fervent piety, mixed, unfortunately for her, with an implicit and universal belief not only in visions, but also of supernatural appearances. These lessons found a quick response in the little girl's breast. Reverencing the holy lives of the saints and martyrs, admiring with her whole soul their sufferings, and aspiring to be admitted to their community, she believed with all the intensity of ignorance the legends detailed to her.

When at about nine years of age, there came to her, or so she thought, a heavenly visitant, clad in beautiful apparel. Her head was circled with dazzling gems, and her voice was soft and silvery as befitted an angel. The bright vision announced herself as St. Catherine, and spoke words of counsel and encouragement. She hint ed vaguely at a high destiny the child was to fulfill, and promised to aid her in working it out. This visit was repeated almost daily, in company with St. Margaret; and so sweet was the converse of the two saints, so gentle their mien, Joan grieved when they left her, and longed to be permitted to go with them. St. Michael, also, she said, appeared to her more than once, and bade her to be obedient in all things to St. Catherine and St. Margaret, assuring her that they were to be her guiding and guarding angels.

Such is the account which Joan of Arc gave of the influence under which she commenced her career. So pertinaciously did she adhere to her statement, and so minute were her descriptions of the persons she affirmed herself to have seen, that we must at once discredit her piety, or admit that to her they were an undoubted reality. We are disposed to repel the charge of imposture by referring her angels' visits to hallucination. Well authenticated instances of spectral illusion are not less marvelous, save in results, than this. The influences which surround a person subject to this mental disease, give form to the illusion. To one so devotional as Joan, it was quite natural that the spectre should put on the vesture and mien of a saint from heaven. In her Church the saints were objects of the highest veneration, and were commonly believed to visit our earth in a visible form. Were such apparitions to flit into our field of view we should at once proceed to apply to them the tests of science, till they were resolved into thin air; but in her mind they pro

duced only a pious wonder, passing into the conviction that they betokened toward her a special divine favor.

In the midst of the peacefulness and seclusion in which Joan was passing her youthful days, came the harsh sound of war. Her young king, at the head of a band of brave and faithful followers, had been forced by his foes to retire from one stronghold after another in spite of gallant resistance. The life blood of the noblest sons of France crimsoned the soil. Strangers sat in the high places, and the son of an alien had been crowned in her capital. The English held possession of the whole north of France, and were fast pressing their victorious arms into the south. There still remained one place of great importance in the hands of the French. This was the city of Orleans, well fortified, and situated in the very heart of the country; from which, if the English gained possession, they might issue their forces for the conquest of the southern provinces with complete certainty of sucThe Duke of Bedford, the English regent, was not unaware of its advantages, and dispatched the Earl of Salisbury with an army of ten thousand men to take it. With this force, having taken most of the smaller places in the vicinity, he approached the city; but while reconnoitering the enemy during the first attack, he was killed. The command now devolved upon the Earl of Suffolk. He chose the slow but cautious operations of a siege, to an assault upon walls defended by obstinate citizens and brave troops. His forces were insufficient to invest the city completely, so that by stealth or daring supplies occasionally entered it. But these were inadequate, and the danger of the garrison became every day more imminent. The courage of the young king drooped, and he began to meditate a flight into Scotland.

cess.

It did not require electric wires to telegraph news like this through every part of the kingdom. Charles was very popular among the people-his cause was theirs, and from courtier to villager, all hearts burned with zeal for their sovereign and resentment against the enemy. Even peaceful Domremy caught the general excitement, and the eyes of the gentle Joan flashed with a strange light as she listened to the story of some newly-arrived messenger, who told of a fresh defeat of her

to him was so tempting, her face was so truthful, her trust in God so unwavering, her asseveration of being under the control of celestial visitants so positive, and, more than all, his case was so desperate, his hope of relief from any other quarter so frail, that he would fain yield himself to her guidance. He sent her to Poictiers, where his parliament were assembled. Here she was again subjected to a long and severe examination. On its conclusion, the parliament advised the king to accept her services.

This decision filled the heart of the maiden with the deepest joy and thankfulness. Patience had had its perfect work-it was now time for action. King, nobles, and people, were ready to do her bidding. Nothing was withheld which might contribute to her success. Joan completed her arrangements with the greatest dispatch, and was soon ready to set out for the relief of the besieged city. A suit of white armor had been fitted to her person under her own direction. Over this she wore a richly embroidered tunic of white, and on her head a blue silk hat with an edge of gold. She was mounted on a snow-white charger, and bore aloft a standard on which was pictured the Saviour of the world. It was also of white, adorned with fleur de lis, and on it were inscribed the words "Jesu, Maria." A sword brought from the church of St. Catherine was girded to her side, and, amid the acclamations of a crowd, she passed out of the city at the head of seven thousand men. Her fame increased with every day's march in her progress to Orleans. Her' countrymen took courage, and came by thousands on all sides to enlist under her banner. Even the pent-up garrison heard the far-off sound of her coming, and were incited to fresh efforts to maintain their position. The enemy could not remain ignorant of the cause of this sudden transition from fear and despondency to hope and confidence, and, ere they were aware, their own courage and assurance began to wane before the approach of that strange being, who was to come into their midst girded, as she affirmed, with the strength of Heaven.

Joan and her forces were to enter the city by the river Loire, on the north bank of which Orleans is situated. Accompanied by La Hire, one of her principal

military commanders, she sailed up the river in advance of the army, and having landed some distance above, succeeded in reaching the city without harm from the enemy. The gates were thrown open to receive her, and from all sides came up the warm greeting of a grateful people. She waved her hand gracefully to the multitude, and assured them the Lord was hastening the hour of their deliverance. She repaired immediately to one of the churches to offer solemn thanksgiving for her safe arrival. She seemed too much absorbed in her high communings with Heaven to be elated with the attentions and honors which were bestowed upon her by the great ones of earth.

The next day Joan wished to go out at once to meet the enemy; but Dunois, the commander of the place, and others, persuaded her to await the arrival of her reinforcement. She however sent messages into the camp demanding a surrender. It was not possible that the English should be indifferent to so large an accession to the strength of the place they wished to subdue. It required courage and conduct to secure the admission of the newly-arrived forces under the very eye of the crouching enemy. Dunois led out some of his bravest troops to meet the advancing army, while Joan, with a few others, placed herself between them and the English lines. Such a fearless exposure of her person, added to the belief that she was aided either by good spirits or bad, struck the heart of the enemy with a superstitious dread, so that they allowed the new supplies to pass within the gates of the city without one effort of resistance. evening Joan herself went out upon the wall of the city and called upon the commander of a fortress within the sound of her voice to surrender to her king, the Lord of heaven. The still night air, on which the clear tones of the maiden rung out with thrilling distinctness, borê back only the coarse contempt of the soldier. With her eyes raised to heaven she solemnly declared that terror and defeat should overtake his army, but that he should not live to see it.

At

At the dead of night Joan awoke from troubled slumbers. Her quick ear soon caught the sound of clashing steel. She called wildly upon D'Aulon, her military attendant, to make ready her horse and bring her arms. She sprung into the

saddle, and with D'Aulon rushed into the streets of the city. It was indeed her own countrymen who were flying in confusion before the enemy. The garrison, whose courage had been so much revived by the arrival of Joan and her followers, were impatient to engage the foe. A sudden attack was concerted by a comparatively small number, without the knowledge of Dunois, or the superior officers; and now, sorely pressed, they were retreating, while the English were fast pouring into the city. Joan called aloud to the flying soldiers, and bearing onward before them her banner, succeeded in bringing them to a stand. Dunois, too, brought up a large force, and soon the little skirmish thickened and blackened into one of the fiercest of battles. Here and there and everywhere rode the maiden. With blanched cheek, but with an eye of fire and an unfaltering voice, she cheered on the soldiers, who wrought untold deeds of valor beneath her snowy banner. One would have thought that leader a warrior's son instead of a shepherd's daughter. Hour after hour the combatants contested the ground; but at length the English were forced to give way before the desperate onset of the French. Far without the city walls the victors pursued. The fortress from whence but a few hours before issued such proud boasting, was razed to the ground.

Strange visions must have hovered round the heroine in her unquiet rest after a scene so appalling to eyes unused to blood. One would think that the din of the furious strife, and the ghastly, gory corse would have supplanted the sweet voices and heavenly forms which had been wont to visit her. But no, her angelic friends forsake her not. Still they come to counsel and cheer her o'erwrought spirit.

This victory greatly increased the enthusiasm of the soldiers for their gentle leader. They were ready for any enterprise where she led the way. One day only had elapsed when she proposed to attack another stronghold of the enemy. It was deemed a desperate undertaking by her military advisers, but was entirely successful.

The English commander now threw the strength of his army into the Tournelles, a large fort on the Loire. Flushed with success, Joan wished to lead forth her troops at once to take it. But Dunois

and the other officers remonstrated. Their numbers were insufficient, and the hazard too great to risk the advantage they had already gained. A council was held, and it was decided to wait until reinforcements could be obtained from the king. What! shall she, who has forced her way through so many difficulties, sit now with folded hands until the way is smoothed according to the dictates of military prudence? Her ardor laughs at impossibilities. She assured the council that the will of Heaven was opposed to their decision. The chiefs strove in vain to detain her, while the soldiers clamored loudly to be permitted to follow her. Seeing her determination, the officers with true French gallantry placed themselves beside her, prepared to do and dare to the death. The attack was bold and impetuous, but the English had made ready for the worst. Undaunted by their resistance, Joan urged forward her troops, and with her own hands placed a ladder against one of the bulwarks. But her courage could not make her invulnerable. Scarcely had she mounted the first round, when she was pierced by an arrow and fell. Her attendants gathered around her and bore her away. She lay on the long grass. The sound of clashing arms, and the heavy tramp of many horses were unheeded. Her thoughts forsook earth, and sought to pierce into that fathomless eternity into which she believed herself passing. A priest drew near to receive her confession. But suddenly the noise of the trumpets, sounding a retreat, smote upon her ear. She sprang to her feet-drew, with her own hand, the arrow from her neck-and seizing again her banner, called loudly upon the soldiers to renew the attack. The sight of their fair leader once more at their head, and the sound of her voice, infused new life into the army. They fought as those who were to win or die-and the Tournelles was taken.

There was joy in the city that night. Here and there through the streets might have been seen groups of people, rehearsing in glowing strains the varied incidents of the battle. Noisy merriment took the place of the dejection which was fast creeping over them so shortly before. Joan's gratitude found expression in the Te Deums which were sung. Tears there were too in many a dwelling. There were brothers who returned not with the re

joicing host-mothers mourned their firstborn-wives strained to their aching hearts babes newly made fatherless-and there were white lips which told not in their agony of hearts to which their own were beginning to cling, from which the life blood had ebbed away. But these were stifled sobs, scarce heard amid the general rejoicing.

The day after the Tournelles was taken, the English, dreading again to encounter one whom they began to believe possessed of more than mortal aid, quietly raised the siege. Thus was fulfilled the first part of Joan's mission.

Now she must see her young sovereign crowned in Rheims. But her brother officers saw lions in the way-stronglyfortified towns, all filled with English troops. No, they must gain a broader foothold in their present position ere they venture on so bold a step. But again the enthusiasm of the maiden conquered the prudence of the generals. The army was put in the best condition possible, and they took up their march for Rheims. At Jargeau, whither the besiegers had retired, a battle was fought, where every advantage, save that of the flush of a recent victory, was on the side of the English. Here again the white-robed maiden, strangely fair amid such harsh surroundings, threw such life and energy into the attack as to bear down all opposition. Suffolk, the English commander, was taken prisoner. At Patay, the enemy were again routed. Here Charles joined his victorious army, and from thence their progress was almost without opposition. Troyes and Chalons, with scarcely a show of resistance, opened their gates to them. They approached Rheims with the expectation that here surely the English would summon a large force to repel them. But instead of this, as they drew near they were met by a deputation coming to resign the keys into the hands of their sovereign. They crossed the moat, passed through the long avenue of trees which lead to the city, and entered the open gates without soiling a plume, or unsheathing a blade.

That was a proud moment for Joan when she stood beneath the gilded roof of the old cathedral, and saw her king anointed with the holy oil, and crowned with all the pomp which waited on his fathers.

Less than a twelvemonth before

she roamed among the hills of Domremy by the side of her flocks, an humble peasant girl, unknown beyond her native hamlet. Now a nation gazes upon her. She sits among princes, and is the observed of all. She is no longer plebeian. In her hands are letters of nobility presented by her sovereign. And her father, the old man who stands in the midst of the crowd as if in a dream, with his eyes fixed upon his child, he too is ennobled. Is not thy head giddy, maiden? Has not the sparkling cup which thou hast quaffed stirred thy heart's pride? No: the weeping Joan throws herself at the feet of her king. Her prophecy, her mission, is fulfilled. She asks to be permitted to return to her father's house, and be a shepherd girl once more.

Charles's fortune had greatly improved; but he was by no means master of France. There remained formidable cities and provinces yet unconquered. His first success he owed solely to Joan. Not to her skill chiefly, but to that powerful influence she exercised over the minds of friend and foe, filling the one with hope and the other with dread, by her claims to divine aid. Charles felt that he could not dispense with her services, and in an evil hour for her, she consented, though reluctantly, to place herself again at the head of his army. But her star had reached its greatest altitude. It was to set as rapidly as it had risen. In the first two battles in which she was engaged after this, victories were gained, but at great cost. Then followed defeats. The strength and buoyancy of her spirits seemed departing. Already her mournful fate was casting its dark shadow athwart her path. She afterward affirmed that about this time the angel voices forewarned her that she would fall into the hands of the enemy. Doubtless, the presentiment contributed to insure the event. It was at Compeigne, when, after twice repulsing the Luxembourg troops, her party was intercepted by the English, and she was taken prisoner. Ah, France, where was thy chivalry, when the gentle maiden who had saved thee was taken captive by ruthless hands alone, while all thy sons fled! 'Tis whispered in a low breath that envy helped the enemy-that since the danger was passed, green eyes turned upon the fated heroine-that there were those who could not brook that a low-bred woman should stand before them.