Hides her fruit under them, hard to find, And, being a tree of steadfast mind, Makes no show of blossom or berry, Lures not an idle bird to make merry

Under her boughs, her dark rough boughs, The prudent mulberry tree.

But by-and-by, when the flowers grow few,
And the summer fruits dwindle, poor to view,
Out she comes in her matron grace,
With the purple myriads of her race,
Full of plenty from root to crown,
Showering plenty her feet adown;
While far overhead, hang gorgeously,
Large luscious berries of sanguine dye;

For the best grows highest, always highest, Upon the mulberry tree.

And so she lives through her fruitful season-
Fairest tree that blows summer breeze on!
Till the breeze sharpens to fierce wind cold,
And the sun's warm beams wax pale and old ;-
Sudden hoar frosts the white lawn cover,
And the day of her beauty and strength is over.
Her blighted berries strew all the grass,
Or wither greenly aloft. We pass

Like faithless friends, when her summer ends;Not a glance for the mulberry tree!

Yet there she stands in the autumn sun,
Her fruits all gathered, her duty done:

And lets the wind rave through her emptied boughs
Like a mother left lone in a childless house:
Till some still night, 'neath the frosty skies,
She drops her green clothing off and dies;-
Answering the call that nature sends,
And ending her life as a good life ends:
Ripe without haste-dying, green to the last,
The grand old mulberry tree.

PARISE THE DUCHESS.

A Tale of the Carlovingians. AMONG the great barons of the time of the glorious Charlemagne, who was more noble or more powerful than Raymond, Duke of Saint Gilles? for in his obedience were Vauvenice, Beaucaire, Tarascon, and Valence, and all the countries around, and he had married the beautiful lady Parise, the daughter of the high duke, Garnier de Nanteuil. But there was a great moral sore in Duke Raymond's court at Vauvenice-his douze pairs were twelve unprincipled traitors of the "lineage" of Ganelon, of him who had betrayed Charlemagne's army in Spain, who had been the cause of the disaster of Roncevaux and of the death of Roland. They had murdered Garnier de Nanteuil, the father of the fair Duchesse Parise, and their rightful lord.

Once, when Duke Raymond held a full court, as usual, on Ascension Day, the twelve traitors met in council together to consider their particular interests; and their chief, Berenger, who addressed them as their leader, spoke to the following purpose :-"We have

slain Garnier, but his daughter remains, and as long as she lives we are not safe-one of these days she will revenge his death by causing us all to be hanged or burnt. I propose that we provide against this danger by poisoning her; and I have a fair daughter whom we will marry to Duke Raymond, then we shall all be his peers and masters in the land." Berenger added that when he was a student he had learnt how to mix a very subtle poison, and with this he offered to prepare poisoned apples and send them to the duchess. All the "traitors" agreed to Berenger's plan, but it failed in its direct aim through an unforeseen accident. Thirty tempting apples are imbued with the deadly poison, and sent as a present to Parise by a messenger, who was instructed not to say by whom they were sent, and who, on his return from his errand of evil, was murdered, in order that there might remain no witness of the crime. Meanwhile, the duchess has taken one of the apples to eat it; but she is prevented by the sudden arrival of Duke Raymond's brother, a young and handsome knight, named Beuve, who is received gracefully, and invited to partake of the fruit. He took the apple in his hand, and in an instant dropped dead. Parise was, as might be expected, shocked and disconcerted; but other feelings soon gave way to the sense of her own danger and, fearing to be accused of murder, she contrived, with the assistance of a faithful maid, to carry away the body unobserved and throw it into an adjoining river; but it had not been carried far by the stream when it was dragged out by fishermen, and the news spread abroad that the duke's brother, Beuve, was dead. The apple still remained tightly grasped in his fingers, and when it was taken from them and thrown into a corner, a swine picked it up to eat and died instantly. The manner of Beuve's death was thus discovered. Duke Raymond had just inquired for his brother, and when he heard what had happened, he made a vow that he would inflict upon the murderer a terrible punishment.

The traitors also were informed of these events, and they held council again. Another cause hastened their resolutions: the duchess was enceinte, and, if she were not soon put to death, a child would be born, who might some day avenge the murder of his grandfather, Garnier. One of the conspirators, Aumauguin, stepped forward to offer his services. He disguised himself as a pilgrim returning from Rome, and in this manner presented himself before the duke, and declared that he had become acquainted, through confession, of a great crime, which he wished to reveal

to him. He told him that the duchess had poisoned his brother; because, as she had no child herself, she feared lest, in the event of her husband's death, young Beuve should inherit his dominions, and lest she should then be driven from her high position into private life and poverty. To reveal a confession was a great crime against ecclesiastic propriety; but the next step of the conspirators was a still greater breach of knightly honour and integrity. The only trial to which the duchess could submit her cause was that of private duel or combat, and if she denied the crime, the accuser was obliged to prove it by force of arms against whoever might offer himself as her champion. It was arranged that one of the "traitors," Milo, who held the office of chamberlain to the duchess, and whom she had loaded with benefits, should present himself as her champion; but that, after a slight show of resistance, he should allow himself to be vanquished, and thus betray her to her destruction.

To add to the baseness of this treason, Milo breaks his lance and his sword, and joins the pieces together in such a manner that the two weapons would look perfectly whole and sound, and yet, at the first blow, they would break. As the result of these treacherous contrivances, Milo is vanquished, and Parise, condemned to be burnt, is dragged to the stake. To complete the treason, a hoary bishop, who also was one of the family of the traitors, offers himself to the duchess as her confessor, and immediately proclaims that she had avowed her guilt. But a bold clerk, more honest than the rest, here interfered, and, at his instigation, the bishop, accused of the crime of betraying a confession, was burnt at the stake which had been made for the duchess.

The shock of all these events was almost too much for Duke Raymond, who tenderly loved his duchess, and the sternness which he had first shown soon gave way to more compassionate feelings. He changed the sentence of death into exile, and Parise was driven from her country; but the rigorous sentence forbade anybody, on pain of death, to give her shelter or show charity towards her. There was, however, an old noble, named Clarembaut, honest, and bold, and wise, who had already expostulated with the duke on the ease with which he listened to accusations against his duchess; but, finding his counsels treated with contempt, he retired from the court. He had been greatly in favour with the old duke, Garnier, and was the father of fourteen good knights. To Clarembaut's mansion Parise first directs her steps, and the old man comforts and encourages her, and,

for the love of her father, he orders ten of his sons to accompany her in her exile, for her support and protection, and makes them swear never to leave her for fifteen years.

Parise and her ten attendants depart from Vauvenice in the middle of the night. They wander long, until at last they arrive in the great forest of Hungary, where the lady was taken with the pains of labour. All alone, and without the necessary aid, under the shade of a lofty pine, she was delivered of a male child, which bore on its right shoulder the mark of a royal cross. The duchess swathed her infant with rich cloth, as was then the custom, and called her knights to look at it. They found her so weak and feeble that it was impossible to proceed any further, and they broke down boughs from the trees, made her a lodge with them, and laid her on a bed inside. Now, the Hungarians of this period were looked upon as inheriting the predatory habits of their forefathers, the Huns, who laid waste so large a portion of the Roman Empire, and among them robbery was regarded as a very honourable profession. A party of three Hungarian robbers were prowling about the forest near where Parise and her knights had taken their lodging. They watched them, but found them too much on their defence to allow of an attack, but one, approaching in the darkness the place where the lady lay, felt with his hand the swathed infant, and, believing it to be a parcel of valuable articles, carried it away. Next morning, when at daybreak the loss was discovered, Parise was overcome with grief; but the brothers searched the forest in vain, and in sorrow they turned their steps backward until they reached the city of Cologne, and presented themselves before its lord, the Count Thierry. Parise told him that she was a lady of rank flying from her country, where her father had been slaughtered, that her newly born infant had just been stolen from her, and that she sought an asylum in some great man's family as nurse or governess to his child. The Count Thierry took compassion on her, received her into his household as governess to his young son, and took her ten knights into his service.

king, to be washed and baptised, and we will have him nourished and taught, and so, as he grows up, with God's blessing, he will learn to steal." The king gave his consent, caused the child to be carried by the minister to the font, and was so charmed with its beauty that he stood as its godfather, gave it his own name, and called it Hugh. Fifteen years passed by, and young Hugh had become a noble youth, well taught in all princely accomplishments. First, he was instructed in letters till he was proficient in learning; next he learnt tables and chess, till there was not a player in the world who could mate him; and then he learned to manage his horse and handle his spear, till few knights could pretend to equal him; we hear nothing of the progress he made in the art of stealing, for he appears to have regarded this accomplishment with little admiration, though he rose higher and higher in the king's love.

One day King Hugh sat in his hall at his high table, amid his barons and knights, and when they had all eaten well and drunk plentifully, and the napkins were withdrawn from the tables, he called his principal advisers, and | addressed them as follows:-"Lords," he said, "listen to me. I am aged and hoary, for I have passed my hundredth year, and it is time to withdraw from the bustle of life. I have a noble daughter, and an adopted son whom I love. I intend to marry my daughter to Hugh, and leave him the kingdom, and he shall reign after me when I am dead.”

Among the nobles was a traitor of the kindred of Ganelon, his name was Gontagles de Losane. He, of course, was an alien himself; he had visited Hungary, and been retained at King Hugh's court, where he became one of his nobles. Gontagles replied to the king: "I, sire, cannot approve your design; have you not enough of dukes and counts of high parentage at your court who are worthy of your daughter's hand, rather than give her to a mere foundling, of whose origin we are ignorant." But the king loved Hugh, and believed in the nobility of his blood, and he was not easily turned from his purpose. It was finally resolved to put the young Hugh upon the trial of his character. "Sire," said Gontagles, "send for the three robbers, and let Hugh go and lodge with them. At night they shall take him into the royal treasury to rob it, and if he be really of noble blood, he will prove it by stealing none of the money."

a ready consent, for, as stated above, robbery was not considered a dishonourable way of obtaining wealth; he urged only that he was too young to be able to perform any great exploit. But when he learnt that it was the king's treasure they proposed to rob, he refused in an outburst of indignation. He was informed that he had already consented to the robbery and had associated himself with them, and that it was now too late to withdraw; and, under fear of violence, he went with them to the royal treasury. They made a hole in the wall, thrust Hugh through it, and told him, on pain of their vengeance, to examine well the treasure within, and bring away as much as he could. Hugh looked at the treasure which lay amassed before him, and admired it, but touched none: and then, seeing three beautiful ivory dice lying on a casket, he took them and put them in his bosom, and then returned to the three robbers, who were appeased by an evasive statement; and, in fact, when they knew the truth, they had no cause for dissatisfaction, as they had performed their task of subjecting Hugh to a trial. But the " traitor," Gontagles, persisted in his spiteful hostility, and accused him before the king of robbing the treasury; but Hugh refuted the charge so triumphantly, producing the three dice as his evidence, that the king felt more convinced than ever that he was of princely blood, and announced openly his intention of giving him his daughter and kingdom.

Young Hugh had now fallen under the influence of a new sentiment-an irresistible desire to discover who were his parents; and he resolved within himself that he would not marry the king's daughter until he had fathomed this mysterious secret. The hostility and reproaches of the Hungarian youths of his own age, sons of barons and peers, made him feel the irksomeness of his position. "Accursed be the day," they said, when they met together, "when this low fellow was first brought here. We know neither the father who begat him or the mother who bore him. If he were slain it would be for our advantage -we should then be truly the lords of the land, and we should soon be reconciled with the king."

"Yes," said the son of the traitor Gontagles, who resembled his father in wickedness; "let us challenge him to a game at chess in the deep cellar of the palace, where nobody will hear what takes place. We will call him bastard and foundling; he is sure to take up the quarrel; let each be provided with a good sharp knife, and we will all fall upon him and put him to death."

This plot was immediately carried into

effect; and Hugh accepted the challenge, and went to the place of rendezvous in the cellar totally unarmed. As might be supposed from his superior skill, he soon checkmated his opponents, but he showed no feeling of exultation. It was his four antagonists who began the quarrel; and, while they all drew their knives from their girdles, the son of Gontagles stepped forward and insulted him with his doubtful birth. Hugh was a youth of great strength, and a blow of his fist laid him lifeless on the ground; on which the others attacked him all at once with their knives, but he had seized upon the chess-board, and with that as a weapon, after receiving four knifewounds, he brained his assailants. Hugh had thus slain the sons of four of the great barons of Hungary, and, with some fear of the consequences, he quickly mounted the steps which led up from the cellar, locked the doors which gave the only access to it, and threw the keys through a window where they were not likely to be found, hurried to the stables and saddled the best horse in them, buckled a trusty sword by his side, and rode forth to seek his fortune in some other land. On his way out of the palace,, he met the princess, his betrothed, who had fallen deeply in love with him, and, when he told her what had taken place, she fell to the ground in a swoon. But Hugh continued his flight, while the attendants carried the princess to her father, who, when he heard her story, swore that he did not care if his intended sonin-law had killed four hundred of his young barons instead of four, and ordered some of his men to mount and hasten in pursuit, in the hope of persuading him to return; but in vain.

Forward rides Hugh, through wood and over stream, totally ignorant of the direction he is taking. Soon he enters a vast forest, and in one of its most retired glades he dismounts for the first time to rest himself. Here he feels unusual emotions, and bursts into involuntary tears, wondering at this unwonted agitation in a spot which, to his knowledge, he had never seen before-but Providence has led him to take his first repose on the very spot on which he was born. A step further, and he washes his face and hands in the same stream in which he was first washed after he was introduced to the world. Then he rides on, and soon arrives at the castle in which the Duchess Parise had received hospitality when she issued from the forest, and where he experiences the same attention; and when he leaves, his host, so far from accepting any remuneration for his hospitality, offers to give his guest a hundred shillings, for the love, as he said, of a noble lady who had

passed that way fifteen years before, who had there first communicated in his chapel after the birth of a son in the forest, who had been stolen from her, and to whom, he added, young Hugh bore a striking resemblance. Here Hugh has his wounds dressed, and starts on his journey refreshed and strengthened. At length he arrives at a spot where four king's high roads branched off in different directions, and, totally unable to make a choice, he commits himself to the guidance of heaven, and gives his horse the rein. The latter takes the road for Cologne, where they arrive in due time, cross the bridge, proceed direct to the palace, and find Count Thierry seated under a noble pine, and attended by the ten sons of Clarembaut. mounts, salutes the count courteously, informs him that he is on his way from Hungary to France, and asks him for his hospitality. "Willingly," replied Count Thierry, "no man asking hospitality here was ever denied." His horse is delivered to a squire to be taken to the stable, while the count mounts into the hall, where the governess, Parise, is seated at the high table, and young Hugh is appointed to the honourable duty of assisting to serve the wine at the table.

Hugh dis

The

The feelings of Parise are strangely moved by the appearance of this young stranger, and she thinks in herself how much he resembles the noble duke, her husband. ten brothers also fix their eyes upon him, and remark to each other his likeness to Raymond of Vauvenice. After dinner, they lead him with them to a vaulted chamber, their place of assembly, and there treat him with every mark of regard. Parise, meanwhile, is more and more agitated by strange feelings and presentiments, and obtains a private interview with the stranger, and obtains from him a truthful statement of what he knew of his own history.

"I never saw," said he, "my father or my mother. When an infant, three robbers stole me in the forest, and carried me straight into Hungary, where I was taken and nurtured by King Hugh, who caused me to be baptised and gave me his name." Hugh went on to recount all his subsequent history, and told the cause of his flight. There could be no longer a doubt the duchess had recovered her long-lost child; and, in the strength of her emotions, she fainted four times before she could muster strength to tell him that she was his mother. Hugh eagerly demanded who she was, and who was his father, and whether he was bastard or born from legitimate measure; "for," he said, in the true spirit of that time, "it is better any day to be a good bastard than a bad man, however