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Ni Haine ni Amour. Compare this poem with page 310 by Félix Arvers.

The Slaver. It would have been far better to have kept the measure of the original in this piece, but we found it impossible to do so. There is a scathing bitterness of sarcasm in some of Heine's pieces, this, among the rest, that appals and verges on the sublime.

My Normandy. This song of F. Bérat has long been popular.

Morning Serenade. It would be absurd to make any comment on Victor Hugo in a short note at the end of a book. His name is among the great ones of the earth. With Shakspeare, Milton, Byron, Goethe, Schiller, and the rest, his place has long been marked in the Valhalla of the poets. Sings England's latest poet,—a poet indeed, spite of his many serious aberrations—

The Grandmother. This is one of the earlier productions of Victor Hugo.

Soleil Couchant. It is impossible to do justice in translations to Victor Hugo's beautiful pieces, but it is next to impossible to abstain from an attempt every now and then.