[Illustration: THE GIRL’S OWN PAPER] VOL. VIII.—NO. 369.] JANUARY 22, 1887. [PRICE ONE PENNY. CARMEN SYLVA, POETESS AND QUEEN. BY THE REV. JOHN KELLY, Translator of “Hymns of the Present Century.” [Illustration: THE QUEEN OF ROUMANIA (“CARMEN SYLVA”).] _All rights reserved._] PART I. Carmen the song and Sylva the wood, Join them together, the wood-song is heard; If in the woods I had not been born, Ne’er should I sing a song night or morn. I’ve often learnt from the melody Of birds, and woods have whispered to me, While my heart beat time within my breast, And wood and song have sung me to rest. Such, roughly rendered, is the explanation that the gifted and distinguished authoress gives of the _nom de plume_ which she has assumed. In the last line there is a reference to the woodland castle—Mon Repos, or My Rest—where she passed her youth. Her father was Hermann, Prince of Wied, a cultivated and thoughtful man, fond of philosophical speculation, and a writer on topics connected with his favourite studies. Her mother was Princess Maria of Nassau, who is described as “a woman of great beauty and true elevation of soul, of strong will, keen understanding, self-sacrificing spirit and indefatigable activity, inexorably strict with reference to herself, but overflowing with kindness and consideration towards all with whom she is brought in contact.”[1] Elizabeth, the subject of our sketch, now the Queen of Roumania, was born on the 29th of December, 1843. As a child, she was impetuous in temper, reserved and resolute in disposition, and unbending in will. Her imagination was very lively. In her fourth year she was placed under the charge of a governess to receive regular instruction. Up to that time her mother had been her sole teacher. She was so lively that she suffered physical torture if she had to sit quite quiet. Once, when she was sitting for her portrait, along with her younger brother, Prince William, she resolved to keep still. Hardly had she done so for five minutes before she suddenly fell off her chair in a fainting fit. Her mother’s former governess, Fraülein Lavater, who came to Mon Repos for some months every year, was the only one who could tranquilise her. Very early Princess Elizabeth displayed a charitable and sympathetic disposition. She used to accompany her mother on visits to the poor, and thus she became acquainted with their needs. She would give away whatever she could dispense with; yet she was not destitute of sound practical sense. One day her mother gave her a large piece of woollen stuff. The little Princess was overjoyed, and exclaimed— “Now I can give away all my clothes!” “Had you not better give the woollen stuff to the poor children?” said her mother; “your white clothes would be of less use to them than the coarse stuff.” It was a new thought to the child, and she at once perceived the reasonableness of the suggestion, and acted on it.