Puslapio vaizdai

but her faithlessness, felt the full value of what he had of military operations or scenic description. We been wilfully throwing away. But this is the romance of should have liked to show our readers some of the printed romances, and our business is with the romance stronger points -- the Passes of the Pyrennees, or the of war. Some of that romance is too horrible, too re- Passage of the Nive—but cannot even quote the account Folting, to be placed before the reader ; though that such of the brave enterprise of the hero, Ronald, and the small scenes have passed, nay, are frequent in lands where and gallant party which he led on a most hazardous serthis scourge is raging, is but too true. Among these vice, though it is the closing scene, and one of the most passages is the fate of Donna Catalina, which even a more finished, as a picture of actual war, in the volumes. practised fictionist would not, in all its dreadful horrors, When our heroes have, in the three volumes yet to have ventured to present so nakedly. It would have re- come, fought their way through France, conquered at quired no ordinary skill to have rendered the catastrophe Waterloo, and returned to Scotland, we may, perhaps, of Catalina fit for representation in a work of entertain- meet them again. Meanwhile, as a farewell to the “ Roment. It is enough that this beautiful creature became mance of War,'' we give a glimpse of the field of Vittoria the victim of the monster-villain of the story. But pri- on the day after the battle:vate sorrow and affection must give way to public duty. “ As Ronald passed slowly onwards to that part of the Almarez was to be taken ; and the British General baffled heights whence he expected to have a view of the whole for a time, at last succeeded in carrying the forts. One battle-field, he beheld the officer whom he had encoun

tered lying dead, pierced with a score of bayonet wounds. of these had been gallantly defended by D’Estouville, the A soldier of the light company lay dead across him, with French officer, with whom, when a prisoner of war, his face literally dashed to pieces by a blow from the buttRonald had become acquainted in Edinburgh Castle.

end of a musket, and so much was he disfigured that it was We cannot give the long conversation of the officers, lay dead with his pipe under his arm; his blood had

impossible to recognise him. Close by a piper of the 71st aliens in nation but friends in heart, when they met for formed a black pool around him of more than a yard the last time, and under the most painful circumstances. square. Ilundreds were lying everywhere in the same Life was ebbing fast with D’Estouville, but his spirit was

condition ; but further details would only prove tiresome

or revolting. unchanged:

“ With much difficulty Stuart gained the extremity of " Ile spoke now with more difficulty, and at longer in the ridge, and the whole soul-stirring display of the field tervals

, "Glory to France, and long life to the great Em- of Vittoria burst at once upon his gaze, extending over a peror, and I trust he will think Major D’Estouville has done space of ground fully six miles in length. Truly thicker his duty. Almarez I defended to the last; and Maurice, than leaves in autumn, the bodies of men were strewed had you not cut the pontoon we might have effected our along the whole length of the hostile armies. The warm retreat. The Emperor would have saved four hundred light of the setting sun was beaming on the mountain tops ; soldiers of his noble old Guard.'

but its lustre had long since faded on the sylvan vale of "And your life, Victor'

the Zadorra, where the shadows of evening were setting "A mere bagatelle! I lay it down in his service.'

on the pale faces of the dead and the dying. The plains *** Vive l'Empereur !" cried one of his soldiers, who of Vittoria, too, were growing dark, but at the first view lay within hearing on their pallets of straw. The shout

Ronald was enabled to perceive, and his heart beat proudly was taken up by many, and echoed through distant parts while he did so, that the allies had conquered, and the of the Chapel. D'Estouville's eye flashed brightly, he boastful story of the Gaul was false. waved his hand as he would have brandished his sword, “ Afar off he beheld dense clouds of dust rolling along and, exhausted with speaking, and the emotions which the the roads which led to Pampeluna and Bayonne. There gallant battle cry aroused within him, he again sank back- the glistening arms were flashing in the light of the western Fards, and by the spasms which crossed his pallid fca- sky, as the brigades of British cavalry swept on like whirltures, they saw too surely that the moment of death was

winds, charging and driving before them sabre à la main nighi. Again, rousing himself from his lethargy, he bec- the confused masses of French infantry, who, when their kuned to Ronald, who knelt down beside him.

position was abandoned, retired hurriedly towards the "" I would speak to you of Diane de Montmichel,' he main roads for France. He saw his own division far whispered, in tremulous and broken accents. • Iler hus- down the plain driving a column like a herd of sheep along band, Monsieur le Baron-de Clappourknuis—the letter the banks of the river towards Vittoria, beyond which they 1 gare you at Truxillo ; ah! mon ami, do you not under- pursued them, until the smoke of the conflict, and the dust Band me?'

which marked its route, were hidden by the cloud of night. "Indeed I do not, D'Estouville.'

“ But long before this he had begun to descend the ". The hand of the grim king of terrors is upon me : the hills, and weak and wearied as he was, he found it no easy sands of life are ebbing fast, and my voice will fail me soon, task to scramble among the furze, briars, and brambles, Monsieur le Baron'

with which their sides were covered. At the foot of " Is released from the Castle of Albuquerque, and has them he found many men of his own regiment lying dead. passed over to the French lines. Think not of these, These had been slain by the fire of a few field pieces, D'Estouville.'

which the French had brought to bear upon them while "* I-I would give you a message to Diane.'

moving towards Puebla. The moon broke forth when he Alas, how can I ever deliver it ?'

reached the bank of the Zadorra, which he forded, the *** Find means, croix Dieu !' muttered he piteously. water rising up to his waist. kneel closer to me. I depend on your honour, Mon- “ No shrieks now saluted his ears as he passed over the sieur Stuart. Diane-Diane'

plain; but groans, deep and harrowing groans of agony, ** What of her? Say-say ere it be too late! and half-inuttered cries for water, or pious ejaculations, " But there was no reply. What the Frenchman would

were heard on every side ; while the ghastly and distorted have said expired on his lips, and he fell back speechless faces, the glazed and upturned eyes, the black and bloody on the hard knapsack which formed his pillow.

wounds of the dead, appeared horrible as the pale light of " He never spoke again ; but in a few minutes died, and the moon fell on them. The vast field, although so many without a struggle.”

thousand men lay prostrate upon it, was, comparatively We might multiply such descriptions, but it is enough speaking, still; and to Ronald there seemed something sad to have exhibited the general character of the “ Iligh

and awful in the silence which succeeded the ear-deafening

roar of the battle which had rung there the livelong day. landers in Spain.” Of connected story, there is little, Many a strong luand was stretched there powerless, and and even the incidents are of a desultory kind, as the au

many a gallant heart, which had beat high with hope and thor takes up whatever theme may serve for a sketch bravery in the morning, lay there cold enough at night,

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“Little think the good folk at home-those who for, home and domestic circle. But the agony of dying men days would be haunted by the memory of some sudden and the tears of women are alike forgotten and unheeded, death which possibly they had witnessed in the streets, when forts fire, cities illuminate, balls are given, and mails little do these good people imagine, or perhaps care for, sweep along decorated with flags and laurels in honour of the mighty amount of misery accumulated on a single a victory." battle-field, and the woe it may carry into many a happy

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What is to be thought of her ? What is to be blood. Daughter of Domrémy, when the grathought of the poor shepherd girl from the hills titude of thy king shall awaken, thou wilt be and forests of Lorraine, that-like the Hebrew sleeping the sleep of the dead. Call her, King shepherd boy from the hills and forests of Judæa of France, but she will not hear thee! Cite her -rose suddenly out of the quiet, out of the safety, by thy apparitors to come and receive a robe of out of the religious inspiration, rooted in deep pas honour, but she will be found en contumace. toral solitudes, to a station in the van of armies, When the thunders of universal France, as even and to the more perilous station at the right yet may happen, shall proclaim the grandeur of hand of kings? The Hebrew boy inaugurated the poor shepherd girl that gave up all for her his patriotic mission by an act, by a victorious country—thy ear, young shepherd girl, will have act, such as no man could deny. But so did the been deaf for five centuries. To suffer and to girl of Lorraine, if we read her story as it was do, that was thy portion in this lifo ; to do read by those who saw her nearest. Adverse never for thyself, always for others; to suffer armies bore witness to the boy as no pretender : never in the persons of generous champions, albut so they did to the gentle girl. Judged by ways in thy own :—that was thy destiny ; and the voices of all who saw them from a station of not for a moment was it hidden from thyself. good will, both were found true and loyal to any Life, thou said'st, is short : and the sleep, which promises involved in their first acts. Enemies is in the grave, is long! Let me use that life, so it was that made the difference between their transitory, for the glory of those heavenly dreams subsequent fortunes. The boy rose--to a splen- destined to comfort the sleep which is so long. dlour and a noon-day prosperity, both personal and This pure creature-pure from every suspicion of public,.that rang through the records of his people, even a visionary self-interest, even as she was and became a bye-word amongst his posterity for pure in senses more obvious-never once did this a thousand years, until the sceptre was departing holy child, as regarded herself, relax from her from Judah. The poor, forsaken girl, on the belief in the darkness that was travelling to meet contrary, drank not herself from that cup of rest her. She might not prefigure the very manner which she had secured for France. She never sang of her death ; she saw not in vision perhaps the together with the songs that rose in her native aërial altitude of the fiery scaffold, the specDomrémy, as echoes to the departing steps of tators without end on every road pouring into invaders. She mingled not in the festal dances Rouen as to a coronation, the surging smoke, at Vaucouleurs which celebrated in rapture the the volleying flames, the hostile faces all around, redemption of France. No! for her voice was the pitying eye that lurked but here and there then silent : No! for her feet were dust. Pure, until nature and imperishable truth broke loose innocent, noble-hearted girl! whom, from earliest from artificial restraints; these might not be appayouth, ever I believed in as full of truth and rent through the mists of the hurrying future. But self-sacrifice, this was amongst the strongest the voice that called her to death, that she heard pledges for thy side, that never once—no, not for ever. for a moment of weakness-didst thou revel in Great was the throne of France even in those the vision of coronets and honour from man. Co- days, and great was he that sate upon it : but ronets for thec! Oh no! Honours, if they come well Joanna knew that not the throne, nor he when all is over, are for those that share thy that sate upon it, was for her ; but, on the con.

* Are :-Modern France, that should know a great deal better than myself, insists that the name is not d'Arc, z. c. of Arc, but Darc. Now it happens sometimes, that if a person, whose position guarantees his access to the best information, will content himself with glo dogmatism, striking the table with his fist, and saying in a terrifie voice --" It is so; and there's an end of it,”—one bows deferentially, and submits. But if, unhappily for himself, won by this docility, he relents too amiably into reasons and arguments, probably one raises an insurrection against him that may never be crushed; for in the fields of logic one can skirmish, perhaps, as well as he. Had he confined himself to dogmatism; he would have entrenched his position in darkness, and bave hidden his own vulnerable points. But, coming down to base reasons, he lets in light, and one sees where to plant the blows.. Now, the worshipful reason of morlern France for disturbing the old receivedl spelling, is--that Jeun Hordal, a descendant of La Pucelle's brother, spelled the name Darr, in 1012. But what of thnt: Beside the chances that M. Hordal might be a gigantic blockhead, it is notorious that what small matter of spelling Providence haul thought fit to lisburse amongst inan in the seventeenth century, was all monopolised by printers: in France, much more so.

+ Those that shure thy Wood ;=collateral relative of Joanna's was subsequently ennobled by the title of due Lys,

trary, that she was for them ; not she by them, to the inovitably-political man of this day--withbut they by her, should rise from the dust. Gor- out perilous openings for assault. If I, for ingeous were the lilies of France, and for centuries stance, on the part of England, should happen to had the privilege to spread their beauty over land turn my labours into that channel, and (on the and sea, until, in another century, the wrath of model of Lord Percy going to Chevy Chase)— God and man combined to wither them ; but

"A vow to God should make well Joanna knew, early at Domrémy she had

My pleasure in the Michelet woouls read that bitter truth, that the lilies of France

Three summer days to take," would decorate no garland for her. Flower nor --propably from simple delirium, I might hunt bud, bell nor blossom, would ever bloom for M. Michelet into delirium tremens.

Two strong her.

angels stand by the side of History, whether But stop. What reason is there for taking up French History or English, as heraldic supthis subject of Joanna precisely in this spring of porters: the angel of Research on the left hand, 1847? Might it not have been left till the spring that must read millions of dusty parchments, and of 1947? or, perhaps, left till called for? Yes, of pages blotted with lies ; the angel of Meditabat it is called for ; and clamorously. You are tion on the right hand, that must cleanse these aware, reader, that amongst the many original lying records with fire, even as of old the drathinkers, whom modern France has produced, peries of asbestos were cleansed, and must quicken one of the reputed leaders is M. Michelet. All them into regenerated life. Willingly I acknowthese writers are of a revolutionary cast ; not ledge that no man will ever avoid innumerable in a political sense merely, but in all senses : errors of detail: with so vast a compass of ground inad, oftentimes, as March hares ; crazy with the to traverse, this is impossible: but such errors laughing-gas of recovered liberty ; drunk with (though I have a bushel on hand, at M. Michelet's the wine-cup of their mighty Revolution; snort- service) are not the game I chase: it is the bitter ing, whinnying, throwing up their heels, like wild and unfair spirit in which M. Michelet writes horses in the boundless Pampas, and running against England. Even that, after all, is but races of defiance with snipes, or with the winds, my secondary object: the real one is Joanna, the or with their own shadows, if they can find nothing Pucelle d'Orleans, for herself.

else to challenge. Some time or other, I, that I am not going to write the History of La PuI have leisure to read, may introduce you, that have celle : to do this, or even circumstantially to re

not, to two or three dozen of these writers ; of port the history of her persecution and bitter whom I can assure you beforehand that they are death, of her struggle with false witnesses and often profound, and at intervals are even as im- with ensnaring judges, it would be necessary passioned as if they were come of our best English to have before us all the documents, and, thereblood, and sometimes (because it is not pleasant fore, the collection only now forthcoming in Paris. that people should be too easy to understand) al. But my purpose is narrower. There have been most as obscure as if they had been suckled by great thinkers, disdaining the careless judgments transcendental German nurses. But now, con- of contemporaries, who have thrown themselves fining our attention to M. Michelet—who is quite boldly on the judgment of a far posterity, that sufficient to lead a man into a gallop, requiring should have had time to review, to ponder, to two relays, at least, of fresh readers;—we in Eng- compare. There have been great actors on the land—who know him best by his worst book, the stage of tragic humanity that might, with the book against Priests, &c., which has been most cir- same depth of confidence, have appealed from culated-know him disadvantageously. That book the levity of compatriot friends too heartless for is a rhapsody of incoherence. M. Michelet was the sublime interest of their story, and too imlight-headed, I believe, when he wrote it : and it is patient for the labour of sifting its perplexities-well that his keepers overtook him in time to in- to the magnanimity and justice of enemies. To tercept a second part. But his History of France this class belongs the Maid of Arc. The Romans is quite another thing. A man, in whatsoever were too faithful to the ideal of grandeur in craft he sails, cannot stretch away out of sight themselves not to relent, after a generation or when he is linked to the windings of the shore by two, before the grandeur of Hannibal. Mithritowing ropes of history. Facts, and the conse- dates--a more doubtful person-yet, merely for quences of facts, draw the writer back to the the magic perseverance of his indomitable malice, falconer's lure from the giddiest heights of specu- won from the same Romans the only real honour lation. Here, therefore--in his France—if not that ever he received on earth. And we English always free from flightiness, if now and then off have ever shown the same homage to stubborn like a rocket for an airy wheel in the clouds, M. enmity. To work unflinchingly for the ruin of Michelet, with natural politeness, never forgets England; to say through life, by word and by deer that he has left a large audience waiting for him - Delenila est Anglia Victrix ! that one puron earth, and gazing upwards in anxiety for his pose of malice, faithfully pursued, has quartered return: return, therefore, he does. But History, some people upon our national funds of homago though clear of certain temptations in one direc- as by a perpetual anuuity. Better than an intion, has separate dangers of its own. It is impos- heritance of service rendered to England herself, sible so to write a History of France, or of England has sometimes proved the most insane hatred to --works becoming every hour more indispensable England, Hyder Ali, even his far inferior son Tippoo, and Napoleon--have all benefitted by this throats to be cut. But could she do less ? No: disposition amongst ourselves to exaggerate the I always say so; but still you never saw a permerit of diabolic enmity. Not one of these men son kill even a trout with a perfectly · Chamwas ever capable, in a solitary instance, of prais- pagne” face of “ gentleness and simplicity,” ing an enemy--[what do you say to that, reader?]| though often, no doubt, with considerable“ acuteand yet, in their behalf, we consent to forget, not ness.” All your cooks and butchers wear a Lor. their crimes only, but (which is worse) their hideous raine cast of expression. bigotry and anti-magnanimous egotism; for na- These disputes, however, turn on refinements tionality it was not. Suffrein, and some half too nice. Domrémy stood upon the frontiers ; dozen of other French nautical heroes, because and, like other frontiers, produced a mixed race rightly they did us all the mischief they could, representing the cis and the trans. A river (it [which was really great] are names justly re- is true) formed the boundary line at this pointverenced in England. On the same principle, La the river Meuse; and that in old days might Pucelle d'Orleans, the victorious enemy of Eng. have divided the populations ; but in these days land, has been destined to receive her deepest it did not--there were bridges, there were ferries, commemoration from the magnanimous justice of and weddings crossed from the right bank to the Englishmen.

left. Here lay two great roads, not so much for Joanna, as we in England should call her, but, travellers, that were few, as for armies that were according to her own statement, Jeanne (or, too many by half. These two roads, one of which as M, Michelet asserts, Jean*) d'Arc, was born was the great high road between France and at Domrémy, a village on the marches of Germany, decussated at this very point ; which Lorraine and Champagne, and dependent upon is a learned way of saying that they formed a St. the town of Vaucouleurs. I have called her a Andrew's cross, or letter of X. I hope the comLorrainer, not simply because the word is prettier, positor will choose a good large X, in which case but because Champagne too odiously reminds us the point of intersection, the locus of conflux tor English of what are for us imaginary wines, these four diverging arms, will finish the reader's which, undoubtedly, La Pucelle tasted as rarely geographical education, by showing himn to a as we English ; we English, because the Cham- hair's breadth where it was that Domrémy stood. pagne of London is chiefly grown in Devon. These roads, so grandly situated, as great trunk shire ; La Pucelle, because the Champagne of arteries between two mighty realms, * and hauntChampagne never, by any chance, flowed into ed for ever by wars or rumours of wars, decussated the fountain of Domrémy, from which only she (for anything I know to the contrary) absolutely drank. M. Michelet will have her to be a Cham- under Joanna's bed-room window; one rolling penoise, and for no better reason than that she away to the right, past Monsieur D'Are's old “ took after her father,” who happened to be a barn, and the other, unaccountably preferring, (but Champenois. I am sure she did not : for her there's no disputing about tastes), to sweep round father was a filthy old fellow, whom I shall soon that odious man's odious pigstye to the left. teach the judicious reader to hate. But, (says Things being situated as is here laid down, viz. M. Michelet, arguing the case physiologically) in respect of the decussation, and in respect of Jo“she had none of the Lorrainian asperity ;" no, anna’s bed-room; it follows that, if she had dropped it seems she had only “ tho gentleness of Cham- her glove by accident from her chamber window pagne, its simplicity mingled with sense and acute into the very bull's-eye of the target, in the centre ness, as you find it in Joinville." All these things of X, not one of several great potentates could she had ; and she was worth a thousand Join (though all animated by the sincerest desires for villes, meaning either the prince so called, or the the peace of Europe) have possibly come to any fine old crusader. But still, though I love Joanna clear understanding on the question of whom the dearly, I cannot shut my eyes entirely to the Lor-glove was ineant for. Whence the candid reader raine element of “asperity” in her nature. No ; perceives at once the necessity for at least four really now, she must have had a shade of that, bloody wars. Falling indeed a little farther, as, though very slightly developed -a mero soupçon, for instance, into the pigstye, the glove could not as French cooks express it in speaking of cavenne have furnished to the most peppery prince any pepper, when she oaused so many of our English shadow of excuse for arming: he would not have * “ Jean”:-M. Michelet asserts that there was a mysti: line of conduct. But, if it fell (as by the hypo

had a leg to stand upon in taking such a perverso cal meaning at that sera in calling a child Jean; it implied a secret commendation of a child, if not a dedication, to St. thesis it did) into the one sole point of ground John the Evangelist, the beloved disciple, the apostle of common to four kings, it is clear that, instead of no love and mysterious visions. But, really, as the name was so exceedingly common, few people will detectomyster had no ground to stand upon unless by treading

leg to stand upon, eight separate legs would have in calling a boy by the name of Jack, though it does seem mysterious to call a girl Jack. It way be less so in France, on each other's toes. The philosopher, therefore, where a beautiful practice has always prevailed of giving to a boy his mother's nume-preceded and strengthened by sees clearly the necessity of a war, and regrets that a male name, as Charles Anne, Victor l'ictoire. In cases sometimes nations do not wait for grounds of war where a mother's memory has been unusually dear to a

so solid. son, this vocal memento of her, locked into the circle of his own name, gives to it the tenderness of a testamentary relique, or a funeral ring. I presume, therefore, that la Pu- * And reminding one of that inscription, so justly adcelle must bave borne the baptismal names of Jeanne Jean; mired by Paul Richter, which a Russian Czarina placed on the latter with no reference to so sublime a person as St. a guide post near MoscowThis is the road that leads to John, but simply to some relative.



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In the circumstances supposed, though the four childhood had re-opened the wounds of France. kings inight be unable to see their way clearly Crécy and Poictiers, those withering without the help of gunpowder to any decision throws for the chivalry of France, had been upon Joanna's intention, she-poor thing ! - -never tranquillised by more than half a century ; but could mistake her intentions for a moment. All this resurrection of their trumpet wails made the her love was for France ; and, therefore, any whole series of battles and endless skirmishes glove she might drop into the quadrivium must take their stations as parts in one drama, The be wickedly missent by the post-office, if it found graves that had closed sixty years ago, seemed its way to any king but the king of France. to fly open in sympathy with a sorrow that ochood

On whatever side of the border chance had their own. The monarchy of France laboured in thrown Joanna, the same love to France would extremity, rocked and reeled like a ship fighting have been nurtured, For it is a strange fact, with the darkness of monsoons. The madness of noticed by M. Michelet and others, that the Dukes the poor King (Charles VI.) falling in at such a of Bar and Lorraine had for generations pursued crisis, like the case of women labouring in child. the policy of eternal warfare with France on their birth during the storming of a city, trebled the own account, yet also of eternal amity and league awfulness of the time. Even the wild story of with France in case anybody else presumed to the incident which had immediately occasioned attack her. Let peace settlo upon France, and the explosion of this madness--the case of a man before long you might rely upon seeing the little unknown, gloomy, and perhaps maniacal himself, vixen Lorraine flying at the throat of France. coming out of a forest at noonday, laying his hand Let France be assailed by a formidable enemy, upon the bridle of the King's horse, checking him and instantly you saw a Duke of Lorraine or Bar for a moment to say, Oh, King, thou art beinsisting on having his throat cut in support of trayed,” and then vanishing no man knew whither, France; which favour accordingly was cheerfully as he had appeared for no man know what-fell granted to them in three great suocessive battles in with the universal prostration of mind that by the English and by the Turkish Sultan, viz., laid France on her knees as before the slow unat Crécy, at Nicopolis, and at Agincourt. weaving of some ancient prophetic doom. The

This sympathy with France during great famines, the extraordinary diseases, the insurrececlipses in those that during ordinary seasons tions of the peasantry up and down Europe, were always teasing her with brawls and guerrilla these were chords struck from the same mysterious inroads, strengthened the natural piety to France harp; but these were transitory chords. There of those that were confessedly the children of her had been others of deeper and more ominous own house. The outposts of France, as one may sound. The termination of the crusades, the call the great frontier provinces, were of all loca- destruetion of the Templars, the Papal interdicts, lities the most devoted to the Fleurs de Lys. the tragedies caused or suffered by the House of To witness, at any great crisis, the generous Anjou, by the Emperor—these were full of a more devotion to these lilies of the little fiery cousin permanent significance ; but since then the colosthat in gentler weather was for ever tilting at sal figure of feudalism was seen standing as it her breast, could not but fan the zeal of the were on tiptoe at Crécy for flight from earth : legitimate daughter; whilst to occupy a post of that was a revolution unparalleled ; yet that was honour on the frontiers against an old hereditary a trifle by comparison with the more fearful revoenemy of France, would naturally have stimulated lutions that were mining below the Church. By this zeal by a sentiment of martial pride, had her own internal sohisms, by the abominable specthere even been no other stimulant to zeal by a tacle of a double Pope-so that no man, except sense of danger always threatening, and of hatred through political bias, could even guess which was always smouldering. That great four-headed Heaven's vicegerent, and which the creature of hell road was a perpetual memento to patriotic ardour. - she was already rehearsing, as in still earlier To say, this way lies the road to Paris—and that forms she had rehearsed, the first rent in her other way to Aix-la-Chapelle, this to Prague, that foundations (reserved for the coming century) to Vienna--nourished the warfare of the heart by which no man should ever heal. daily ministrations of sense. The eye that watohed These were the loftiest peaks of the cloudland for the gleams of lance or helmet from the hostile in the skies that to the scientific gazer first caught frontier, the ear that listened for the groaning of the colours of the new morning in advance.

But wheels

, made the highroad itself, with its relations the whole vast range alike of sweeping glooms to centres so remote, into a manual of patriotic overhead, dwelt upon all meditative minds, even

those that could not distinguish the altitudes nor The situation, therefore, locally of Joanna was decipher the forms. It was, therefore, not her full of profound suggestions to a heart that lis- own age alone, as affected by its immediate ca. tened for the stealthy steps of change and fear lamities, that lay with such weight upon Joanna's that too surely were in motion. But if the place mind; but her own age, as one section in a vast were grand, the times, the burthen of the times, mysterious drama, unweaving through a century was far more so.

The air overhead in its upper back, and drawing nearer continually to crisis chambers was hurtling with the obscure sound ; after crisis. Cataracts and rapids were heard was dark with sullen fermenting of storms that roaring a-head; and signs were seen far back, had been gathering for a hundred and thirty by help of old men's memories, which answered years.

The battle of Agincourt in Joanna's secretly to signs now coming forward on the eye,


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