It is to the foreign travellers in this country that we are principally indebted for a true and impartial history of our public and domestic polity. The proverbial partiality of an Englishman to his own country naturally renders him blind to its defects; but what must be the opinion of a foreigner of the civilization of this country, when he is informed that there are regularly established houses in this metropolis[1], sanctioned by a licence from the magistrates as public-houses, which are known as houses of call for the different gangs of resurrectionists, and where, if a human corpse be wanted by any of the colleges, hospitals, or private dissecting rooms, an application is sure to meet with success. The offer of a good price is held out--the chance is not to be lost--success is dubious, and perhaps hopeless, by the regular process of exhumation; and then the first wandering outcast, who appears to have nothing in the world nor on the world belonging to him, is decoyed away to some obscure habitation, where, as in the cases of Bishop and Williams, the darkness of night is expected to cover the horrid crime of murder. Melancholy, however, and deplorable is the truth, that there is a set of earthly fiends, bearing the human shape of women, who are the secret panders of the resurrectionists, and who, for a trifling share of the booty, will co-operate with them in their murderous practices. We allude to the female keepers of the low brothels in the different parts of the town, and especially in the immediate neighbourhood of Wentworth Street, Spitalfields, the resort of the lowest class of prostitutes, where, if one of them be suddenly missed from her accustomed haunts, it is but the gossip of the moment; and, in certain cases, it is apparently so satisfactorily accounted for, that no further inquiry is deemed necessary; the practice adopted by the female wretch is generally upon the following plan:--Having selected her victim from the wretched horde, who appears to be the most destitute, or who will not tell that she has, or who, in reality, perhaps, has not any relations in the world, the information is given to the resurrectionist, who, under pretence of purchasing her favours, entices her away to some obscure place, where the work of murder is accomplished. She is missed by her companions, and the keeper of the brothel is questioned as to her knowledge of what has become of her. Ah! replies the wretch, it is a very bad business--she robbed a sailor of two sovereigns, and hearing that the police-officers were after her, she has thought it best for her to go out of the neighbourhood. It appears to all the inquirers that it is a very likely case, that the theft was committed; and it is equally natural that she should run away after it. The unfortunate creature is never seen again, and, in a very short time, it is forgotten that such a being existed upon the earth.