"THE LOVE OF NATURE. "I lift my head, and I see a flock of wild geese. Among those travellers one, who erst was in the van, now lags behind her mates. See how she flies behind the rest. Why does she linger thus? Because from the heights of heaven she wonders at the beauty of the scene." "Good! good!" cried the listeners. Some of the princes repeated the last line, shaking their heads with satisfaction. Several other quatrains were read; then the Kisaki repeated hers:-- "THE SNOW. "The sky is clear; the bees hum o'er the garden beds; A balmy breeze blows through the trees; It makes the plum-blossoms fall in showers. How delightful is the spring snow!" "You are the master of us all!" was the enthusiastic shout. "What are our verses beside yours!" "Our great poet, Tsourai-Iouki,[1] never wrote a more perfect poem than that," said the Prince of Nagato. "It was from that poet I drew my inspiration," said the Kisaki, smiling with pleasure. "But it is your turn to read, Iwakura," she continued, glancing at the Prince. Nagato opened his fan and read:-- "THE WILLOW. "The thing which we love more than all else, we prefer that no one else should love. It belongs to another. So the willow, which takes root in our garden, Bends, blown by the wind, and adorns our neighbor's wall with its branches." "The illustrious Tikangue[2] might be your brother," said the Kisaki; "there is no quatrain in his works superior to that. I wish to preserve the fan that your hand has illustrated; give it to me, I beg." Nagato approached the Queen, and, kneeling, offered her the fan. Fatkoura abruptly recited the following lines, which she improvised on the spur of the moment:-- "The pheasant runs through the fields; he attracts all eyes by his gilded plumage; He cries aloud as he seeks his food. Then he turns towards his mate, And through love for her he involuntarily betrays the place of his retreat to men." The Queen frowned, and paled slightly. A transport of rage made her heart palpitate; for she saw that Fatkoura, by this improvisation, hurled an outrageous insult at Nagato and herself. She slandered her sovereign with the daring of a soul which has lost all, and offers one buckler to revenge,--despair. The Kisaki, feeling her inability to punish, was seized by a vague terror, and repressed her wrath. If she acknowledged that she understood the injurious intention of Fatkoura's words, must she not confess to a guilty prepossession,--an interest unworthy of her majesty,--in the love to which her beauty had given birth in the heart of one of her subjects?