7. Having placed the king on his throne, it was her fortune thenceforward to be thwarted. More than one military plan was entered upon which she did not approve. Too well she felt that the end was now at hand. Still, she continued to jeopard her person in battle as before; severe wounds had not taught her caution; and at length she was made prisoner by the Burgun'dians, and finally given up to the English. The object now was to vitiate the coronation of Charles the Seventh as the work of a witch; and, for this end, Joan was tried for sorcery. She resolutely defended herself from the absurd accusation. 8. Never, from the foundations of the earth, was there such a trial as this, if it were laid open in all its beauty of defense, and all its malignity of attack. O, child of France! shepherdess, peasant-girl! trodden under foot by all around thee, how I honor thy flashing intellect, quick as the lightning, and as true to its mark, that ran before France and laggard Europe by many a century, confounding the malice of the ensnarer, and making dumb the oracles of falsehood! "Would you examine me as a witness against myself?" was the question by which many times she defied their arts. The result of this trial was the condemnation of Joan to be burnt alive. Never did grim inquisitors doom to death a fairer victim by baser means. 9. Woman, sister! there are some things which you do not execute as well as your brother, man; no, nor ever will. Yet, sister, woman, - cheerfully, and with the love that burns in depths of admiration, I acknowledge that you can do one thing as well as the best of men, you can die grandly! On the 20th of May, 1431, being then about nineteen years of age, Joan of Arc underwent her martyrdom. She was conducted, before midday, guarded by eight hundred spearmen, to a platform of prodigious height, constructed of wooden billets, supported by occasional walls of lath and plaster, and traversed by hollow spaces in every direction, for the creation of air-currents. 10. With an undaunted soul, but a meek and saintly demeanor, the maiden encountered her terrible fate. Upon her head was placed a miter, bearing the inscription, "Relapsed heretic, apostate, idolatress." Her piety displayed itself in the most touching manner to the last; and her angelic forgetfulness of self was man ifested in a remarkable degree. The executioner had been directed to apply his torch from below. He did so. The fiery smoke rose upward in billowing volumes. A monk was then standing at Joan's side. Wrapt up in his sublime office, he saw not the danger, but still persisted in his prayers. 11. Even then, when the last enemy was racing up the fiery stairs to seize her, even at that moment did this noblest of girls think only for him, the one friend that would not forsake her, and not for herself; bidding him with her last breath to care for his own preservation, but to leave her to God. "Go down," she said; "lift up the cross before me, that I may see it in dying, and speak to me pious words to the end." Then, protesting her innocence, and recommending her soul to Heaven, she continued to pray as the flames leaped up and walled her in. Her last audible word was the name of Jesus. Sustained by faith in him, in her last fight upon the scaffold, she had triumphed gloriously; victoriously she had tasted death. 12. A soldier, who had sworn to throw a făgot on the pile, turned away, a penitent for life, on hearing her last prayer to her Saviour. He had seen, he said, a white dove soar to heaven from the ashes where the brave girl had stood. THOMAS DE QUINCEY (altered). LIII. — THE AMERICAN FLAG. A'ZURE (a'zhür), a., sky-blue. BALD'RICK (a as in fall), n., a belt. WEL'KIN, n., the vault of heaven. ME'TE-OR, n., a luminous body pass- HAR'BIN-GER (-jer), n., a forerunner. Pronounce ere (meaning before, sooner than) like air. WHEN Freedom, from her mountain height, Majestic monarch of the cloud, Who rear'st aloft thy regal form, To guard the banner of the free, Flag of the brave! thy folds shall fly, 1314 13 Ere yet the life-blood, warm and wet, Flag of the seas! on ocean's wave Flag of the free heart's hope and home! And all thy hues were born in heaven. Where breathes the foe but falls before us / With Freedom's soil beneath our feet, And Freedom's banner streaming o'er us! J. R. DRAKE. (1795—182) LIV. THE HOSTESS AND THE QUACK. BRUISE, n., a hurt on the flesh. BRAY, v. t., to beat in a mortar. | PHLE-BOTO-MIZE, v., to let blood with a lancet. FĂR'RI-ER, n., one who shoes or cures horses. GENUS (je'nus), n., kind; sort. Pronounce none, nun. Do not say swaller for swallow. Enter HOSTESS and LAM-PEDO, followed by BAL-THAZAR unperceived. The latter carries a drawn sword, and overhears what is said of hirn. Hostess. Doctor Lampedo, you must keep this man, if you can so contrive it, another fortnight in my house. Come, you shall not be the loser. Your bill already must be almost as long as mine is. Another fortnight, doctor. Lampedo. It can not be. The man's as well as I am. Have some mercy. He has been here almost three weeks already. His accident ought not to have detained him half a day. Host. Well, then, a week-detain him a week. Lam. You talk now like a reasonable hostess that sometimes has a reckoning with her conscience. We may keep him a week. Host. He still believes he has an inward bruise. Lam. I would he had! Or that he had slipped his shoulder-blade, or broke a leg or two (not that I bear his person any malice), or luxed an arm, or even sprained his ankle. Host. Ay, broken any thing except his neck. Lam. However, for a week I'll manage him. He has the constitution of a horse-but I'll manage him. A farrier should prescribe for him -- but I'll manage him. Host. Do so, doctor. Custom is scarce; but the occupant of the best room must pay a big price. |