after all these years and it gave me the same creepy sensations
now as it did then. Even the taxicab driver seemed glad to set
down his fares and speed away.

It was ghoulish. I felt then and I did still that instead of
contributing to the amelioration of conditions that could not be
otherwise than harrowing, everything about the old Morgue lent
itself to the increase of the horror of the surroundings.

As Kennedy, Carton, and I entered, we found that the principal
chamber in the place was circular. Its walls were lined with the
ends of caskets, which, fitting close into drawer-like apertures
were constantly enveloped in the refrigerated air.

It seemed, even at that hour, that if these receptacles were even
adequate to contain all of the daily tenants of the Morgue, much
of the anguish and distress inseparable from such a place might be
spared those who of necessity must visit the place seeking their
dead. As it was, even for those bound by no blood ties to the
unfortunates who found their way to the city Morgue, the room was
a veritable chamber of horror.

We stood in horrified amazement at what we saw. On the floor,
which should be kept clear, lay the overflow of the day's intake.
Bodies for which there was no room in the cooling boxes, others
which were yet awaiting claimants, and still more awaiting
transfer to the public burying ground, lay about in their rough
coffins, many of them brutally exposed.

It seemed, too, that if ever there was a time when conditions