The Maid delayed her entrance till nightfall, to avoid the fatigue and excitement of a public reception; but the longing, hoping, suffering people waited for her, and the town was bright with torches as she rode through it. They saw her, a beautiful vision, young, fair, tender, and strong, and crowded around her with blessings, and raised a shout that was gloomily heard in the besiegers' lines; and she saw them, pale, wan, and haggard, and bid them have a good hope in God; again and again she repeated the cheerful words.

The procession stopped for a few moments at the cathedral, that there she might offer her public thanks to God; and then she proceeded to the house of the treasurer of the city, where she was to lodge. A great supper had been laid out for her: she took but a silver cup of wine and water, a little toasted bread, and retired to her room, taking with her the little daughter of the house, who had clung to her from her arrival, and whom she took to be her bedfellow that night, and while she remained at Orleans. It was long before sleep closed her eyes; the past and the future were both too exciting; and in the depth of night, a booming, shot from a cannon woke her-it was the first she had ever heard.

Next morning she arose prepared and anxious for immediate action; but there were old and prudent generals, who were glad to take advantage of the fresh courage with which her presence inspired the men, who had no notion of letting her have her own way. Day after day she had to wait in hated inactivity, while councils of war were held. At length she would wait no longer. 'You have heard your council,' she said, 'and I have heard mine, and it bids me go on, and I will. Accordingly the next day, May 7th, she led an attack against one of the English forts. The Maid rode on, encouraging her men, her clear voice heard above the din of battle. 'Go on boldly in God's name,' and they went on boldly. It was a hard-fought struggle, and hour after hour passed, and still the English did not yield; numbers fell on each side;

N

some counselled a retreat,-indeed, some were retreating, when Jeanne stopped, and rallied, and brought them back. 'One effort more,' she cried, and the day is ours.' One more, and it was a terrible one, they made; the rampart was carried; many were slain, many were made prisoners, and some escaped; and for the first time for many a long year, the French saw the backs of the victors of Agincourt, Verneuil, and Crevant.

6

It was a good beginning, and the old generals urged her to be content and not risk her advantage by another attack on the morrow; but she heeded them not. Before retiring to sleep that night, her last words were, addressing her chaplain, Be up in the morning at sunrise, the earliest you can, to sing prayers, for we shall do more tomorrow than to-day.' In vain the council tried to stop her. The citizens surrounded her lodging, calling on her to go on as she had begun, and not stop till she had delivered them. 'I will do it; and who loves me, let him follow me,' she gladly replied, and armed at once. She was soon on horseback, carrying her standard, accompanied by her chaplain and page. Her followers increased every step she advanced. Arriving at the gate, she found it closed, and the governor refused to open it. A shout of rage arose from her band, and she commanded to break it open. They did so. 'With your will or without it, my people shall go forth, and win to-day as they did yesterday.'

The veteran commanders said it would take seven days to reduce the Tournelles-the fort against which she was advancing,—and she took it that evening!

Never did her men fight as they fought that day. Conspicuous on her white horse, and her standard floating in the breeze, she seemed gifted with more than human energy and strength. Wherever there was a great difficulty or danger, she was there to direct; were any beaten back or discouraged, she was there to bring them back and infuse new spirit into them; were any advancing too quickly, she was there to support them. They had reached the foot of the ramparts; she dismounted, and

was the first to seize a ladder and plant it there; she had placed her foot on it, her voice calling cheerily to her men to come on, when she was struck in the chest by an arrow and fell to the ground. A wild cheer of triumph arose within the fort, and great was the consternation and horror of her own army. She was carried and laid half fainting on the grass; but she soon revived, the arrow was withdrawn from the wound, the blood was staunched with wool and oil; regardless of the sharp pain and the exhaustion, she was soon again in the very heat of the battle, and the assault was made more fiercely than before. The Maid caught her standard, rushed to the edge of the fosse, and called out, Yield, Glasdale, yield; thou didst call me a witch. Oh, I have great pity on thy soul and all of thine!' As they saw and heard her, the English were seized with terror, they turned and fled. She called to her soldiers, 'In, children, in God's name !—they are ours!' and the fort was won. Glasdale, with some thirty of his knights, fled across the drawbridge; as they passed, one arch gave way,—one terrible crash, one awful shriek, a loud splash, and they were seen no more for ever. The Maid saw and heard, and burst into tears, such tears as her own pain had not wrung from her.

'Glory to God and to the Maid!' was the one cry heard through Orleans that night. The church bells rang loudly; Te Deum was sung at midnight in the cathedral; and the acclamations of the people were louder and deeper than ever. Jeanne was well-nigh worn out with pain, fatigue, and loss of blood, but her heart was filled with holy joy. They dressed her wound, and she lay down to sleep beside her little Carlotte. She slept on till late in the morning, when she was roused by the news that there was a great stir in the English camp. Their retreat was begun, after seven long months spent in the siege. 'Let them go in the name of God,' she said; 'let them go, and let us return thanks to God. We will not pursue them nor kill them, for to-day is Sunday.'

The day was kept in prayer and praise. To God she

gave all the glory; her highest ambition that she might serve and obey Him.

The Maid had fulfilled the first half of her mission: she had given her promised sign, she had raised the siege of Orleans!

K.

NEW YEAR'S HYMN.

OH welcome was the Old Year
When first we hail'd its rise,
Bright token of fair promise
Descending from the skies!
And though its course be ended,
And weeks and months are flown,
We yet would praise our Father
For this Old Year that's gone!

But welcome now the New Year
With hopes of joys to come,
With visions soft and tender
Of happiness and home!

And welcome, gift most precious,
The sweet word of God's grace,
Which still invites dear children
To seek their Saviour's face!

Oh may we walk this New Year
In paths which Jesus trod,
Made pure in His lov'd image,
Forgiven through His blood!
That in the unknown future,

Led by a Brother's hand,
Each day may be a footstep
Towards the happy land!

L. A. M.

'Lo! the bright train their radiant wings unfold,
With silver fringed, and freckled o'er with gold.
On the gay bosom of some fragrant flower,
They, idly fluttering, live their little hour;
Their life all pleasure, and their task all play,
All spring their age, and sunshine all their day.'

AST month I told you of caterpillars; and behold now what a metamorphosis has taken place!-all those sixteen short legs have disappeared; the jaws and the twelve little eyes have vanished; and the creeping, crawling thing has become 'a child of air,' furnished with elegant wings, as delicate in structure as they are rich in hue, and endowed with the power of rapid and extensive flight in their aërial ex

cursions.

'Go, child of pleasure, range the fields,
Taste all the joys that spring can give,
Partake what bounteous summer yields,
And live whilst yet 'tis thine to live.'