It's all well enough, yet it's terribly slow
When you find you are getting blow for blow;
And the girls are so shy that whenever you try
To kiss 'em or pull 'em about, they cry!

Shakes all the earth, and the battlements rock,
The portcullis flies up and the drawbridge drops down,
And a fierce cavalcade swiftly rides from the town;
There are horsemen, and footmen, and buffers in mail,
And bowmen and spearmen to bring up the tail
Of this mighty array,

Who struggled that day

In the cause of La Patrie and Liberté.

There are knights dressed in armour whose panoplies rattle,

And chargers whose nostrils afar scent the battle;

All these Frenchmen wore trowsers made wide at the hips,
They bore swords in their hands and "morbleus" on their lips:
At their head rides a damsel ('twas funny, you'll say),
Dressed up, as the song says, in "gorgeous array :"
Her dark flowing hair (for her head it was bare)

Waved freely about in the fresh morning air.

And gave

She sat in the saddle

With a masculine straddle,

her commands like a regular Turk—
"En avant! morbleu !

You'll find lots to do,

For ces diables Anglais will give you some work."

*

*

*

*

*

That very day six months ago at an inn at Neufchatel,

A coarse red-handed damsel as stable-boy did dwell;
This unkempt girl 'tis said was born 'mid thunder, wind, and rain,
At Domremy, near Vaucouleurs, on the borders of Lorraine.

One winter night, whilst lying on her lonely bed of straw,

She dreamt a dream, and in her sleep a vision bright she saw,
While on her startled hearing this curious message fell—
"Hallo! wake up, young woman! I've got some news to tell.
Get thee unto fair Touraine, and visit there my shrine;

Buy ten good candles, if you please, and mind you leave me nine;
But take thou one and search the church around,
Until you find a fine sword on the ground;
Take thou the sword, and go and tell thy liege
That thou wilt save the city they besiege;

Now don't be frightened; you can do the trick,
For when once there, you'll raise the siege quite quick.
Go on awhile in victory's career;

Free France, and bring the King to Rheims, and there
Crown him: but, go not in thy course along-
Proceed, and hell, not heaven, shall urge thee on!"
The vision was gone, and Joan jumped out of bed,
And in passing the looking-glass saw her own head,
And she started, and blushed, and was pleased very well,
To see herself looking so much à la belle:

She was no longer coarse, nor vulgar was she,
She was handsome, and lovely, as well she might be.
She left lots of dips at Touraine, and then sought
The place where the Dauphin held his court;
She told him her dream, but the beautiful talker
Elicited nought from the monarch save-" Walker !"
But at last he cried-

"If you choose to ride,

And find your way to the walls inside,

You may go, tho' in vain

You'll fight famine and pain;

And may Heaven, my Joan, bring you out again."

And this, in short,

Was why she fought

(And a very good fight she made of it too);
It is said that she all but

Killed stout old Talbot,

And she thoroughly sewed up the whole of his crew. You all know well

How matters befell;

It is therefore not needful that I should tell
Of "la belle victoire,"

And a good deal more ;

How the Dauphin chuckled, and Talbot swore.
Charles did what was queer,

For he made her a peer,

After swearing she hadn't one anywhere near;
And fighting her way

Through the English array,

She found she had reached to Rheims one day.

The ancient streets of Rheims are gay
As they have not been for many a day;
Throughout the town the bells are rung,
And hymns of joyous triumph sung,
And noble knights and ladies fair
Once more again are thronging there;
And trodden France's monarch now
Sits with her crown upon his brow,
And holds her sceptre in his hands-
The emblem of re-conquered lands;
And in her simple garb arrayed,

All proudly conscious stood the maid,

And her haughty features seemed to say—

"You may just thank me for this lark of to-day."

And now Joan swore

That to do any more

She'd been strictly forbid in her dreams,

For she'd crown'd the Dauphin

And made it come off in

But over-persuaded,

She led the invaded

Against the invaders, but not without qualms;
Her old success never

Came back to her ever,

But defeat and retreat oft attended her arms.
At length at Angiers

Her very worst fears

Were fulfilled whilst defending the Frenchmen's rears;
She'd gone too far she thought,

Though historians report

That had she gone further she'd not have been caught.
She was tried for a witch,

For her captors did itch

To convict and condemn her and treat her as sich ;

Their pride was concerned,

So their mercy was turned,

Joan of Arc was condemned to be burned.

And

poor

Mid-day tolls its hollow sound across the market square,
But not a sound does issue from the crowd assembled there;
While some men flush th' indignant face-from others pity beams;
From some men's eyes an unsuppressed and savage pleasure
gleams :

But an awful hush is on each tongue-unstirred is all the swarm,
And each eye is fixed in silence on the splendid angel form,
With arms crossed on her bosom, one foot half in advance,
With a proudly carried head, and an unsubduëd glance;
She showed the men she baffled with her mighty woman's soul,
That though they tore it from its frame they ne'er could it
control;

Nor she nor others moved whilst the fiends applied the light,
Until the quick ascending flame had veiled her from their sight.
High rose the flames, and higher; and when they fell again,
There was no angel figure, but-the empty stake and chain !

MORAL.

Don't tear a trans. from another's book in preference to your own, Or you may come across a flea in your ear, as the English did with Joan;

But I'd also have you keep in mind poor Joan la Pucelle's fate, AND WHEN YOU'VE NEATLY CABBED A "G.," DON'T TRY TO CAB A "GT."

THEOPHILUS BROWN,
BARNABY BLUEBLAZES.

FOOLS, BY ONE OF THEMSELVES.

WHENEVER an evil is drawing towards a culminating point, it generally happens that some remedy is brought to light, which, if properly applied, has power to check it ;—just when everybody is crying out and complaining-when old men are comparing the present with the past, and young men reforms just in the very nick of time up starts some Jack-in-the-box, who upsets everything, frightens everybody, and having done a great deal of good, and created considerable excitement, sinks gradually into his former insignificance.

are meditating absurd

And so it is with us. I don't suppose anyone will deny that Foolery has reached its height in this College; and indeed it is high time that it should be checked. Everybody you meet is crying out against the childishness and frivolity of his neighbour, but no one has as yet been raised up to work the overthrow of our evil. Look at Smith, that sedate and stupid reading-man; look at the angry contempt with which he regards the excesses and absurdities of Brown, who is always smoking, and shouting, and making a fool of himself. But of course Smith forgets that in his own way—what with his jealousy of Robinson, who is running him close for the Mahratta prize, and the sneaking way in which he comes to you and disparages his abilities-he is just