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Madame Ravaud, indignant but flattered, made good her escape. The coffin was carried along a narrow path bordered with dwarf cypresses, amid a murmuring of prayers: "In paradisum deducant te Angeli, in tuo adventu susciptant te Martyres et perducant te in civitatem sanctam Jerusalem, Chorus Angelorum te suscipiat et cum Lazaro, quondam paupere, æternam habeas requiem."
But we collect that he sees no reason for disputing the general impression, that an Albanian or hybrid population is mainly in possession of the soil, and that perhaps he would say, lis est de paupere regno; for, if there is no beauty concerned in the decision, nor any of the quality of physical superiority, the less seems the value of the dispute.
Whenever I read the Gospel narrative of Lazarus the wretchedly clothed, ill-fed, diseased mendicant who inspired loathing in the eyes and nostrils of the delicately nurtured, sensual men who flocked past his unlovely form to the banquets of the rich glutton at whose palace gate he lay, my thoughts fly at once to my old friend, Archie the penitent, and my prayers rise to Heaven on his behalf in the Church's touching petition for the departed: "Cum Lazaro, quondam paupere, eternam habeas requiem!"
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