For the Legend that follows Father John has, it will be seen, the grave authority of a Romish Prelatc. The good Father, who, as I have before had occasion to remark, received his education at Douai, spent several years, in the earlier part of his life, upon the Continent. I have no doubt but that during this period he visited Blois, and there, in all probability, picked up, in the very scene of its locality, the history which he has thus recorded.

THE LAY OF ST. ALOYS.

A LEGEND OF BLOIS.

"S. Heloïus in hâc urbe fuit episcopus, qui, defunctus, sepulturus est a fidelibus. Nocte autem sequenti, veniens quidam paganus lapidem, qui sarcophagum, tegebat, revolvit, erectumque contra se corpús Sancti spoliare conatur. At ille, lacertis constrictum, ad se hominem fortiter amplexatur, et usque mane, populis spectantibus, tanquam constipatum loris, ita miserum brachiis detinebat. Judex loci sepulchri violatorem jubet abstrahi, et legali pœnæ sententiâ condemnari; sed non laxabatur a Sancto. Tunc intelligens voluntatem defuncti, Judex, factâ de vitâ promissione, absolvit, deinde laxatur, et sic incolumis redditur: non vero fur demissus quin se vitam monastericam amplexurum spopondisset." -Greg: Turonens : de Gloriâ Confessorum.

SAINT ALOYS

Was the Bishop of Blois,

And a pitiful man was he,

He grieved and he pined
For the woes of mankind,
And of brutes in their degree,-
He would rescue the rat
From the claws of the cat,
And set the poor captive free;
Though his cassock was swarming

With all sorts of vermin,

He'd not take the life of a flea!

Kind, tender, forgiving
To all things living,

From injury still he'd endeavour to screen 'em,
Fish, flesh, or fowl, -no difference between 'em-
NIHIL PUTAVIT A SE ALIENUM.

The Bishop of Blois was a holy man,-
A holy man was he!

For Holy Church
He'd seek and he'd search
As a Bishop in his degree.
From foe and from friend
He'd "rap and he'd rend,"

To augment her treasurie.

Nought would he give, and little he'd lend,

That Holy Church might have more to spend

12

"Count Stephen " * (of Blois) "was a worthy Peer, His breeches cost him but a crown,

He held them sixpence all too dear,

And so he call'd the Tailor lown!"
Had it been the Bishop instead of the Count,
And he'd overcharged him to half the amount,
He had knock'd that Tailor down!-

Not for himself! - He despised the pelf;

He dress'd in sackcloth, he dined off delf;
And, when it was cold, in lieu of a surtout,
The good man would wrap himself up in his virtue,†
Alack! that a man so holy as he,

So frank and free in his degree,

And so good and so kind, should mortal be!

Yet so it is for loud and clear

From St. Nicholas' tower, on the listening ear,
With solemn swell The deep-toned bell
Flings to the gale the funeral knell ;

And hark!-at its sound, as a cunning old hound,

* "Teste Messire Iago, a distinguished subaltern in the Venetian service, circiter A.D. 1580. His Biographer, Mr. William Shakspeare, a contemporary writer of some note, makes him say "King Stephen," inasmuch as the "worthy peer" subsequently usurped the crown of England. The anachronism is a pardonable one." - Mr. Simpkinson of Bath.

t... "Meâ

Virtute me involvo." - Hor.

When he opens, at once causes all the young whelps Of the cry to put in their less dignified yelps,

So-the little bells all, No matter how small,
From the steeples both inside and outside the wall,
With bell-metal throat Respond to the note,

And join the lament that a prelate so pious is
Forced thus to leave his disconsolate diocese,

Or, as Blois' Lord May'r Is heard to declare, "Should leave this here world for to go to that there."

And see, the portals opening wide,
From the Abbey flows the living tide;

Forth from the doors The torrent pours,

Acolytes, Monks, and Friars in scores,
This with his chasuble, that with his rosary,
This from his incense-pot turning his nose awry,

Holy Father, and Holy Mother,
Holy Sister, and Holy Brother,
Holy Son, and Holy Daughter,
Holy Wafer, and Holy Water,

Every one drest Like a guest in his best,

In the smartest of clothes they're permitted to

wear

Serge, sackcloth, and shirts of the same sort of

hair

As now we make use of to stuff an arm-chair,

Or weave into gloves at three shillings a pair,

And employ for shampooing in cases rheumatic, -a
Special specific, I'm told, for Sciatica.

Through groined arch, and by cloister'd stone,
With mosses and ivy long o'ergrown,

Slowly the throng Come passing along,
With many a chaunt and solemn song,
Adapted for holidays, high-days, and Sundays, -
Dies ira, and De profundis,

Miserere, and Domine dirige nos,

Such as, I hear, to a very slow tune are all
Commonly chaunted by Monks at a funeral,

To secure the defunct's repose,

And to give a broad hint to Old Nick, should the

news

Of a prelate's decease bring him there on a cruise,
That he'd better be minding his P's and his Q's,

And not come too near, since they can, if they

choose,

Make him shake in his hoofs -as he does not wear

shoes.

Still on they go, A goodly show,

With footsteps sure, though certainly slow,

Two by two in a very long row;

With feathers, and Mutes In mourning suits,

Undertaker's men walking in hat-bands and boots,-
Then comes the Crozier, all jewels and gold,