no more against the King of France; “but King John and his council would not accept anything of the sort, saying that “the prince and a hundred of his knights must come and put themselves as prisoners in the hands of the King of France.”  Neither the Prince of Wales nor Chandos had any hesitation in rejecting such a demand:  “God forbid,” said Chandos, “that we should go without a fight!  If we be taken or discomfited by so many fine men-at-arms, and in so great a host, we shall incur no blame; and if the day be for us, and fortune be pleased to consent thereto, we shall be the most honored folk in the world.”  The battle took place on the 19th of September, 1356, in the morning.  There is no occasion to give the details of it here, as was done but lately in the case of Crecy; we should merely have to tell an almost perfectly similar story.  The three battles which, from the fourteenth to the fifteenth century, were decisive as to the fate of France, to wit, Crecy, on the 26th of August, 1346; Poictiers, on the 19th of September, 1356; and Azincourt, on the 25th of October, 1415, considered as historical events, were all alike, offering a spectacle of the same faults and the same reverses, brought about by the same causes.  In all three, no matter what was the difference in date, place, and persons engaged, it was a case of undisciplined forces, without co-operation or order, and ill-directed by their commanders, advancing, bravely and one after another, to get broken against a compact force, under strict command, and as docile as heroic.  From the battle of Poictiers we will cull but that glorious feat which was peculiar to it, and which might be called as unfortunate as glorious if the captivity of King John had been a misfortune for France.  Nearly all his army had been beaten and dispersed; and three of his sons, with the eldest, Charles, Duke of Normandy, at their head, had left the field of battle with the wreck of the divisions they commanded.  John still remained there with the knights of the Star, a band of faithful knights from Picardy, Burgundy, Normandy, and Poitou, his constable, the Duke of Artois, his standard-bearer, Geoffrey de Charny, and his youngest son Philip, a boy of fourteen, who clung obstinately to his side, saying, every instant, “Father, ware right!  Father, ware left!”

[Illustration:  “Father, ware right!  Father, ware left!”——­326]

The king was surrounded by assailants, of whom some did and some did not know him, and all of whom kept shouting, “Yield you! yield you! else you die.”  The banner of France fell at his side; for Geoffrey de Charny was slain.  Denis de Morbecque, a knight of St. Omer, made his way up to the king, and said to him, in good French, “Sir, sir, I pray you, yield!” “To whom shall I yield me?” said John:  where is my cousin, the Prince of Wales?” “Sir, yield you to me; I will bring you to him.”  “Who are you?” “Denis de Morbecque, a knight of Artois; I serve the King of England, not being able to live in