wax figures in the old Boston Museum, and are accustomed to air their fancy among the respectable fossils and gorgeous tropical birds in the Museum of Natural History, have perhaps never so much as heard of the wonder-exciting collection of anatomical curiosities known as the Warren Museum. The building stands on Chestnut Street, a quiet, tenantless alley, running from Charles Street to the Charles River, but a few steps from Beacon Street and the Public Garden. It is made of brick, with heavy iron doors and shutters, and of all places would be the least likely to attract the eye of the stranger, but for the inscription over the door—
"ERECTED BY
DR. JOHN COLLINS WARREN."
Dr. John Collins Warren was the son of Dr. John Warren, a most skillful surgeon in the American army during the Revolutionary War, and the founder of the medical school in Harvard College. He was educated in the best medical schools of London and Paris, and, on the death of his father, in 1815, was elected Professor of Anatomy and Surgery at Harvard College, and in 1820 was placed at the head of the surgical department of the Massachusetts General Hospital, a position that he held for thirty-three years. During the latter period he made the most extensive collection of anatomical specimens to be found in the country. A part of these are still at the Massachusetts General Hospital, a part at the Boston Museum of Natural History, and a part, comprising the rarest and most valuable, constitute the Warren Museum.
The museum belongs to Dr. Warren's heirs. For a considerable period after his decease, they used to open it on certain days to the public, but it ceased to excite curiosity, and it is now only opened by special permission, on application to members of the family. Every courtesy is extended to those who wish to visit the place for scientific purposes, although no provision was made in Dr. Warren's will for the preservation of the relics or care of the building.
The curiosities collected by Dr. Warren, which are to be seen in the Boston Museum of Natural History, are comparatively unimportant. The biography of the highwayman, Walton, bound in his own skin, attracts the lovers of sensation, and the cast of the French horned lady, and the skeletons of certain rickety Indians, seem to be particularly appetizing to children. The anatomical specimens, showing how near a person may come to death, and yet escape, are, however, interesting. Among these, is the cranium of the once famous Vermonter, who lived twelve years and a half after the passage of an iron bar through his head, the consequence of an accident in blasting rocks. He used to travel about New England, exhibiting himself and his bar. He died in California about the year 1860. The bar was three feet
