Note the gravity of their demeanour and contrast it with the levity of the male student." "I was doing so," she answered, "and wondering why professional women are usually so much more serious than men." "Perhaps," I suggested, "it is a matter of selection.

A peculiar type of woman is attracted to the professions, whereas every man has to earn his living as a matter of course." "Yes, I daresay that is the explanation.

This is our turning." We passed into Heathcote Street, at the end of which was an open gate giving entrance to one of those disused and metamorphosed burial-grounds that are to be met with in the older districts of London; in which the dispossessed dead are jostled into corners to make room for the living.
Many of the headstones were still standing, and others, displaced to make room for asphalted walks and seats, were ranged around by the walls, exhibiting inscriptions made meaningless by their removal.

It was a pleasant enough place on this summer afternoon, contrasted with the dingy street whence we had come, though its grass was faded and yellow and the twitter of the birds in the trees mingled with the hideous Board-school drawl of the children who played around the seats and the few remaining tombs.
"So this is the last resting-place of the illustrious house of Bellingham," said I.
"Yes; and we are not the only distinguished people who repose in this place.

The daughter of no less a person than Richard Cromwell is buried here; the tomb is still standing--but perhaps you have been here before, and know it." "I don't think I have ever been here before; and yet there is something about the place that seems familiar." I looked around, cudgelling my brains for the key to the dimly reminiscent sensations that the place evoked; until, suddenly, I caught sight of a group of buildings away to the west, enclosed within a wall heightened by a wooden trellis.
"Yes, of course!" I exclaimed.