wounded, and yet he thinks only of my wicked son. He is a splendid example of filial piety! Mitsuhidé, have you no feelings of pity or love for your son? Alas! my dearest grandson has lost his life in the infamous name of a vile traitor, instead of dying honourably in the cause of loyalty and justice. This is the result of your wicked heart! Oh, what have I done to deserve such a fate?"
The dying warrior heard the voice of the old woman.
"Ah! Are you indeed killed, grandmother?" he asked in faint tones. "Is this our last farewell? I should like to see your face once more before I die, but I can see no longer. Farewell, father, mother, and Hatsugiku."
With these words he breathed his last, with his hand fast held by Hatsugiku.
"It is true that it is the common lot of every warrior to die in battle," said his mother bursting into bitter tears—"but oh! the pity of it! For eighteen years he has never known a moment of enjoyment. All his days have been passed in the din and noise of war. He has devoted all his life to the art of the bow and arrow. This morn-
