elsworth. “The very animal,” replied the story-teller. “But, I say, you had no licence, you know!” said Wilks, a shy, curate-looking freshman, who belonged to several humanitarian societies, and thought all this very dreadful. The roar of laughter with which the delicious joke was received made poor Wilks blush to the roots of his hair, as one of the audience cried: