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354 mingled with the power in the 'Curée' which is damaging at the present day. Barbier wrote several poems afterwards, and although some of them have great merit, none had the popularity of his first-born. In fact his reputation declined with his years. This was hardly just to him,—but it was the natural consequence of a too sudden elevation.

The Resting-place of the Kine. This piece will be found in the 'Revue des Deux Mondes' for 1864, vol. xlix., p. 959.

Qu'aimez-vous? Charles Dovalle was born at Montreuil-Bellay, a small town in the department of Maine—et-Loire on June 23, 1807, and his infancy and boyhood were passed joyously in the liberty of a country life, amidst picturesque rural scenes full of old recollections and ruined castles that spoke of feudal grandeur. He came to Paris to seek his fortune in his twentieth year, 'with a portfolio and his brains full of rhymes.' In the course of two years, during which he wrote a good deal in the papers, he died—the victim of a duel. With a great deal of immaturity, there is much promise in his poems. M. Charles Asselineau says, his works 'are a pale dawn—like all dawns—but with the certain and assured signs of a glorious and bright noon.' The greatest poet of France in our days—perhaps the greatest poet in the world now living—has honoured Dovalle's memory with a notice, written soon after the pistol bullet had traversed the portfolio which he always carried about with him, and reached his heart. Says Victor Hugo—'A poesy quite young, childish at times; now the desires of a cherubim; now a sort of creole carelessness; a verse with a gracious carriage: not very metrical, or rhythmic according to rule; but always full of a harmony more natural than musical; joy, voluptuousness, love—woman especially—woman turned into a divinity; woman worshipped as a Muse;—and everywhere flowers, fêtes, spring, morning, youth—behold, what was found in the portfolio of lyrics, torn up by a pistol ball.' These words would be poor Dovalle's passport to the temple of Fame, if he needed any passport besides his remains.

Dost thou remember, Mary. A very popular 'Romance.' It will be found in Gustave Masson's collection.

Fantasy. Gérard de Nerval had a sad history and a melancholy end. His tastes led him towards the legendary, the mysterious, and the supernatural, and German literature had, as a consequence, a fascination for him. He translated the 'Faust' of Goethe and the ballads of Burger and of Koerner. He knew Hebrew and Sanscrit well, and has left us some translations from Calidasa and Solomon. To the modern school of French poetry he did not take kindly. He called Lamartine a 'Lakiste'—of the Lake school of English