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But the other soldiers were already murmur- family, the Sire des Armoises. Strange to ing at these long delays: How now, priest,' say, it appears from a contemporary chronicle, said they to L'Advenu; 'do you mean to that Joan's two surviving brothers acknowmake us dine here?' At length their fierce ledged this woman as their sister. Stranimpatience was indulged; the ill-fated wo. ger still, other records prove that she made man was bound to the stake, and upon her two visits to Orleans, one before and one head was placed a mitre with the following after her marriage, and on each occasion was words inscribed :— hailed as the heroine returned. The ReHeretique Relapse, APOSTATE, IDOLATRE. items of expenses incurred: 1st, for the receiver-General's accounts in that city contain The Bishop of Beauvais drew nigh just after ception of the Maid and her brother in 1436; the pile was kindled; 'It is you,' said she to 2dly, for wines and refreshments presented him, who have brought me to this death.''à Dame Jehanne des Armoises,' in July, To the very last, as L'Advenu states in his 1439; 3dly, for a gift of 210 livres, which deposition, she continued to protest and main- the Town Council made to the lady on the tain that her Voices were true and unfeign- 1st of August following, in requital of her ed, and that in obeying them she had obeyed great services during the siege. These docthe will of God. As the flames increased, she bid L'Advenu stand further from her side, but still hold the cross aloft, that her latest look on earth might fall on the Redeemer's blessed sign. And the last word which she was heard to speak ere she expired was JESUS. Several of the prelates and assessors had already withdrawn in horror from the sight, and others were melted to tears. But the Cardinal of Winchester, still unmoved, gave orders that the ashes and bones of the heretic' should be collected and cast into the Seine. Such was the end of Joan of Arc-in her death the martyr, as in her life the champion, of her country.

uments appear of undoubted authenticity; yet we are wholly unable to explain them. The brothers of Joan of Arc might possibly have hopes of profit by the fraud; but how the people of Orleans, who had seen her so closely, who had fought side by side with her in the siege, could be deceived as to the person, we cannot understand, nor yet what motive they could have in deceiving.

The interest which Joan of Arc inspires at the present day extends even to the house where she dwelt, and to the family from which she sprung. Her father died of grief at the tidings of her execution; her mother long survived it, but fell into great distress. It seems natural to ask what steps the King Twenty years afterwards we find her in the of France had taken during all this interval receipt of a pension from the city of Orleans; to avert her doom. If ever there had been a three francs a month; 'pour lui aider à sovereign indebted to a subject, that sove- vivre.'‡ Joan's brothers and their issue took reign was Charles VII., that subject Joan of the name of Du Lis from the Lily of France, Arc. She had raised the spirits of his people from the lowest depression. She had retrieved his fortunes when well nigh despaired of by himself. Yet no sooner was she captive than she seems forgotten. We hear nothing of any attempt at rescue, of any proposal for ransom; neither the most common protest against her trial, nor the faintest threat of reprisals; nay, not even after her death, one single expression of regret! Charles continued to slumber in his delicious retreats beyond the Loire, engrossed by dames of a very different character from Joan's, and careless of the heroine to whom his security in that indolence was due.

Her memory on the other hand was long endeared to the French people, and long did | they continue to cherish a romantic hope that she might still survive. So strong was this feeling, that in the year 1436 advantage was taken of it by a female impostor, who pretended to be Joan of Arc escaped from her captivity. She fixed her abode at Metz, and soon afterwards married a knight of good 23

VOL. LXIX.

which the King had assigned as their arms. It is said by a writer of the last century that their lineage ended in Coulombe Du Lis, Prior of Coutras, who died in 1760. Yet we learn that there is still a family at Nancy, and another at Strasburg, which bear the name of Du Lis, and which put forth a pedigree to prove themselves the relatives-not as a modern traveller unguardedly expresses it, the descendants !-of the holy Maid.

The cottage in which Joan had lived at Domremy was visited by Montaigne in his travels. He found the front daubed over with rude paintings of her exploits, and in its vicinity beheld l'Arbre des Fées,' which had so often shaded her childhood, still flourishing in a green old age, under the new

* Chronique du Doyen de St. Thiebault à Metz finissant en 1445; cité par Calmet, Histoire de Lorraine, vol. ii., p. 702. † Collection des Mémoires, vol. viii., p. 311. ‡ Compte-ren face de Buchon, p. 66; and Sismondi, vol. xiii., P.

193.

name of 'l'Arbre de la Pucelle.' Gradu- | mand were so glaring, that scarce one of the ally the remains of this house have dwindled chiefs, or princes, or prelates, who heard her to one single room, which is said to have been Joan's, and which in the year 1817 was employed as a stable. But we rejoice to learn that the Council-General of the Department has since, with becoming spirit, purchased the venerable tenement, and rescued it from such unworthy uses.*

From the preceding narrative it will be easy to trace the true character of Joan. A thorough and earnest persuasion that hers was the rightful cause-that in all she had said she spoke the truth-that in all she did she was doing her duty-a courage that did not shrink before embattled armies, or beleagured walls, or judges thirsting for her blood-a serenity amidst wounds and sufferings, such as the great poet of Tuscany ascribes to the dauntless usurper of Naples:'Mostrommi una piaga a sommo 'l petto

in council or familiar conversation, appears
to have retained beyond the few first days
the slightest faith in her mission. At best
they regarded her as a useful tool in their
hands, from the influence which they saw
her wield upon the army and the people.
And herein lies, we think, a further proof of
her perfect honesty of purpose.
rate impostor is most likely to deceive those
on whom he has opportunity and leisure to
play his artifices, while the crowd beyond
the reach of them most commonly remains
unmoved. Now the very reverse of this was
always the case with Joan of Arc.

The fate of Joan in literature has been strange,-almost as strange as her fate in life. The ponderous cantos of Chapelain in her praise have long since perished--all but a few lines that live embalmed in the satires of Boileau. But, besides Schiller's powerful drama, two considerable narrative poems yet survive with Joan of Arc for their subject,— the epic of Southey, and the epic of Voltaire. The one, a young poet's earnest and touching tribute to heroic worth-the first flight of the muse that was ere long to soar over India and Spain; the other full of ribaldly and blasphemous jests, holding out the Maid of Orleans as a fitting mark for slander and decharacter more pure-more generous-more rision. But from whom did these far difhumble amidst fancied visions and undoubted victories—more free from all taint of selfish-ferent poems proceed? The shaft of ridicule came from a French-the token of respect from an English-hand!

Poi disse SORRIDENDO: Io son Manfredi !'t -a most resolute will on all points that were connected with her mission-perfect meekness and humility on all that were not-a clear, plain sense, that could confound the casuistry of sophists-an ardent loyalty, such as our own Charles I. inspired-a dutiful devotion, on all points, to her country and to God. Nowhere do modern annals display a

*

pro

of the sixteenth century. There is no por

of 1606 and 1612, and they greatly differ trait extant; the two earliest engravings are from each other. Yet who would not readily ascribe to Joan in fancy the very form and

ness-more akin to the champions and martyrs of old times. All this is no more than justice and love of truth would require us to Of Joan's person no authentic resemblance say. But when we find some French histo. now remains. A statue to her memory had rians, transported by an enthusiasm almost been raised upon the bridge at Orleans, at equal to that of Joan herself, represent her the sole charge-so said the inscription-of the matrons and maids of that city: this as filling the part of a general or statesmanas skilful in leading armies, or directing coun-bably preserved some degree of likeness, but cils-we must withhold our faith. Such unfortunately perished in the religious wars skill, indeed, from a country girl, without either education or experience, would be, had she really possessed it, scarcely less supernatural than the visions which she claimed. But the facts are far otherwise. In affairs of state, Joan's voice was never heard in affairs of war, all her proposals will be found to resolve themselves into two, either to rush headlong upon the enemy, often in the very point where he was strongest, or to offer frequent and public prayers to the Almighty. We are not aware of any single instance in which her military suggestions were not these, or nearly akin to these. Nay, more, as we have elsewhere noticed, her want of knowledge and of capacity to com

Collection des Mémoires, vol. viii., p. 214. † Dante, Purgatorio, Canto iii.

ume.

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;
*The Vision of Kehama,' and Roderick the
Last of the Goths. We have lately read Joan of
Arc,' revised, in the collected edition of Mr.
Southey's poems, of which it forms the first vol-
In his preface, dated May 10, 1837, he has
these words, and few, indeed, are they who will
read them unmoved: I have entered upon the
serious task of arranging and collecting the whole
of my poetical works. What was it, indeed, but
rations of my youth! Well may it be called a se
to bring in review before me the dreams and aspi-
rious task, thus to resuscitate the past. But seri
ous though it be, it is not painful to one who knows
that the end of his journey cannot be far distant,
and, by the blessing of God, looks on to its termi-
nation with a sure and certain hope.'

features so exquisitely moulded by a yenng princess? Who that has ever trodden the gorgeous galleries of Versailles has not fondly lingered before that noble work of art-before that touching impersonation of the Christian heroine-the head meekly bended, and the hands devoutly clasping the sword in sign of the cross, but firm resolution imprinted on that close-pressed mouth, and beaming from that lofty brow!-Whose thoughts, as he paused to gaze and gaze again, might not sometimes wander from old times to the present, and turn to the sculptresssprung from the same Royal lineage which Joan had risen in arms to restore-so highly gifted in talent, in fortunes, in hopes of happiness-yet doomed to an end so grievous and untimely Thus the statue has grown to be a monument, not only to the memory of the Maid, but to her own: thus future generations in France-all those at least who know how to prize either genius or goodness in woman-will love to blend together the two names--the female artist with the female warrior--MARY OF WURTEMBERG and JOAN OF ARC.

When Sir Humphrey Davy wrote on agricultural chemistry, Organic Chemistry was almost unknown. That happy genius did as much as could be done with the materials at his command, and established some principles of the highest importance. The work before us is an attempt to pursue the same path of inductive inquiry, with the aid of the more extended means which the present state of science affords.

Most of our readers are aware that the greater part of all vegetables consists of but four elements-namely, carbon, hydrogen, oxygen, and nitrogen; very often of the first three alone; while the remainder is composed of certain saline, earthy, and metallic compounds, which form the ashes that remain when vegetables are burned. The former are called the organic, the latter the inorganic elements of plants. Professor Liebig has demonstrated that the latter, although occurring in very small quantity, are yet as essential to the development of the plant as the former; and it is obvious that the first inquiry, in such a work as his, must be as to the sources from which all these necessary constituents are derived, and the best means of supplying them.

ART. II.-Organic Chemistry, in its Ap-general opinion of writers on vegetable plications to Agriculture and Physiology. By Justus Liebig, Professor of Chemistry in the University of Giessen. Translated from the German MS.

of the Author by Dr. Lyon Playfair.

8vo. London. 1840.

PROFESSOR LIEBIG has long enjoyed an European reputation as one of the most profound and sagacious of chemists; and in particular has taken the lead, both by his personal labours and by those of the admirable school which he has formed in Germany, in those researches into the chemistry of the animal and vegetable kingdom, which have, within the last fifteen years, created a new science, that of Organic Chemistry.

Agriculture,' he says, 'is the true foundation of all trade and industry--it is the foundation of the riches of states. But a rational system of agriculture cannot be formed without the application of scientific principles; for such a system must be based on an exact acquaintance with the means of nutrition of vegetables, and with the influence of soils, and action of manure upon them. This knowledge we must seek from chemistry, which teaches the mode of investigating the composition and studying the characters of the different substances from which plants derive their nourishment.'-Preface, p. vii.

With regard to the carbon of plants, the physiology, and of practical agriculturists, attributes its origin to the substance called humus, or vegetable mould, which is present in all fertile soils, and which is merely the remains of former vegetables in a state of decay. This substance, either alone or in combination with lime and other alkalies, is believed to be absorbed by the roots, and thus directly to furnish carbon for the plant. But this view has been shown by M. Liebig to be quite untenable; and he has demonstrated by a most ingenious and convincing train of argument, that the carbon of plants is derived from the carbonic acid of the atmosphere. We are tempted to quote pretty largely on this point, both because this section affords an excellent specimen of our author's reasoning, and also because, in the economy of nature, the supply of carbon to plants is beautifully associated with the restoration to the atmosphere of the oxygen removed from it by the respiration of animals and other processes, and thus preserves the air constantly in the same state of fitness for the life of animals.

After proving, from the analysis of the properties of humus, that it cannot yield to vegetables, in the most favourable cir

cumstances, more than a mere fraction of different. It is not denied that manure exercises their annual increase of carbon, he pro- an influence upon the development of plants; ceeds :

'Other considerations, of a higher nature, confute the common view respecting the nutritive office of humic acid (humus) in a manner so clear and conclusive, that it is difficult to conceive how it could have been so generally adopted. Fertile land produces carbon in the form of wood, hay, grain, and other kinds of produce, the masses of which, however, differ in a remarkable degree.'-p. 13.

but it may be affirmed with positive certainty that it neither serves for the production of the carbon nor has any influence upon it, because we find that the quantity of carbon produced by manured lands is not greater than that yielded by lands which are not manured. The discussion of the manner in which the manure acts has nothing to do with the present question, which is the origin of the carbon. The carbon must be derived from other sources; and as the soil does not yield it, it can only be extracted from the atmosphere.

mus arises from the decay of plants. No primitive humus, therefore, can have existed; for plants must have preceded the humus. Now, whence did the first vegetables derive their carbon ?-and in what form is the carbon contained

in the atmosphere?

'These two questions involve the consideration of two most remarkable natural phenomena, which, by their reciprocal and uninterrupted influence, maintain the life of individual animals and vegetables, and the continued existence of both kingdoms of organic nature.'-pp. 14--16.

Here follows a calculation of the average in plants, it has never been considered that the 'In attempting to explain the origin of carbon annual produce of one Hessian acre of question is intimately connected with the origin average land, in the different shapes of of humus. It is universally admitted that huwood, meadow-hay, corn, and beet root: the land in the two latter cases being manured; in the two former, the forest and the meadow, not manured. Notwith. standing the vast difference of bulk, weight, and shape, in these different forms of produce, the quantity of carbon in each is almost exactly the same; viz. about 1000 lbs. per acre. This interesting result, in the case of the forest, is derived from an account, on the best authority, of the quantity of wood annually cut for fuel in the admirably managed forests of Ger- The two phenomena here alluded to many, without injury to the future value are the well-known facts that the proporof the forest. This quantity may fairly tions of oxygen and carbonic acid gases be considered as the equivalent of the an- in the atmosphere are, and have long connual crop of an annual plant, such as corn, tinued stationary; notwithstanding the where the soil is judiciously cropped, and not unfairly exhausted. In the cases of hay, corn, and beet-root, the crop was simply weighed, and the amount of carbon ascertained by analysis.

enormous quantities of oxygen withdrawn at every moment from the atmosphere by the respiration of men and animals, as well as by the processes of combustion and putrefaction; the whole of which oxygen is converted into an equal volume of carbon'It must be concluded from these incontestable ic acid gas, and returned in this form to facts that equal surfaces of cultivated land, of the atmosphere: so that we should expect an average fertility, produce equal quantities of the carbonic acid to increase exactly in carbon; yet how unlike have been the different stead of the proportions of both remaining proportion as the oxygen diminished, inunchanged.

conditions of the growth of the plants from which

this has been deduced!

'It is quite evident that the quantities of carbonic acid and oxygen in the atmosphere which remain unchanged by lapse of time, must stand in some fixed relation to one another: a cause must exist, which prevents the increase of carbonic acid, by removing that which is constantly produced; and there must also be some means of replacing the oxygen which is removed from the air by the processes of combustion and putrefaction, as well as by the respiration of animals. Both these causes are united in the process of vegetable life.

Let us now inquire whence the grass in a meadow, or the wood in a forest, receives its carbon, since there no manure-no carbon-has been given to it as nourishment;-and how it happens that the soil, thus exhausted, instead of becoming poorer, becomes every year richer in this element. A certain (and very large) quantity of carbon is taken every year from the forest or meadow in the form of wood or hay; and in spite of this, the quantity of carbon in the soil augments-it becomes richer in humus. It is said that in fields and orchards, all the carbon which may have been taken away as herbs, as straw, as seeds, as fruit, is replaced by means of manure; and yet this soil produces The facts stated in the preceding pages prove no more carbon than that of the forest or meadow, where it is never replaced. It cannot be conceived that the laws of the nutrition of plants are changed by culture-that the sources of carbon for fruit or grain, for grass or trees, are ygen.

that the carbon of plants must be derived exclusively from the atmosphere. Now carbon exists in the atmosphere only in the form of carbonic acid; that is, in a state of combination with ox

Again:

'It has already been mentioned likewise that | which it is required. The quantity of carbon carbon and the elements of water form the prin- contained in sea-water is proportionally still cipal constituents of vegetables; the quantity greater.'-p. 21. of the substances which do not possess this composition being proportionally very small. Now the relative quantity of oxygen in the whole mass (of vegetables) is less than in carbonic sources of oxygen gas are the tropics and warm "The proper, constant, and inexhaustible acid. It is therefore certain that plants must climates, where a sky seldom clouded permits possess the property of decomposing carbon- the glowing rays of the sun to shine upon an ic acid, since they appropriate its carbon for immeasurably luxuriant vegetation. The temtheir own use. The formation of their principal perate and frigid zones, where artificial warmth component parts must necessarily be attended must replace the deficient heat of the sun, prowith the separation of the carbon of the carbonic duce, on the contrary, carbonic acid in superaacid from its oxygen, which latter must be re-bundance, which is expended in the nutrition of turned to the atmosphere, while the carbon enters into combination with water, or its elements. The atmosphere must thus receive a volume of oxygen for every volume of carbonic acid which has been decomposed.'-pp. 18-20.

After some details proving, from the experiments of Priestley, Sennebier, and De Saussure, that plants when exposed to light, really possess the property of thus decomposing carbonic acid, and liberating oxygen, Professor Liebig adds :

the tropical plants. The same stream of air
which moves by the revolution of the earth
from the equator to the poles, brings to us in its
from the equator the oxygen generated
passage
there, and carries away the carbonic acid formed
during our winter.

'Plants thus improve the air by the removal of carbonic acid, and by the restoration of oxygen, which is immediately applied to the use of man and animals.... Vegetable culture heighthealthy country would be rendered quite unens the salubrity of a country; and a previously inhabitable by the cessation of all cultivation.'p. 23.

lime and perfect arrangements by which much of the economy of nature is maintained; they point directly, in the words of our author, to an infinite wisdom, for the unfathomable profundity of which language has no expression.' The importance of the conclusions thus established to a scientific system of agriculture is too obvious to require comment.

'The life of plants is closely connected with that of animals, in a most simple manner, and for a wise and sublime purpose. The presence compressed, we trust they will convey to Although the above extracts are much of a rich and luxuriant vegetation may be conceived without the concurrence of animal life, our readers some idea of the cogency and but the existence of animals is undoubtedly beauty of the arguments by which Prodependent on the life and development of fessor Liebig has established his proposiplants. Plants not only afford the means of tions. They leave no doubt as to the subnutrition for the growth and continuance of animal organization, but they likewise furnish that which is essential to the support of the important vital process of respiration; for besides separating all noxious matters from the atmosphere, they are an inexhaustible source of pure oxygen, thus supplying the loss which the air is continually sustaining. Animals, on the other hand, expire carbon (as carbonic acid) which plants inspire; and thus the composition of the medium in which both exist, namely, the atmosphere, is preserved constantly unchanged. 'It may be asked, is the quantity of carbonic acid in the atmosphere, which scarcely amounts to one-thousandth part, sufficient for the wants of the whole vegetation on the surface of the earth? Is it possible that the carbon of plants has its origin from the air alone? This question is very easily answered. It is known that a column of air of 2,216-66 lbs. Hessian rests upon every square foot Hessian of the surface of the earth; the diameter of the earth and its superficies are likewise known, so that the whole weight of the atmosphere can be calcu lated with the utmost exactness. The thousandth part of this is carbonic acid, which contains upwards of twenty-seven per cent. of carbon. By this calculation it can be shown that the atmosphere contains 3000 billion lbs. Hessian of carbon; a quantity which amounts to more than the weight of all the plants, and of all the strata of coal and brown coal, which exist upon the earth. This carbon is therefore more than adequate to all the purposes for

that the absorption of carbon from the atmos'How does it happen,' asks Professor Liebig, phere by plants is doubted by all botanists and vegetable physiologists, and that by the greater number the purification of the air by have arisen from the action of plants on the air means of them is wholly denied? These doubts in the absence of light, that is, during the night.'-p. 26.

These doubts and difficulties are discussed and dissipated by our author in a most masterly chapter, which, however, we cannot quote at present. He candidly acknowledges that

'The opinion is not new that the carbonic acid of the air serves for the nutriment of plants, and that its carbon is assimilated by them; it has been admitted, defended, and argued for, by the soundest and most intelligent natural philosophers, namely, by Priestly, Sennebier,

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