You can see the color of his hair--faded, somewhat--by this thin shred that clings still to the temple.

This, [taking up a thigh bone,] was his.

The veins of this leaf in the decorations over your head, were his finger-joints, a hundred and fifty years ago." This business-like way of illustrating a touching story of the heart by laying the several fragments of the lover before us and naming them, was as grotesque a performance, and as ghastly, as any I ever witnessed.

I hardly knew whether to smile or shudder.

There are nerves and muscles in our frames whose functions and whose methods of working it seems a sort of sacrilege to describe by cold physiological names and surgical technicalities, and the monk's talk suggested to me something of this kind.