Evening star., 1935-01-13
CHAPTER XXXVII.
BY FRANK G. CARPENTER.

~ be springing up among the
4 \ people of the United States.
Our people talk of different
things now than they did decade or
so ago. The newspapers are filled with
history, science and literature, in addi-
ton to their market reports and the
news which was 10 years ago their all
in all. We are getting out Of the
formative stage, when the Nation is
going on the root hog or die" prin-
ciple. and are fast advancing into the
second stage of being comfortably well
of and of having time to enjoy and
cultivate the beautiful. the pleasant
and the good. Artistic taste Is spring.
ing up. knowledge of science and
philosophy is common, and the people
are thinking about something else
than bread and butter and the max
ing of money.
Little Lord Fauntleroy.
Mrs. Frances Hodgson Burnett has
returned to this city from Lynn, Mass,
and after two years sickness has
again resumed her literary work.
She is not working so rapidly nor so
hard as before her illness, and the
only writing she is doing is on child's
story for the st. Nicholas Magazine
1t will be a continued story, and will
probably appear next year. Its title
is Little Lord Fauntleroy," and its
scenes are located in this country
and in England. Mrs. Burnett has
shown her skill in stories of the lighter
vein In the Fair Barbarian" and in
some of her shorter stories. I am in
clined to think that her attempt at
the psychological novel in her
Through One Administration" was
too much for her, and the annoyance
connected with it was probably one of
the causes of her illness. 1t was
roughly handled by the critics and
its reception formed a contrast to the
complimentary notices attending the
publication of "Haworths" and THAT
Lass o'Lowries."
George Bancroft.
George Bancroft has resumed his
long daily rides. He wears as a riding
suit short, black velvet coat, above
which his silvery hair shines out in
contrast and on the bosom of which
his long, white beard falls like silk
lace. A soft felt hat shades his eyes.
and his legs are encased in a pair of
well-fltting pantaloons. His groom is
dressed in as fancy a livery as the
servants of any of the rich in Wash
ington. noted him as he cantered
by behind Bancroft today. The groom
was by far the more striking figure
OF the two. AS straight as a bean
pole. he wore tall, black silk hat, a
pleated waistcoat, chamois knee
breeches and high top boots. Both
of the horses had their tails cropped
short. and they were racking up
Fourteenth street as I watched them
Mr.. Bancroft attributes his long life
and good health to his daily horse
back rides.
Victor Hugo.
Victor Hugo is dying. One by one
the half dozen great literary men
who have astoniShed the world bv
their continual work after they had
long passed the time allotted to nan.
are passing away. Longfellow died
couple of years ago with mis- trem-
bling hand still grasping the pen.
Emerson. keeping up the publication
OF MS beautiful thoughts to The last.
followed at about four score. and Bry-
ant. a few years after he had COM
pleted his poetic translation of Homer.
died at about the same age. Whittier
still lives. an old man. writing still.
at MS home near Newburyport, Mass.
while George Bancroft works away
here at Washington. putting the i'm
lshlne touches on his great history.
DO you know that Victor Hugo once
wrote novel in Is days? It was
while he was yet at school and it was
the result of bet made with his
brother In the presence of a crowd Of
schoolboys. If he failed to produce a
novel in the time allotted he was to set
up the dinner for the crowd. If the
story was voted success. his brother
was to stand the treat. The story was
written. 1t was entitled Bug Jargal'
and was read before the enthusiastic
crowd who had witnessed the bet. Abel
Hugo gave the dinner and young Victor
was hailed as a prodigy.
I heard curious story when I was
IN Paris year or two ago back about
Victor Hugo's first attempt with one of
the great publishing houses there. II
was a good many years ago and the
publisher to whom the adventure oc-
CURED has long since died. The tale
has it that he was sitting in his count
Ing room when a pale-faced young
man with a large forehead and roll
of neatly tied manuscript in his hand
entered the Office. The young man
gave over the manuscript, told the
publisher he wished to sell it and asked
what it was worth. The publisher who
was courteous gentleman opened the
strangers manuscript, but as soon as
he saw that it was in verse. he handed
1t back to the young man, saying:
that the market was glutted with
poetry and that he did not want it.
The young man blushed AS he
pocketed his rejected manuscript he
said: Il am sorry for your sake, sir,
that you do not want 1t. Had you &C
cepted 1t. was about to propose q
contract by which I would have given
you first chance at all of my future
writings. I was going to offer you a
fortune but you have refused, so good
day."
The publisher thought a moment,
then rushed to the door to call back
the visitor. He waited too late, how
ever, for the young man had dis
appeared. The publisher always de-
clared that he had never met with a
young author who had so much con-
fidence as that young man, and of
course the young man was Victor
Hugo.
Miss Cleveland's book. George
Ehot's Poetry and Other Studies" is
creating considerable remark here.
Had it been launched while she was
private citizen or anonymously 1t
would probably have gone begging for
some time for a publisher. 1t is a
bright money-making stroke on her
part to put it out now. She will prob
ably make enough out of its sales to
give her pin money for years to come.
I confess do not like to see the fame
of being mistress of the White House
turned into dollars and cents and