[To TEE EDITOR 07 THE "ErrcrIrom."] SIR,—Your delightful article in
the Spectator of October 14th deals with a subject of great interest to all who are interested in literature as a book of life, and the only conclu- sion to be drawn from the fact that so few poets have enshrined their mothers' memory in immortal verse is the prosaic one that few have had mothers for whom their love rose to the sublime heights of inspiration. This is in accord- ance with the common experience on a lower plane of less gifted men, nor is it to be wondered at when one thinks of the ignorance which is the usual equipment of parents for the discharge of the onerous duties and responsibilities of parenthood. To the few tributes of filial love drawn from English poets, quoted in your article, it may not be amiss to add one, not English, which ranks among the masterpieces of all literatures. Many will know Heine's sonnet to his mother in the original German and many more in English translations. Whether the enclosed French (prose) translation is as well known in this country may be doubted. In any case no apology need be made for asking you to publish it ; first, because French is every man's second language, as France is every man's second country ; next, because this French render- ing is so beautiful, though a translation from an alien tongue, as to deserve a place even in an overcrowded memory.—I am, Sir, &c., D. N. SAMSON. 74 Grosvenor Road, Highbury, London, N.
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