hand to anything. The words are these, as far as I can remember them. I just jotted them down from memory at the time: 'Mère, avant de te quitter, C'est toujours l'usage Nos vœux, notre hommage. (Refrain.)-Que le ciel, dans sa bonté, Te conserve dans la santé, Si notre avenir un jour Doux mystère, en vérité, Si le ciel entend nos vœux, Des longs jours seront heureux, Ta famille, tes enfants, Te verront pendant cent ans Sur la terre, en vérité, Vous l'avez bien mérité, Rather amusing, are they not? But to be able to read them properly you must know how to scan French verse. After the song, the head girl, who has just successfully passed her examination and obtained her brevet, comes forward to read an address. Poor Adrienne reads in a very choky voice-it is an ordeal, for Madame is dreadfully moqueuse. In the address all the children. unite in wishing Madame a happy and joyous fête, and in thanking her for all her kindness to them in the past, concluding with the hope that they will be enabled to show their gratitude to her by increased obedience and diligence in their studies in the future. During this oration, every time the words 'bonne mère' occur, the whole school simultaneously makes a profound révérence. The effect is very pretty and novel. Then the presents are offered for Madame's acceptance, and beautiful ones they are too-solid silver knives and forks, dessert service to match. These are subscribed to by all the children, but are more particularly the gifts of those who have recently received their 'première communion,' and by those who have renewed' their vows. Then les Anglaises present their offerings-various pretty trifles from England-which afford much pleasure. After all the gifts have been duly received and admired, Madame (who is a born orator and a splendid elocutionist) makes a short speech, in which she expresses the great pleasure she feels in receiving the beautiful gifts, and how much she is touched by the kind feelings which have prompted her children' to offer them. She has always tried to be a good friend to them, and she is inexpressibly gratified to find that her efforts have been so much appreciated. No doubt (she says archly), that her ways of showing her interest are not always appreciated by them; but then, as a true friend, it is her duty to correct their faults as well as to encourage them in their efforts to do right. She thanks them all again, and ends by hoping that they will all turn out 'des filles bien élevées,' and be a credit to their maîtresse and their pension. › Here she is overcome by her feelings, and applies a dainty cobweb of a handkerchief to her eyes. Immediately out comes every handkerchief, and sniffs are distinctly audible all over the room. The French are very sympathetic! As soon as the emotion has somewhat subsided, the girls go up and present their flowers. Some offer bouquets of cut flowers, some choice plants, in pots of all sizes and descriptions, but all offer something. They go up in order, beginning with the smallest, Madame affectionately embracing each girl on both cheeks. By the time this ceremony is completed, the flowers form quite a pyramid. The children are then dismissed to their goûter-bread and jam, with a glass of cider a-piece. Meanwhile the governesses and anciennes élèves proceed to the salle à manger to drink to Madame's health in Liqueur Bénédictine,' I believe it is; at any rate, it is delicious. Of course, they do not forget to trinquer, that is, to touch glasses as a sign of good-will. The usual toast is drunk to 'les absents' (to be filled up by each, as her fancy directs, which is very convenient). When this light refection is over, the usual bi-weekly promenade round the boulevards has to be performed. The children, about sixty in number, are marshalled in twos, a big and a little girl together. Madame says this arrangement is to prevent the little children from being blown away. A governess is stationed at the head of this cavalcade, and one at intervals all down the ranks. After supper, at 7.30, the day is concluded by the usual service in la chapelle. Thither all Madame's flowers have been carried, where they fill the air with their fragrance. Very lovely looks the little chapel, with the dim lights glimmering on the altar, and the white statues of saints and angels gleaming out wierdly in the semidarkness. The last strains of the evening hymn to Notre Dame de Bon Secours die away, and the children emerge from the sacred precincts and silently wend their way along the corridors to their dortoirs. And thus ends our Fête. SPAIN'S CRUSADE. FROM THE HISTORY OF THE REIGN OF FERDINAND AND ISABELLA.* 'As the column under the Grand Cardinal advanced up the Hill of Martyrs, over which a road had been constructed for the passage of the artillery, he was met by the Moorish Prince Abdallah, attended by fifty Cavaliers, who, descending the hill, rode up to the position occupied by Ferdinand on the banks of the Xenil. As the Moor approached the Spanish King, he would have thrown himself from his horse, and saluted his hand in token of homage, but Ferdinand hastily prevented him, embracing him with every mark of sympathy and regard. Abdallah then delivered up the keys of the Alhambra to his conqueror, saying, "They are thine, O King, since Allah so decrees it; use thy success with clemency and moderation."' Ferdinand would have uttered some words of consolation to the unfortunate Prince, but he moved forward with a dejected air to the spot occupied by Isabella, and, after similar acts of obeisance, passed on to join his family, who had preceded him with his most valuable effects on the route to Alpujarras. The Sovereigns during this time waited with impatience the signal of the occupation of the city by the Cardinal's troop, which, winding slowly along the outer circuit of the walls as previously arranged, in order to spare the feelings of the citizens as far as possible, entered by what is now called the Gate of Los Molinos. In a short time the large silver cross, borne by Ferdinand throughout the crusade, was seen sparkling in the sunbeams, while the standards of Castile and St. Iago waved triumphantly from the red towers of the Alhambra. At this glorious spectacle, the choir of the royal chapel broke forth into the solemn anthem of the Te Deum; and the whole army, penetrated with deep emotion, prostrated themselves on their knees in adoration of the Lord of Hosts, who had at length granted the consummation of their wishes in this last and glorious triumph of the Cross. The grandees who surrounded Ferdinand then advanced towards the Queen, and kneeling down, saluted her hand in token of homage to her as Sovereign of Granada. The procession took up its march towards the city, the King and Queen moving in the midst,' says an historian, 'emblazoned with royal magnificence; and as they were now in the prime of life, and had now achieved the completion of this glorious conquest, they seemed to represent even more than their wonted majesty. Equal with each other, they were raised far above the rest of the world. They appeared, indeed, more than mortal, and as if sent by heaven for the salvation of Spain.' In the meanwhile the Moorish King, traversing the route of the Alpujarras, reached a rocky eminence which commanded a last view of Granada. He checked his horse, and, as his eyes for the last time wandered over the scenes of his departed greatness, his heart swelled, and he burst into tears. You do well,' said his more masculine mother, to weep like a woman, for what you could not defend like a man.' ́Alas!' exclaimed the unhappy exile, 'when were woes ever equal to mine!' The scene of this event is still pointed out to the traveller by the people of the district; and the rocky height from which the Moorish chief took his sad farewell of the princely abodes of his youth is commemorated by the poetical title of 'El ultimo Sospiro del Moro,' 'Spanish gentlemen choose not their task, 'Though many thousand miles away, A whisper from the shores of Spain. The stars and stripes have disappeared; The standard once renowned and feared Another Santa Fé I see, And-fairest pageant ever seen-- Marshalled around their King and Queen. Up to Granada's walls they ride, Met by the vanquished Moorish King; The gates to Christians entering. Breaks his sad heart with one last sigh; The Alhambra Towers lift on high The Cross of Christ, the flag of Spain. Te Deum is the triumph-song Thus, to her high commission true, Her knights were born this work to do, Santa Fe, New Mexico. October, 1885. A. G. TO THE EDITOR OF THE MONTHLY PACKET.' In an interesting Paper on Henry Bazely, the Oxford Evangelist, in the Monthly Packet' for October, 1886, the following passage occurs: The most noble and self-denying lives worked out by men for themselves, apart from the regular constitution and visible ministry of the Church, are apt to prove abortive of lasting results to others. Such was the case, to a considerable extent, with the teaching of men so remarkable as F. D. Maurice, and Robertson of Brighton.' The writer of the Paper thus asserts that the work of Mr. Maurice and of Mr. Robertson was carried on apart from the regular constitution and visible ministry of the Church.' This is a strange assertion, seeing that both these men were priests in the English Church, and departed this life in her Communion. He also asserts that the work of these two men is likely to 'prove abortive of lasting results to others.' To those who are acquainted with the theological and philosophical writings of Mr. Maurice, this assertion will be passing strange. They well know that his teaching largely colours much of the theology of the present day; and that his work, so far from being abortive of lasting good to others, is daily becoming more and more prolific. The Working Men's College in Great Ormond Street, and the Ladies' College in Harley Street, show no signs of decrepitude. The F. D. M. Club, too, was founded expressly for the purpose of carrying on Mr. Maurice's work for the physical, mental, moral, and spiritual elevation of men and women; and it contains among its members some of the most energetic and devoted workers in London and the country. Bardsea, November 9. EDWARD GEOGHEGAN. |