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Rh never intended to wield the sledge or swing the scythe, nor her hand to grasp the dissecting knife, the trephine or the gorget. In her own sacred home, amid her domestic duties, or in her own parlor surrounded by groups of friends, or abroad as business or pleasure or inclination may dictate; whenever we behold her in her own province, she shines the ornament and glory of the race. But when she enters the fœtid laboratory of the anatomist, and plunges her hands into the gore of dead men, she loses all her feminine loveliness, and appears like a fallen angel, an object of universal horror and disgust.