The Rev. H. R. Haweis states: “Where are the thousands who were laid in the heart of Paris, and who slept for centuries in the graveyards of the Innocents, St. Eustache, St. Etienne de Prés? Every tourist who takes a return ticket to Paris may gaze upon their bones, speculate upon their skulls, and finger their dust. By order of the minister of police they were all dug up in 1787 and carted off to the catacombs. The bones were cleaned and arranged in grim and picturesque symmetry. In one gallery are the arms, legs, and thighs intersected by rows of skulls; the small bones are thrown in heaps behind them. Whose dust is separate there? whose ashes are sacred? And yet they were borne to this grotesque sepulchre with priests and tapers.” As regards disrespect and insult to the dead, a correspondent of the _Medical Times and Gazette_, writing from Bordeaux, says:— “The earth around one of the oldest churches in Bordeaux seems to have something peculiarly antiseptic in its nature, so that the bodies buried during ages were converted into mummies. During some alterations at the beginning of this century these bodies were laid bare, and instead of being decently buried again, they were taken out of their resting-place and ranged upright in a row around a crypt under the bell-tower of St. Michael. Here they constitute a disgusting and demoralizing show, which is visited by crowds of people, and I am afraid that the clergy of the church are not ashamed to pocket the profits. A rough fellow, a candle on the end of a stick, such as they have in wine-cellars, goes round as showman. He taps and thumps the bodies to show that they are perfectly sound, tough like leather trunks, and not the least brittle. ‘See here, gentlemen, is a very tall man; see how powerful his muscles must have been, and what excellent calves he has now! The next is the body of a young woman. Remark the excellent preservation of her chemise, though it was buried 400 years ago; and see, it is trimmed with lace. The next, gentlemen, is a priest; you can see his soutane with the buttons on it. There is a woman with a dreadful chasm in her breast; she had a cancer. The next four are a family poisoned with mushrooms; observe the contortions of their faces from the coliques they suffered. See, next, a very old man with his wig still awry upon his pate. The next is a poor misérable that was buried alive. See how his head is turned to one side and the body half turned round, in the frantic effort to get out of the coffin, with his mouth open and gasping.’ (It is quite true that the attitude is singular, but it does not warrant the inference which the showman draws.) But enough of this disgusting mercenary exhibition of the human body in its lowest state of humiliation. If the guardians of consecrated sepulchres, in which people have paid an honest fee to be buried, are to dig them up and cart them off as in England, or make a