“The outer forms of what one writes have only to do with what one has learnt. The ideas have to be lived through, and can only be based on the past experiences which formed one’s character. This is my comfort when I tremble lest my talent should come to an end. It is not at an end, for I yet live and learn. How often I have struggled against writing anything down for weeks and months. But it holds me as a spell till it is written down. Then I forget it, and so utterly and entirely that I often do not even recognise my own thoughts. After all, writing is only a discharge of electricity. But the battery cannot be properly replenished when the body is weakened. Every carefully finished work is a step upon which one can set one’s foot firmly and safely in order to rise higher. This can only be, of course, if one’s whole powers, one’s best self is put into the work. As one cannot give to one’s labour more than one has, every intellectual power we have attained to should tell in our work and make itself felt. People have said that sorrow made me a poetess. But that is not so. Poetry is quite independent of the outer world, of sickness or trial. I never know what I shall write a week hence. I like to be surprised. But when an idea takes hold of me, I do not get rid of it even for years until it is written down. I have never had time, and if all my ideas were not clear in my head before I take up my pen, they would never see the light.” [Illustration: _Woodbury Compy._ CARMEN SYLVA.] The Princess has called the little volume in which she has rendered the treasures of National Roumanian poetry in German “Roumanian Poetry,” and has thus introduced it to her Fatherland. A collection of the poems of O. Alecsandri, Bolintenu, Candianu, Popescu, Cretzanu, Eminescu, Konaki, Negruzzi, Scherbanescu, and Torceanu are here rendered in their own metre, and treated in a manner which brings out the characteristics of each poet. “I did not think of publishing my translations of Roumanian poetry when I wrote them. It was Frau Mite Kremnitz who took them from me by force years after. They appeared in a paper under the pseudonym of E. Wedi, and later, in 1878, also in the magazine of Foreign Literature. Still I cannot get over the dreadful feeling of being dragged before the world even under the disguise of E. Wedi. That is the only thing that spoils my pleasure.” A ballad, “Virful cu Dor” (The Heights of Longing), was set to music in 1876, and was performed on the stage of the National Theatre at Bucharest, and afterwards at various other places. The Queen wrote to her mother from Sinaia in September 1875:--