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ravaged homes of her neighbours, the discomfiture of her anointed king are all calls from heaven, bidding her to espouse the now well-nigh hopeless cause. Her whole soul is on fire to deliver her country. The enthusiasm

of the homely but honest maid is caught by a few priests and soldiers. It spreads, and ere long the whole French army hails in Joan a Heaven-sent deliverer. Signs are not wanting to attest the validity of her call. Orleans, then under siege by the English, is relieved by the Maid at the head of a chosen body of troops. The besieged, so unexpectedly succoured, followed their deliverer in an attack upon the English, and on the 8th day of May, 1429, the siege was raised. From that time the cause of Charles the VII. gained ground, and in July of the same year he was crowned at Rheims. Here one would fain stop; but the strange story must be told out to its end. With the coronation of Charles, Jeanne felt that her task was done, and she would have returned to keep sheep with her brothers and sisters at Domremy; but this was not to be. In a sally from Compiègne, in May, 1430, the Maid was taken prisoner by the Burgundians, and by them sold to Bedford. She was tried as a heretic and sorceress, and burnt to death in the Rouen market-place, in June, 1431. One knows not whether more to condemn the perfidy of her countrymen, or to blush for the absence of all magnanimity in our own people. But these were hard and selfish times, and in our judgments of men of other times, we must not forget their surroundings. From that time, town after town, and province after province, fell into the hands of the French, until, in 1453, Calais alone remained under the power of the English.

While this was going on abroad, England itself was

torn by the endless rivalries of the leading nobles, especially that between Duke Humphrey and the Beauforts. Henry had, it is true, grown to manhood, and if learning and goodness alone had been sufficient to to govern well, his reign might have ended in peace.

In 1435 the able and honourable Bedford died. Beaufort then carried his wish by obtaining a treaty with France, and also in the marriage of Henry with Margaret of Anjou, which took place in 1445. For some time discontent with the existing government had been gaining ground, while Richard, Duke of York, the heir to Mortimer, was rising in popularity. Jack Cade, who assumed the name of Mortimer, raised a body of men 20,000 strong from various classes, but after some successes, they dispersed, and their leader was finally killed.

By this time it was seen that Queen Margaret, though wanting in many of the higher sentiments, had yet the ambition, and something of the power, to govern. She allied herself with the Beaufort party, at the head of which was the Duke of Somerset ; while his great rival the Duke of York, who had now returned from Ireland, sought by all available means to get the power into his own hands.

And now the king was by disease wholly incapacitated from holding the reins of government, of which even at the best he had but a feeble grasp. Probably this event hastened on a struggle that had now become all but inevitable. The more restless spirits amongst the nobles had already ranged themselves either on the side of the nominal king, or on that of the Duke of York, who now made a formal claim to the throne.

The parliament had made York protector, and sent

Somerset to the Tower. Next year, however, the king recovering, York was dismissed, and Somerset was again invested with power. And now the young aspirant to the throne took up arms against the king, under cover of a determination to reform the government. And under the hostile banners of Lancaster and York, the former taking as his emblem the red rose, the latter the white rose, swords were drawn; and in the first Battle of St. Albans, fought in May, 1455, we have the commencement of a struggle that lasted thirty years, in which the blood of princes, nobles, and commons was shed with so little remorse that one sickens to read the sad story.

The chief engagements that followed during this reign are those of Bloreheath, fought in 1459, and Northampton in 1460, in both of which the White Rose (York) was victorious. Then came the reverse at Wakefield; followed, however, the next year (1461) by a victory for Edward at Mortimer's Cross, and a subsequent defeat in the second battle of St. Albans. Soon after this, Edward's forces joined those under the Earl of Warwick, and they together entered London, where Edward was proclaimed king as Edward IV. by the Londoners, who pretty warmly espoused his cause; and from this date, although the struggle continued, the old king's reign is considered to have ended.

EXERCISES.-I. Define,-Heresy, statute, martyr, persecution, terminated, peasant, ambition, revolt, and espouse. 2. Name the Lancastrian kings, and shortly note the character of each. 3. Give a brief account of the French war under Henry V. 4. State what you know of Joan of Arc.

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Under a spreading chestnut tree

The village smithy stands;
The smith, a mighty man is he,
With large and sinewy hands,
And the muscles of his brawny arms
Are strong as iron bands.

His hair is crisp, and black, and long;

His face is like the tan;

His brow is wet with honest sweat,

He earns whate'er he can,

And looks the whole world in the face,

For he owes not any man.

Week in, week out, from morn till night,
You can hear his bellows blow;

You can hear him swing his heavy sledge,
With measured beat and slow,

Like a sexton ringing the village bell,
When the evening sun is low.

And children coming home from school
Look in at the open door;

They love to see the flaming forge,
And hear the bellows roar,

And catch the burning sparks that fly
Like chaff from a threshing-floor.

He goes on Sunday to the church,
And sits among his boys;
He hears the parson pray and preach,
He hears his daughter's voice,
Singing in the village choir,

And it makes his heart rejoice.

It sounds to him like her mother's voice, Singing in Paradise!

He needs must think of her once more, How in the grave she lies;

And with his hard, rough hand he wipes
A tear out of his eyes.

Toiling, rejoicing,-sorrowing,
Onward through life he goes;
Each morning sees some task begin,
Each evening sees it close;
Something attempted, something done,
Has earned a night's repose.

Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend,
For the lesson thou hast taught !

Thus at the flaming forge of life
Our fortunes must be wrought;
Thus on its sounding anvil shaped
Each burning deed and thought!

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