There Jane's parents lay, not in a grave to themselves, but buried amidst the nameless dead, in that part of the ground reserved for those who can purchase no more than a portion in the foss which is filled when its occupants reach statutable distance from the surface.

The regions around were then being built upon for the first time; the familiar streets of pale, damp brick were stretching here and there, continuing London, much like the spreading of a disease.

Epping Forest is near at hand, and nearer the dreary expanse of Wanstead Flats.
Not grief, but chill desolation makes this cemetery its abode.

A country churchyard touches the tenderest memories, and softens the heart with longing for the eternal rest.

The cemeteries of wealthy London abound in dear and great associations, or at worst preach homilies which connect themselves with human dignity and pride.