see their nose,
Instead of taking up a stick to give them blows,
I turn aside; perhaps they never may return, the horde!
He who young robs, when older lets himself be robbed!

Endnotes to MY VINEYARD.

{1} Jasmin purchased a little piece of ground, which he dedicated to his
"Curl-papers" (Papilhoto), on the road to Scaliger's villa, and addressed
the above lines to his lady-admirer in Paris, Madame Louis veill.

{2} From a popular song by Gaston Phebus.

{3} Referring to Verona, the villa of Scaliger, the great scholar.

{4} Scaliger.

FRANCONNETTE.

FIRST PART.

Blaise de Montluc--Festival at Roquefort--The Prettiest
Maiden--The Soldier and the Shepherds--Kissing and Panting--
Courage of Pascal--Fury of Marcel--Terrible Contest.

'Twas at the time when Blaise the murderous
Struck heavy blows by force of arms.
He hewed the Protestants to pieces,
And, in the name of God the Merciful,
Flooded the earth with sorrow, blood, and tears.

Alas! 'twas pitiful--far worse beyond the hills,
Where flashing gun and culverin were heard;
There the unhappy bore their heavy cross,
And suffered, more than elsewhere, agonising pain,
Were killed and strangled, tumbled into wells;
'Tween Penne and Fumel the saddened earth was gorged.
Men, women, children, murdered everywhere,
The hangman even stopped for breath;
While Blaise, with heart of steel, dismounted at the gate
Of his strong castle wall,
With triple bridge and triple fosse;
Then kneeling, made his pious prayers,
Taking the Holy Sacrament,
His hands yet dripping with fraternal blood!{1}

Now every shepherd, every shepherd lass,
At the word Huguenot shuddered with affright,
Even 'midst their laughing courtship.
And yet it came to pass
That in a hamlet, 'neath a castled height,
One Sunday, when a troop of sweethearts danced
Upon the day of Roquefort fete,
And to a fife the praises sang
Of Saint James and the August weather--
That bounteous month which year by year,
Through dew-fall of the evening bright,
And heat of Autumn noons doth bring
Both grapes and figs to ripening.

It was the finest fete that eyes had ever seen
Under the shadow of the leafy parasol,
Where aye the country-folk convene.
O'erflowing were the spaces all,
From cliff, from dale, from every home
Of Montagnac and Sainte-Colombe,
Still they do