The Arkansaw traveler., 1885-06-13
"oH, MADAMEi"

w. A. Crofut, the well known cores spondent, gives, in the Detroit Free PyEss the following account of meeting the poet, Victor Hugo:
 At the hour appointed we drove to the illustrious house and alighted. All was dark. The house looked gloomy. The door was very large and heavy and som. Der. We were admitted by porter. A maid appeared, led us to a reception room, and vanished. We laid aside our wraps and ascended the solid stone steps where the maid had gone. On the ore. 1fisye etGge rung at door and inquired for M. Victor Hugo. No, not these, they said. Again we mounted the steps. Not there. Upward once more-Excelsiorl r. and were told that he was not there, and further informed that the "hotei" was occupied by several families, and that no such man was among them. We were amused and chagrined as we. descended the steps again, and inquired further. After hearing the porter pronounce the name on our card, we became conscious that 1t was the way we had pronounced it that had misled everybody, for he called it "Veect Heeco," and showed us the right passage and door.
 There were dozen already present, perhaps, and we joined them and waited hall an hour, should think, before the dinner was ended. We listened to the clatter of dishes, and casually examined the parlors we were in. That part of the furnishing which impressed me most was the hangings of leather on the walls. This was no fancy Morocco or other del icate hides, wrought into an embossed panel of beauty, but plain cow-hide, as thick as shoe sole, not fastened to the surface, but following its own natural graceless convslutions. It did not seem beautiful, but it did seem the latest" thought the skins had possibly been worn by the poets pet COWS.
 Pretty soon he came out, leaning heav- lily on the arm of his secretary. He did not look like any pictures of him had ever seen-he was so pinched and bent and withered and feeble One by one we took his soft little hand and said such words of politeness or of homage as we chose, and then he sat upon sofa and lis- tenedto such compliments, questions and little nothings as an occasion of the sort would be likely to evoke. A loud-voiced 0A0 IAoSS-AoSS0 AhCtlCau StIl SSOOQ up before him, and to his obvious anguish, recited one of his beautiful poems. Her mother went and sat by his side upon the sofa and smothered his dainty hand with in her fat fist and told him he was by all odds the greatest of living men. He smiled deprecatingly and said : "Oh, To tell the truth l did not understand more than half that was said. | for it was in voluble French with the Pa- risian twist. had just bought his latest poem, "L La Legende des Siecles," and on its title page he kindly wrote his name. l have just opened the book and looked | at it. It is rather stately autograph. | Enc letters are almost perpendicular, and they stand independent of each other not graceful, but perfectly distinct.
 And now death claims the old patriot poet who dared to set his foot on Louis Napoleon and say "You are an upstart and an imPostorl While you usurp the throne will not set foot in France"
 But is it not wonderful that, while liv- ing fifteen years in British isle, M. Hugo did not learn fifteen words of English.