were already there yielded their places to us, most of the women rising up, making as it were a ring round us, the tears running down their faces.  When the Sacrament was replaced upon the altar, M. le Cure, perceiving our meaning, began at once in his noble voice to intone the Te Deum.  Rejecting all other music, he adopted the plain song in which all could join, and with one voice, every man in unison with his brother, we sang with him.  The great Cathedral walls seemed to throb with the sound that rolled upward, male and deep, as no song has ever risen from Semur in the memory of man.  The women stood up around us, and wept and sobbed with pride and joy.  When this wonderful moment was over, and all the people poured forth out of the Cathedral walls into the soft evening, with stars shining above, and all the friendly lights below, there was such a tumult of emotion and gladness as I have never seen before.  Many of the poor women surrounded me, kissed my hand notwithstanding my resistance, and called upon God to bless me; while some of the older persons made remarks full of justice and feeling.

‘The bon Dieu is not used to such singing,’ one of them cried, her old eyes streaming with tears.  ’It must have surprised the saints up in heaven!’

‘It will bring a blessing,’ cried another.  ’It is not like our little voices, that perhaps only reach half-way.’

This was figurative language, yet it was impossible to doubt there was much truth in it.  Such a submission of our intellects, as I felt in determining to make it, must have been pleasing to heaven.  The women, they are always praying; but when we thus presented ourselves to give thanks, it meant something, a real homage; and with a feeling of solemnity we separated, aware that we had contented both earth and heaven.

Next morning there was a great function in the Cathedral, at which the whole city assisted.  Those who could not get admittance crowded upon the steps, and knelt half way across the Place.  It was an occasion long remembered in Semur, though I have heard many say not in itself so impressive as the Te Deum on the evening of our return.  After this we returned to our occupations, and life was resumed under its former conditions in our city.

It might be supposed, however, that the place in which events so extraordinary had happened would never again be as it was before.  Had I not been myself so closely involved, it would have appeared to me certain, that the streets, trod once by such inhabitants as those who for three nights and days abode within Semur, would have always retained some trace of their presence; that life there would have been more solemn than in other places; and that those families for whose advantage the dead had risen out of their graves, would have henceforward carried about with them some sign of that interposition.  It will seem almost incredible when I now add that nothing of this kind has happened