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11. She was received as an envoy from heaven, and began the exercise of her supernatural authority by calling on the men to prepare for combat by exercises of devotion. To To Suffolk, Glasdale, and Pole, the English commanders, she sent orders in the name of God to withdraw from France, and return to their native country; to the chiefs of her own nation she promised complete success if they would cross the Loire, and march boldly through the quarters of the enemy. The promise or prediction was verified. The besiegers did not stir from their entrenchments, and the convoy entered the city.

12. From this moment it became dangerous to dispute the celestial mission of Joan. Her presence created in the soldiers a spirit of daring and a confidence of success. Day after day sallies were made, and the strongest of the English forts successively fell into the hands of the assailants. On every occasion "the maid was to be seen in the foremost rank, with her banner displayed, and encouraging her countrymen by her voice and gestures. But at the storming of the Tournelles, whilst she was in the act of planting the first ladder against the wall, an arrow passed through an opening in her corslet, and fixed itself between the chest and the shoulder. Her companions conveyed her out of the crowd; the wound was dressed; and the heroine, after a few minutes spent in prayer, rejoined the combatants. At her appearance the assailants redoubled their efforts, and the fort was won.

13. Suffolk, disconcerted by these repeated losses, and warned by the desponding countenances of his followers, determined to raise the siege. Next day, at dawn, the English army was seen at a short distance from the walls, drawn up in battle-array, and braving the enemy to fight in the open field; but "the maid" forbade any man to

pass the gates of the city. Suffolk waited some hours in vain. At length he gave the signal; the long line of forts, the fruits of so many months' labor, was instantly in flames; and the soldiers, with feelings of shame and regret, turned their backs on the city. The French pursued, and town after town fell into their hands, till at last, as was promised, the Dauphin entered the city of Rheims.

14. The coronation was performed in the usual manner. During the ceremony "the maid of Orleans," with her banner unfurled, stood at the king's side. As soon as it was over she threw herself on her knees, embraced his feet, declared her mission accomplished, and with tears solicited his leave to return to her former station. But the king was unwilling to lose the services of one who had hitherto proved so useful; and at his earnest request she consented to remain with the army, and to strengthen that throne which she had in a great measure established.

15. But in trying to raise the siege of Compiègne "the maid" fell into the hands of the Burgundians, who sold her to their allies, the English. She was then thrown into prison, where she was treated with neglect by her friends and with cruelty by her enemies, and at last tried and condemned for witchcraft.

16. The captive was placed at the bar, and when the judge was prepared to pronounce sentence, she yielded to a sudden impulse of terror, signed an act of abjuration, and, having promised upon oath never more to wear male attire. was remanded to her former place of confinement.

17. Her enthusiasm, however, revived in the solitude of a prison; her cell was again peopled with celestial visitants, and new scenes of military glory opened to her imagination. The cruelty of her judge condemned her, on he charge of having relapsed into her former errors.

18. She was led sobbing and struggling to the stake; nor did the expectation of a heavenly deliverer forsake her till she saw the fire kindled at her feet. She then burst into loud exclamations, protesting her innocence, and invoking the aid of the Almighty; and, just before the flames enveloped her, was seen embracing a crucifix, and calling on Christ for mercy. This cruel and unjustifiable tragedy was acted in the market-place of Rouen, before an immense concourse of spectators, about twelve months after her capture. REV. JOHN LINGARD, D.D.

John Lingard, the celebrated historian, was born of Catholic parents at Winchester, England, in 1771. Having finished his collegiate course, he studied theology, and was ordained a priest in April, 1795. As a writer he is best known by his "History of England." He drew the material for this work from original documents, and on many points gave new and correct views of manners, events, and characters. Cardinal Wiseman said he was "the only impartial historian" of his country. Lingard died in July, 1851.

Rheims (5) is famous for its grand cathedral, and as being the city in which in former times the kings of France were crowned. Orleans (10) is a cathedral city on the river Loire. Rouen (18), another town famous for its cathedral, is on the river Seine.

LESSON LXII.

1. a non'; adv. in a short time.

1. vo eǎ' tion; n. calling, pro

fession, business.

2. well; v. flow.

2. gills; n. woody glens (Provin cial English).

7. spray' ing; v. sending the water flying in small drops.

2. tärn; n. a small lake among 7. tûr moil' ing; v. disquiet

[blocks in formation]

2. fel; n. a stony hill (Provincial | 7. pûrling; v. running swiftly English).

round.

The Cataract of Lodore..

1. "How does the water

Come down at Lodore ?"

My little boy asked me

Thus, once on a time;
And, moreover, he tasked me
To tell him in rhyme.
Anon at the word,

There first came one daughter,
And then came another,
To second and third

The request of their brother,
And to hear how the water
Comes down at Lodore,

With its rush and its roar,

As many a time

They had seen it before.

So I told them in rhyme-
For of rhymes I had store;
And 'twas my vocation
For their recreation

That so I should sing;
Because I was Laureate

To them and the king.

2. From its sources, which well In the tarn on the fell;

From its fountains

In the mountains,

Its rills and its gills;

Through moss and through brake,

It runs and it creeps

For a while, till it sleeps

In its own little lake.

And thence, at departing,
Awakening and starting,

It runs through the reeds,
And away it proceeds,
Through meadow and glade,
In sun and in shade,

And through the wood-shelter,
Among crags in its flurry,
Helter-skelter,

Hurry-skurry.

Here it comes sparkling,
And there it lies darkling;
Now smoking and frothing
In tumult and wrath in,
Till, in this rapid race

On which it is bent,

It reaches the place
Of its steep descent.

3. The cataract strong
Then plunges along,
Striking and raging,
As if a war waging

Its caverns and rocks among;

Rising and leaping,

Sinking and creeping,

Swelling and sweeping,
Showering and springing,

Flying and flinging,

Writhing and ringing,

Eddying and whisking,

Spouting and frisking,

Turning and twisting,

Around and around

With endless rebound;

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