Hark, hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings,

And Phoebus 'gins arise,

His steeds to water at those springs

On chaliced flowers that lies; And winking Mary-buds begin To ope their golden eyes : With everything that pretty is, My lady sweet, arise:

Arise, arise.

- From "Cymbeline."

A GOOD CONSCIENCE.

What stronger breastplate than a heart untainted!
Thrice is he armed that hath his quarrel just,
And he but naked, though locked up in steel,
Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted.
- From "King Henry VI."

Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages:

Golden lads and girls all must,

As chimney sweepers, come to dust.

Fear no more the frown o' th' great,
Thou art past the tyrant's stroke;
Care no more to clothe and eat ;

To thee the reed is as the oak:
The scepter, learning, physic, must
All follow this, and come to dust.

Fear no more the lightning flash,
Nor th' all-dreaded thunderstone;
Fear no slander, censure rash;

Thou hast finish'd joy and moan :
All lovers young, all lovers must
Consign to thee, and come to dust.

No exorciser harm thee !
Nor no witchcraft charm thee!
Ghost unlaid forbear thee !
Nothing ill come near thee !

Quiet consummation have;

And renowned be thy grave!

- From "Cymbeline."

A GOOD NAME.

Good name in man or woman, dear my lord,

Is the immediate jewel of their souls:

Who steals my purse steals trash; 'tis something, nothing; 'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands;

But he that filches from me my good name

Robs me of that which not enriches him

And makes me poor

indeed.

- From "Othello."

JOAN OF ARC.

BY JOHN RICHARD GREEN.

Jeannette d'Arc was the child of a laborer of Domremy, a little village in the neighborhood of Vaucouleurs, on the borders of Lorraine and Champagne; in other words, of France. Just without the little cottage where she was born began the great woods of the Vosges, where the children of Domremy drank in poetry and legend from fairy ring and haunted well, hung their flower garlands on the sacred trees, and sang songs to the "good people" who might not drink of the fountain because of their sins. Jeanne loved the forest; its birds and beasts came lovingly to her at her childish call. But at home men saw nothing in her but "a good girl, simple and pleasant in her ways," spinning and sewing by her mother's side while the other girls went to the fields, tender to the poor and sick, fond of church, and listening to the church bell with a dreamy passion of delight which never left her.

Her whole nature summed itself up in one absorbing passion: she “had pity," to use the phrase forever on her lip, "on the fair realm of France." As her passion grew, she recalled old prophecies that a maid from the Lorraine border should save the land. She saw visions: Saint Michael appeared to her in a flood of blinding light, and bade her go to the help of the king and restore to him his realm.

"Messire," answered the girl, “I am but a poor

maiden; I know not how to ride to the wars, or to lead men at arms." The archangel returned to give her

courage, and to tell her of "the pity" that there was in heaven for the fair realm of France.

The girl wept, and longed that the angels who had appeared to her would carry her away, but her mission was clear. It was in vain that her father, when he heard her purpose, swore to drown her ere she should go to the field with men at arms. It was in vain that the priest, the wise people of the village, the captain of Vaucouleurs, doubted and refused to aid her. "I must go to the king," persisted the peasant girl, "even if I wear my limbs to the very knees. I had far rather rest and spin by my mother's side," she pleaded with a touching pathos, "for this is no work of my choosing; but I must go and do it, for my Lord wills it." "And who," they asked, "is your Lord?" "He is God."

Words such as these touched the rough captain at last: he took Jeanne by the hand, and swore to lead her to the king. At the court itself she found hesitation and doubt. The theologians proved from their books that they ought not to believe her. "There is more in God's book than in yours," Jeanne answered simply. At last the Dauphin received her in the midst of a throng of nobles and soldiers. "Gentle Dauphin," said the girl, "my name is Jehan the Maid. The Heavenly King sends me to tell you that you shall be anointed and crowned in the town of Rheims, and you shall be lieutenant of the Heavenly King, who is the King of France."

Orleans had already been driven by famine to offers of surrender when Jeanne appeared in the French Court. The girl was in her eighteenth year, tall, finely formed, with all the vigor and activity of her peasant rearing, able to stay from dawn to nightfall on horseback without

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