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Dunois and the Maid rest at a cottage. Their host speaks of the battle of Azincour, and the siege of Roan.

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JOAN of ARC.

THE SECOND BOOK.

And now beneath the horizon westering slow
Had sunk the orb of Day: o'er all the vale
A purple softness spread, save where the tree
Its giant shadow stretch'd, or winding stream
Mirror'd the light of Heaven, still traced distinct
When twilight dimly shrouded all beside.
A grateful coolness freshen'd the calm air,
And the hoarse grasshoppers their evening song
Sung * shrill and ceaseless, as the dews of night

* The epithets shrill and hoarse will not appear incongruous to one who has attended to the grasshopper's chirp. Gazæus has characterised the sound by a word certainly accurate, in bis tale of a grasshopper who perched upon St. Francis's

Descended. On their way the travellers wend,
Cheering the road with converse, till far off
They mark a cottage taper's glimmering light

finger, and sung the praise of God and the wonders of his own body in his vernacular tongue, St. Francis and all the grasshoppers listening with equal edification.

Cicada
Canebat (ut sic efferam) cicadicè.

Pia Hilaria Angelini Gazæi. St. Francis seems to have laboured much in the conversion of animals. In the fine series of pictures representing his life, lately painted for the new Franciscan convent at Madrid, I recollect seeing him preach to a congregation of birds. Gazæus has a poem upon his instruđing a ewe. His advice to her is somewhat curious :

Vide ne arietes, neve in obvios ruas :
Cave devovendos flosculos altaribus
Vel ore laceres, vel bifurcato pede,

Male feriatæ felis instar, proteras. There is another upon his converting two lambs, whose prayers were more acceptable to God, Marot! says he, than your psalms. If the Nun who took care of them in his absence was inclined to lie-a-bed

Frater Agnus hanc beê beê suo
Devotus excitabat.
O agne jam non agne sed doctor bone !

Gleam thro' the embowered gloom: to that they turn;
An aged man came forth ; his thin grey locks
Waved on the night breeze, and on his shrunk face
The characters of age were written deep.
Them, louting low with rustic courtesy,
He welcom'd in, on the white-ember'd hearth
Heapt up fresh fuel, then with friendly care
Spread out the homely board, and fill'd the bowl
With the red produce of the vine that arched
His evening seat; they of the plain repast
Partook, and quaff’d the pure and pleasant bowl.

Strangers, your fare is homely," said their Host, “But such it is as we poor countrymen “ Earn with hard toil : in faith ye are welcome to it! “ I love a soldier ! and at sight of one,

My old heart feels as it were young again. "Poor and decrepit as I am, my arm “Once grasp'd the sword full firmly, and my limbs "Were strong as thine, Sir Warrior! God be wit! thee,

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