ttle
Chevalier. He was a Roman Catholic. He was a Dissenter. He was a member
of the Established Church. He must be buried in the new Protestant
Cemetery. He must lie in the churchyard of the Ebenezer Tabernacle. He
must sleep in the far-away "God's Acre" of Father Daly's Chapel, and
have a cross at his head, and masses said for the repose of his soul.
The controversy ran high. The reverend gentlemen convoked a meeting,
quarrelled outrageously, and separated in high dudgeon without having
arrived at any conclusion.

Whereupon arose another question, melancholy, ludicrous, perplexing,
and, withal, as momentous as the first--Would the little Chevalier get
buried at all? Or was he destined to remain, like Mahomet's coffin, for
ever in a state of suspense?

At the last, when Mr. and Mrs. Cobbe despairingly believed that they
were never to be relieved of their troublesome guest, a vestry was
called, and the churchwardens brought the matter to a conclusion. When
he went round with his tickets, the conjuror called first at the
Rectory, and solicited the patronage of Doctor Brand. Would he have paid
that compliment to the cloth had he been other than a member of that
religion "by law established?" Certainly not. The point was clear--could
not be clearer; so orthodoxy and the new Protestant Cemetery
carried the day.

The funeral was a great event--not so far as mutes, feathers and
carriages were concerned, for the Chevalier left but little worldly
gear, and without hard cash even the most deserving must forego "the
trappings and the suits of woe;" but it was a great event, inasmuch as
it celebrated the victory of the Church, and the defeat of all
schismatics. The rector himself, complacent and dignified, preached the
funeral sermon to a crowded congregation, the following Sunday. We
almost forgot, in fact, that the little Chevalier had any concern in the
matter, and regarded it only as the triumph of orthodoxy.

All was not ended, even here. For some weeks our conjuror continued to
be the hero of every pulpit round about. He was cited as a shining
light, denounced as a vessel of wrath, praised, pitied and calumniated
according to the creed and temper of each declaimer. At length the
controversy languished, died a natural death, and became "alms for
oblivion."

Laid to rest under a young willow, in a quiet corner, with a plain stone
at his head, the little Frenchman was himself in course of time
forgotten:--

"Alas!