What the songs were that those workmen sang in the cemetery of St. Nicaise you can read in a queer little book written by one "Abbe Raillard" in 1557, an "Abbe des Conards," who imitates Rabelais when he tries to be original, but is of far more value when he merely reproduces what he heard, to wit, "la fleur des plus ingenieux jeux chansons et menus flaiollements d'icelle jeunesse puerille, receuilly de plusieurs rues lieux et passages ou il estoit repandu depuis la primitive recreation, aaze, jeunesse et adolescence Normande rouennoise." Here is a chorus which no doubt resounded on that night of victory over St. Godard-- "Jay menge un oeuf La lange dun boeuf Quatre vingt moutons Autant de chapons Vingt cougnons de pain Ancore ayge faim," or this, again-- "Gloria patri ma mere a petri Elle a faict une gallette Houppegay, Houppegay j'ay bu du cidre Alotel (_bis_)." Unfortunately, after having gone shouting to bed, the men of St. Nicaise slept sound without a thought of possible reprisals. But the young bloods "across the way" were all alert. Waiting till the change of guard at St. Hilaire should make that customary noise of clinking arms and tramping feet which every citizen would recognise and forget, sixty of the bravest champions crossed the Rubicon and advanced in the depth of the darkness to the cemetery of St. Nicaise. With heavy labour they broke up the sacred chains, detached the time-worn rivets, and dragged off the famous timber, the "_Boise_" of St. Nicaise, the palladium of the obnoxious parish. The next morning the gossips discovered to their stupefaction that there was no log to sit upon! Following a few traces that were left here and there, the horrified drapers and tanners found the smoking remnants of their cherished wood scattered in the square of St. Hilaire, surrounded by a laughing crowd of the children and young men of St. Godard. Vengeance was plotted on that very evening, and a smart skirmish took place up and down the streets of the aristocratic quarter, in which the victory of the velvet doublets only roused redoubled ardour in the men of smocks and leather aprons. The Palais de Justice and the majesty of the Law was obliged to intervene. The Duc de Longueville, Governor of the Province, tried to smooth over the crisis with the gift of a new and most enormous log; but nothing could replace the relic that was gone. At last the good priests of each parish set to work to heal the breach, and soundly damned each hardened sinner who attempted to break the good peace of the town with further quarrels. Messire Francois de Harlai, Archbishop of Rouen, aided their efforts, and at last the feud died down; but the event was never forgotten: "Donc qu'o mette o calendrier Qu'o dix huitiesme de Janvier Fut pris et ravy notte BOISE Boise dont j'etions pu jaloux Et pu glorieux entre nous Que Rouen n'est de Georg d'Amboise."