He must be buried in the new Protestant Cemetery.

He must lie in the churchyard of the Ebenezer Tabernacle.

He must sleep in the far-away "God's Acre" of Father Daly's Chapel, and have a cross at his head, and masses said for the repose of his soul.
The controversy ran high.

The reverend gentlemen convoked a meeting, quarrelled outrageously, and separated in high dudgeon without having arrived at any conclusion.
Whereupon arose another question, melancholy, ludicrous, perplexing, and, withal, as momentous as the first--Would the little Chevalier get buried at all?
Or was he destined to remain, like Mahomet's coffin, for ever in a state of suspense?
At the last, when Mr.and Mrs.Cobbe despairingly believed that they were never to be relieved of their troublesome guest, a vestry was called, and the churchwardens brought the matter to a conclusion.

When he went round with his tickets, the conjuror called first at the Rectory, and solicited the patronage of Doctor Brand.