go-yes, sir, I have thought a deal of this thing-fast through life;
but they dies, and nobody cares for them-you see how they are
buried.' I inquired if he knew all their names. He said of course he
did. If he didn't, nobody else would. In order to try him, I desired
he would show me the grave of Mag Munday. He shook his head, smiled,
muttered the name incoherently, and said he thought it sounded like
a dead name. 'I'll get my thinking right,' he pursued, and
brightening up all at once, his vacant eyes flashed, then he touched
me cunningly on the arm, and with a wink and nod of the head there
was no mistaking, led the way to a great mound located in an obscure
part of the graveyard--"

"A great mound! I thought it would come to that," sighs Madame
Montford, impatiently.

"We bury these wretched creatures in an obscure place. Indeed,
Madame, I hold it unnecessary to have anything to distinguish them
when once they are dead. Well, this poor forlorn simpleton then sat
down on a grave, and bid me sit beside him. I did as he bid me, and
soon he went into a deep study, muttering the name of Mag Munday the
while, until I thought he never would stop. So wild and wandering
did the poor fellow seem, that I began to think it a pity we had not
a place, an insane hospital, or some sort of benevolent institution,
where such poor creatures could be placed and cared for. It would be
much better than sending them to the whipping-post--"

"I am indeed of your opinion-of your way of thinking, most
certainly," interpolates Madame Montford, a shadow of melancholy
darkening her countenance.