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It will be noted that fiction makes no showing in the list; but it was not altogether excluded from the home library, and Edison has all his life enjoyed it, particularly the works of such writers as Victor Hugo, after whom, because of his enthusiastic admiration possibly also because of his imagination he was nicknamed by his fellow-operators, "Victor Hugo Edison."

"Let us away to the fens on the east of this place, and, through their wilds, make our way southward." Hugo reflected. Then he answered, "Thou art right, Humphrey. It were not best to journey so near the king's castles and dungeons. We will away to-morrow morn to the fens." This, however, they were unable to do. The canon desired not to part with his friend's nephew so soon.

As to the liberal element, does the author indeed think that Poland has had no Liberalists similar to Voltaire, La Mennais, Victor Hugo, L. Blanc, Mazzini, or Hertzen? It is indeed a great disadvantage to Polish Liberalists, philosophers, and poets, that they speak and write in a tongue unknown to the noble philanthropists of the West.

Other writers have sought, for instance, our great classical authors, Pascal, Bossuet and perhaps Corneille, to influence the thought of their time; some, like Molière, La Fontaine, and La Bruyère, to correct customs. Others still, such as our romantic writers, Hugo or De Musset, desired only to express their personal conception of the world and of life.

"We should retreat to our own soil, where we belong." "And you are ready to be shot for that principle?" The question was sharp and final. "Yes, if being shot for what I did is dying for it though I prefer to live for it!" said Hugo, still without any pose. He refused to play for a chapter in the future book of martyrs to peace.

"Hugo would as soon think of going in the street in a in a I don't know what." "Hugo is the finest flower of American gentleman. That is, he's the quintessence of everything that's nice and 'nasty. I wish I were married to him for a week. I love Hugo, but he gives me the creeps." She rose and tramped restlessly about the room. "You both give me the creeps.

He says a servant told his mother it was there." "Yes, there is one," Miss Alicia answered. "I sometimes go and look at it. But it makes me feel very sad. It is the handsome boy who was a page in the court of Charles II. He died in his teens. His name was Miles Hugo Charles James. Jem could see the likeness himself. Sometimes for a little joke I used to call him Miles Hugo."

Finally three lordly individuals strode out; officers their more resplendent clothing indicated them to be, and the trio followed the others. "Ha!" cried Roland, "old Baron Hugo drank too deeply last night to be so early astir." He was speaking aloud now. "Take warning from that, my lads, and never allow wine to interfere with business.

"Once ought to be enough of that," said the doctor, who was bandaging the leg, speaking to Pilzer. Yet in the doctor's eyes Hugo saw no favor, only the humanity of his occupation of mercy to criminal and king alike. But Hugo expected no favor and he was glad of what he had done as he swooned again. When he came to a second time, his head aching with throbs, it was with a sense of falling.

Brian noted this change of colour, and was moved by it, thinking that he understood Hugo's reluctance to give him pain. He subdued his own impatience, and spoke in a lower, quieter voice. "Don't take it to heart, Hugo, whatever it may be. It cannot be worse than the thing I have heard already from my mother. I don't suppose I shall mind it much. Hugo answered by a bare little monosyllable "Yes."