— 360 — 



streets to the little church of the Ursu lines. With 

 the heavy tread of the coffin-bearers keep time the 

 measured footsteps of the military escort ; de Eamesay 

 and the officers of the garrison following to their resting 

 place the lifeless remains of their illustrious commander- 

 in-chief. No martial pomp was displayed around that 

 humble bier, but the hero who had afforded at his dying 

 hour the sublime spectacle of a Christian yielding up 

 his soul to God in the most admirable sentiments of 

 faith and resignation, was not laid in unconsecrated 

 ground. No burial rite could be more solemn than 

 that hurried evening service performed by torchlight 

 under the delapidated roof of a sacred asylum, where 

 the soil had been first laid bare by one of the rude 

 engines of war, a bomb shell. (1) The grave tones of 

 the priests murmuring the Libera me, Domine, were 

 responded to by the sighs and tears of consecrated 

 virgins, henceforth the guardians of the precious deposit, 

 which, but for inevitable fate, would have been reserved 

 to honour some proud mausoleum. With gloomy fore- 

 bodings and bitter thoughts de Eamesay and his com- 

 panions in arms withdrew in silence. 



A few citizens had gathered j — in and among the rest, 

 one led by the hand his little daughter, who, looking 

 into the grave, saw' and remembered, more than three- 

 fourths of a century later, the rough wooden box, which 

 was all the ruined city could afford to enclose the 

 remains of her defender." (2) 



The skull of the Marquis of Montcalm, exhumed in 

 the presence of the Eev. Abbe Maguire, almoner, in 

 1833, many here present, I am sure, have seen in a 

 casket, reverently exposed in the room of the present 

 almoner of the Ursulines Convent, abbe' Ls. George 

 LeMoine. 



(1) See Appendix. 



(2) " Glimpses of the Ursulines Monastry. " 



