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 the strange surroundings. One of these houses, according to Ronaldson's cautious plan, was "to have a room provided with a stove, couch, etc., into which persons dying suddenly might be laid and the string of a bell put into their hand, so that if there should be any motion of returning life the alarm bell might be rung, the keeper roused and medical help procured."

James Ronaldson was a Scotchman, as I had already surmised from an obelisk erected, "Sacred to the memory of Scottish Strangers," and possibly his cautiousness in the matter of burying people alive may have suggested this favorite theme to Edgar Allan Poe, who was living in Philadelphia at the time when the magnificent new cemetery must have been the talk of the town. Scotchmen have always been interested in cemeteries, and as I walked those desolate paths among the graves I could not help thinking of Stevenson's love of the old Grayfriars and Calton Hill burying grounds in Edinburgh. A man was busy digging a grave near the front gate, and a new oak casket lay at the door of the keeper's house. It was strange to see the children playing round happily in such scenes.