door of the front, on the upper side of Twenty-sixth street,
is a single word in gilt letters--MORGUE. This door marks the entrance
to the Dead House of New York, one of the most repulsive, but most
terribly fascinating places in the city. The place is named after the
famous dead house of Paris, and the interior is arranged in exact
imitation of it, except that it is smaller. It is a gloomy-looking
place, this Morgue, and it is always crowded. Bodies found in the
streets or in the harbor are brought here for identification. They are
kept a certain length of time, usually from twenty-four to forty-eight
hours, and if not claimed by relatives or friends, are buried at the
expense of the city. Every article of clothing, every trinket, or other
means of identification, found with a body, is carefully preserved, in
the hope that it may lead to a discovery of the cause of the death.

The room is gloomy and cell-like in appearance. It is about twenty feet
square. The floor is of brick tiles, and the walls are rough and heavy.
The apartment is divided into two unequal portions by a partition of
glass and iron. The smaller portion is used by the public. The
remainder is devoted to the purposes of the establishment. Back of the
glass screen are four stone tables on iron frames, each with its foot
towards the glass. Stretched on these are lifeless naked forms, each
covered with a sheet. A stream of cold water, from a movable jet, falls
over the lifeless face of each and trickles over the senseless forms,
warding off decay until the last moment, in the hope that some one to
whom the dead man or woman was dear in life will come and claim the body.
A vain hope, generally, for but few bodies are claimed. Nearly all go to
the potter's field.

[Picture: THE MORGUE.]

A fearful company, truly, as they lie there, cold and rigid, their
ghastly features lighted by the chilly gleams which fall from the windows
above. Here is the body of an infant, its little life of suffering over.
It was found in an ash barrel in an alley. On the next slab is the form
of a man who was evidently well to do in the world. He is a stranger to
the city, the Superintendent tells you, and dropped in the streets from
apoplexy. His friends will no doubt claim him before the day is over, as
the articles found on his person have established his identity. The next
table contains the body of a woman. She was young and must