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About The Loup City northwestern. (Loup City, Neb.) 189?-1917 | View Entire Issue (Nov. 9, 1911)
ft HEX a ktag's lor* Is mentioned, tutad dies to the morgsw k the aord has (or seem! loess ta the usual heart af fairs of royalty, but it Is an ex art term of purely tiermaa HI I limin' law aad meins a W«al aad binding marriage that does not rains an un royal wife l# royal rant N©». if a fake iu-vgmaaUe U the states' thing imaginable and a disadvantageous but gulfs possible, we Mdrlntly admire an emperor ■s Lo be empress beside throne, new In Itself, need ef royal ali.anrea; of hk family, the pt of statesmen. I ef partisan*: make the ae a foreigner rote pie'e!> uoitopalar wt<b bio poopfte. aad you will have the ele ments ef Kapoleon Ilf's heroism in lormg few kings since Cowhet us hs.e low-d like thta ao many royal lore* that lacked d« tike • star • I _ I w*h a oar at Madrid. Eugenie's ramarera nu-or to tko '»■ bouse e the T*U*a dot beia« tbirt—n and a tarn ■aad to take her la the Prado ■kick, with the opera, ground where poor. • the groat ones of Madrid / The Connies* da ISonuJa clung to * agora ho* Bwgiaal' warn adding down SW dM taw dtraag. hanged the liarnea froat dear, aad fell tnanl A gT*ejr waa. paining. took the gfri'a a bar lag aad hi • r? • her to Then she I dMMalr at her sad said -naaartta waa harm eager the open sky, the aight ad a battle - ~Whaf“ eaelahaed the reunteas, returned with the carriage Sh< was s’ruck by # the trwfh at the wards TV-ten years ago. at e had farced them to ta the gaiden. aad Kagenle waa r hay future— asked the anper said lha gypsy i hold, aad hegaty only the thirteen year Old girl to IU hW beauty -ad already done much . So huiari the mother Bh» herself had heaa a really jaw girl, daughter of a British ad.ert who had fsUed -a t.ugloess in Malaga Hsk naa-e was l.ic ,*'( k. end he Had lone kwa tar'Tta rice«aaaw» Me had married age ad two bekutlfsl sisters, yet still poorer nee amt setegr ary leaatr will force Its way. rhrnngh Inwr yaciB’mat 'ram its unadorned self tn a throne* The drat was a I-.or Kpaa'uh gi'V Oaltegros. slier ante gaaaeaslaa was her beauty. Ore vignn Prwwrh w> e aier r.ei.t of Malaga, mar ried her and had two terety daughter*, and trn foreign raudt Crowed -5- lurssep* end ■natch Kirkpatrick i-f-ed them by marriage fo the drat map td the eacia! ladder Prom 'he lie t.rinta n't’shce caaae the ' grand Krancais" nf »nea and Pannw-s Hat Ktrkpatrich's wife gate him a “tigk'rr at such rare charms that a gpawiak g-aadne. eUk a place at court and «T cwnaidetwhb- family mart led her (or le*e Ha was • duke a tiarqvU a rlaroun’ and a harm, hat tha title hy which He had been hwawa ta the aorld aas Count d- Montijo He had two daughters fairer yet than ns o' her. gmndaMthar or great-grandmother. and be ■tad Eugenic was wap*, her water Perea was the ether rf«w on k * me c/i-*r a pm hnutirt tapradm Coo | K. u abe *rew «(• abe caw her elder tMaria Traociacat make an un even la (hat 'am! y Parra tbe iM and micbty (take of Alta the (take of Alva cmld only be a an. relayed brilliant Spnn tbe Duke of Onauaa. then the i^C (take at Sect™ u~r w«h “a certain ation He wa» mi attrar at M was no* urc r«eep In her benrt n dieem nrkare tke unknown of the ip bar (Irl's fancy with a thou attribute*. Sbe nailed at (be nfn. Where aril each a pci wee be? Pa aba beta aP 'nun all other leitori mother toon her to Parla her | at an anecnectrd premonition. Tbe bahdix«u- I ark-browed, careworn man. ntM , an Trench pc evident received M be Bp era**- a romantic n*vre In her .bn attend n presidential li ralinlnd. It ~tnill with the mildewed smart j B'*er of the fear ebe bad her way. 1 down wltb the 1 SJCAX.Z, z takjs- I’d cz&r -yocrp - d.ojgerous and complicated details of bis plot, was struck by tbe girl's beauty. That evening he sought her out a second time. He was touched and flattered by the romantic interest she showed In his person and his cause. The beautiful girl stuck in his mind. He felt as if he had always known her. He knew that he would meet her again. Eugenie felt tbe same mysterious attraction. "Xb. would that I could help him!" She thought of the lonely prince and his risky ambitions that were being laughed about in I'aris as an o|ien secret. At the moment of the coup d'etat she fairly burned with anxiety. She dashed about tbe little flat like a tigress. "What can I do?" she asked herself. “What can I do to aid him?” That night Napoleon received a letter. It mas from a romantic. Inexperienced girl, but ardent ar.d sincere. It gave him her good w she* and audaciously offered him all she t>oa*egged should his projects need ready money. After December I It waa the Empire in fart if not n name. Napcleon gave hunts like a sovereign, at Fontainebleau and Compiegne. At these he met again the beautiful Spanish Kiri, fearless horsewoman, tireless dancer. He remembered above all her letetr written in that da k hour of his wavering chances. His love at first sight for Eugenie was soon noticed showing itself full-blown in the most open attentions. Tin? girl and her mother had continual Invitations to Oompeigne and the Ttillerle* Napoleon soon found the uselessness of throwing his handkerchief at the beautiful foreigner. Yet lie fait—he knew—that she loved him passionately. It was a desperate situation for the girl, and his heart swelled with love and pride and admiration of her. Once Eugenie and her mother were bidden to a parade re view at the Tuilerles. In the courtyard Napo leon drew up his horse under the windows of the first floor to salute the ladies. He wished to dismount and go up to them. "Mademoiselle,” he said, addressing Eugenie, "which way shall I take to get to you?” “He waa almost as new to the Tuilerles as sny of us.” told the Eugenie of eighty-three yesrs. “He did not know his way about the palace.” “Sire.” she called down to him, “you must come by the wsy of the chapel!” As a fa*t the corridor leading to the chapel was the shortest route to these rooms, but Napoleon understood her bidden meaning. Again, one afternoon at Competgne. when the flower of the brand-new emperor's court was Idling around bis viugt-et-un table, she made the sit uation clear to him. Seated at Napoleon's right, she consulted him from time to time as <o her play. She found two picture cards In her hand, counting twenty out of twenty-one possible points. “Stand on that,” said the em peror. “It la very high.” "No." said Eugenie, “I must have all or noth ing!” Every morning old Jerome Bonaparte, his uncle, last surviving brother of the great Napoleon, would arrive, confidential flattering, giggling and a-gog with had insinuations: "Have you got her?" Hoary old sinner, unrepentant of hia deser tion. fifty years ago, of his time American wlfa in Baltimore, he had the conrt ladies in full slander of Eugenie before Napoleon had mad^ up his mind, and be exercised a diabolical in genuity in trying to prevent an honest mar riage. Those first ladies of the Second Empire hail extraordinary manners. One evening, at Com peigne, when Eugenie waa going in to dinner on the arm of Colonel de Tottlongeon. a slight confusion permitted him to whisk Eugeni# ahead of Madame Fortoul, wife of the minister of that name. "How," exclaimed, audibly to her cavalier, “do you permit that - creature to push past me?” The next morning Mile, de Montijo, with tears In her eyes, stood on the terrace apart from the others. It was no ruse to attract Napoleon's sympathy, the girl saw her prince hero disappearing In a nightmare of fateful gossip. Napoleon, who had sought her,' asked the cause of her sorrow. "I must leave Compeigne,” she filtered— and told of the slights and insults to which she was subiected. The emperor listened to the beautiful girl. Then, when she had finished, he toi# a green string of Ivy from a park tree, deftly twisted It Into a crown, and said loudly—that all might hear—as h^ placed it on her head: “Wear this one—meanwhile." It Is a twice-told anecdote, but, as it was Napoleon's proposal of marriage, I dee no way to omit it. He never actually asked her hand —he took it. Not another murmur arose from the court ladies. At once they flocked around Eugenie It was another matter, however, for Napo leon to force his choice on the statesmen and soldiers backing his still risky empire. Opin ions were divided on what royal alliance be should make. Some were for a princess of Sweden; some for a Braganra, some for the Hohenzoliern. Then, suddenly. Napoleon, sneaking of Eugenie, sprang the mlpe by say ing, "There is no question but tbf right of hand.” "No question but the right of hand?” The words ran through his backers like1 an alarm of fire. One with the strongest hold upon Napoleon—De Persigny. his minister: of the in terior—was sent to tell him In the name of all that it would net do. Dq Persigny, mixed up with Napoleon In many an adventure, had kept his old-comrade liberty of speech. He toked about Nanoleon's admiration for Eugenie; surely the emperor must amuse himself. When he noticed that Napoleon’s face grew stern, he rose to fighting arguments, brutally Accumulating proofs and reasons why a marriage would be Idiotic, both dynastically—and otherwise. He Sneered at the Hontijo title: brought out the grandfather. Kirkpatrick, bankrupt Malaga raisin merchant; and then he took up Eugenie’s spring life. "What was the girl doing here in Paris?” "Did you erer hear of the young Duke of Segto?" asked De Perslgny. “Did' you erer hear of Merimee?" “Merimee is a great writer.” said Napoleon. “Surely—rer he writes Eugenie’s letters to you!" laughed De Perslgny. “Mother, daugh ter. and newspaper man alt round-the table and concoct the beautiful letters that you cher ish. Really. It was not worth risking the coup d'etat to arrive at that!” Wbat a triumph for the aged lady to recall Napoleon’s steadfast lore ft face of both policy and slander! It was always known why Eu genie hated De Perslgny, Prince Jerome and the Princess Mathllde. She could forgive po litical counselors who pressed the royal prin cesses upon Napoleon; she could not forgive the powerful ones who sought *o take away her character behind her back. Napoleon beard them all alike. He answered nothing. Fould and most pf the military back ers. with "Edward Key and Toulohgeon for their spokesmen, formed rapidly “The Clan of the LoTera.” In vain did Mathtldo drag her self at Napoleon's knees, begging him to re nounce a marriage that would be the ruin of them all. The emperor had decided, j “Ton will give a great ball to announce the engagement,” _ ___j._ he said to his weeping cousin. And she did it Napoleon acted toward Eugenie with chiral roue loyalty. He laid before her all the disad vantages of the brilliant yet uncertain posi tion he was offering her. He explained to her his unpopularity with the old French aristo crats. the bad will of certain great powers, the possibility of his being assassinated by some secret ociety of which he had become a mem ber in his adventurous youth. There were hos tilities even in the army, in his opinion the most serious danger; but he could cut them short by declaring a war. "1 would not have It otherwise.” she an swered. "I will take my risks beside you. So may I be worthy!" As a queen she lacked dignity. She had not been born to the solemn self-appreciation of royalty; and she was a mixture of lightness and austerity, generosity and sense, kindness and Indifference, in which the transitions were abrupt and disconcerting to French order liness. Alone among the sovereigns of Europe Queen Victoria had received her cordially: more, she had taken up Eugenie and imposed her on the courts of Europe. Yet even at Windsor, where the Imperial couple were re ceived with extraordinary pomp, Eugenie's in-< souci&nce threatened to play her a bad turn that would have illustrated her un-imperial attitude. A quarter or an hour before they were to be received by Victoria and ber beloved consort in tbe tbrone room, Eugenie discovered that, among tbe hundred trunks of the French visi tors, hers alone had not arrived! Tbe em peror was deeply mortified that tbe discovery should have been made so late, as showing lack of discipline and serene orderliness, and on his advice Eugenie had already begun to pretend a headache due to suppressed seasick ness when one of her ladles dared to offer ber a choice of gowns. A blue dress of tbe simplest description seemed the only one that promised well. Great ladies and maids fell upon it deftly, and in a few minutes the blue gown was readjusted to the .empress. So Eugenie—without Jewels, flowers at her corsage and flowers in her hair —appeared before the British court in her own dazsling beauty. She made an immense suc cess. What most touched Victoria’s heart, it may be told, was the pathetic and pretty way in which the young couple spontaneously confided certain doubts and fears to her as an expe rienced matron and mother of eight They had been married two years, and as yet there was no heir. When the little prince-imperial was born, one lady only was permitted to be present with the doctors and the serving women all the time. This was the Countess of Ely. Queen Victoria's intimate friend, sent over from England to help along. As had been done for the King of Rome. It was announced in advance that should the in fant be a hoy, cannon would fire, not twenty one times, but a hundred. It happened after midnight, and the Paris ians. awakening, counted the cannon-shots. When they got past twenty-one. the Parisians rolled over in their beds and yawned: “Weil she is lucky!” The bigamous old Jerome had bitterly per secuted her as an interloper. His son, Plon Plon, her hater and detractor by inheritance, was not persona grata with Eugenie. So Na poleon, who enjoyed smoking cigarettes with the reprobate father of the present pretender. Victor, was forced to visit him iecretly. One day, some time after the marriage, he came, sat down, and said: Prince, does your wire make you scenes?* “No," replied the husband of Clotlide. the daughter of Victor Emmanuel. "There is no living with Eugenie" sighed Napoleon. “The moment I give audience with another woman I risk a violent quarrel." “Crack her on the aide of the face the next time she makes you a scene." suggested Plon Plon. “Don't think of It.” exclaimed the emperor. “You don’t know Eugenic; she would open a window of the Tuileriea and cry ‘Police!*" To the end women took advantage of this breezy independence, natural exuberance, and Ineradicable unconventionality of Eugeple to lay traps for her. Hers was a continuous per, formance of the Lady walking amid the rant Of Cornua. Among others, Mme. de Metternich. wife of the Austrian ambassador, seemed to have vowed Eugenie’s destruction. Once, at Fontainebleau, she almost led her Into going to the races in short skirts. “My dear Pauline” someone asked her. “would you counsel your own sovereign to get herself up in short skirts?" “That is different." replied the Metternich, “my empress is a royal princess, n real em press, while yours, my dear, ia . . . Mademoi selle de Monti jo!” Was she only Mademoiselle de Monti jo? Did she not keep her word' “So may I be worthy!” to the Empire and to France? Twenty years later, in her dealings with Bismarck after the FrancoPnisalan war. Eu genie had practically concluded a treaty while refusing to concede "an inch of French terri tory:” The Republicans, taking the deni out of her hands, agreed to the loss of Alsace and Lorraine. • Woodpeckers Are Deceived ...... them showing the destructive work of both woodpeckers and sapsucken on | trass aad buildings. Mr. MeAtee says that the general ■ good dons by the woodpeckers largely 1 out weights the harm. The birds nest as a role in trees that are already, dead or dying, and in their attacks on the lire trees they rid the forests of soom of the worst insect tree pests aad gat tbs sort of boring and other insects that ordinary birds cannot pos sibly reach. It Is not generally known that wood peckers in some regions do material damage to telegraph and telephone lines, boring the poles until they are so weakened as to break off In a wind. They are known to bore the sort of holes they habitually make hunting In sects in sound poles where there is not a. trace of insect life. It is thought that the humming of the wind in the wires attracts them, sounding like in sects Inside the pole. In Texas, Art ---- zona and Now ant Old Mexico the at tacks of wood pesters on telegrapl poles hare been extensive and aerioua and the Southern Pacific has suffered a great deal In this way. The bulletin state* that It la bad policy to kin the birds, as the good they do the forests largely outweighs the harm. One method of protecting poles or anything-else attacked by the birds is to furnish them with a ready made nesting boa These boxes are made from a abort length of natural limb with a bole bored for the nest 'be ends of the section are cot dlag mally at right angles to the length of the limb no that It can easily be fas tened with two nails, top and bottom, upright to the side of a tree or polo to be protected. A Contrary Case. “Don't yon think it to odd that yon have to pay for batteries In electric tamper “Why sof “Because they take the lamps to hare them charged." ^□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□1 HIS ATTITUDE _ _\ By ANNIE HENRICHSEN (Copyright. 1911. by Associated Literary Press.) The new light in her eyes caught Wayne’s attention as soon as he en tered the room. “What is it?" he asked. “Some thing very good, is it not?’’ “You know? How did you And out?" “I don’t know anything. Tell me.” She shook her head. “Not yet. Rob." "Jean." he asked abruptly, "is it about Halstead?' "No, it is not.” "Some time you will tell me that you intend to marry him and when that time comes—” “Hush, Rob.” \ “You love him, don’t you?” "You have no right to question me." “You Know that ever since you were a little girl I have loved you be yond anything in my life. We have been the truest and best of friends. But for several months Halstead has had all your time and thoughts. 1 have no right to complain. You don’t love me. I have no claim. Wrell, we'll not talk of that. You are look ing very happy tonight. Something truly great has happened to you. What is It?" “I’ll tell you soon, Rob, but not— not just yet.” She glanced a little anxiously at the clock. “I am going." he announced. "When you are ready to tell me, Jean, the glorious thing which has added a new charm to the sweetest face in the world, you will find a deeply inter ested man.” A few minutes later Halstead came. “How delightful your fire is,” he exclaimed as he entered the room. He sat down in a large easy chair before the hearth. “I have had a busy day.” he remarked. “Ive been in court since early this morning.” “A successful lawyer has a hard life. If you were not so brilliant and so clever you would not have to spend all your time handling impor tant cases." He settled himself more comfort ably in his chair and smiled approv ingly at her. “I am'having a meas ure of success, of course.” he said, a little pompously. “A great deal of success.” she amended. His smile dee pend. "To a man suc cess means more than anything else. •How Do You KnowT^ The power to achieve a definite aim la the most satisfactory gift the gods grant.” "The power to achieve means much to a woman.” “Does !tr he said, a little ab sently. "Ambition has Its place in a wom an’s life." "Certainly it has. Social position, wealth, beauty .popularity are desires of every woman.” Jean's glowing face lost a little of Its joy. "I don’t mean those things. The world’s recognition of one’s abil ity to do something really worth while Is as satisfactoy to a woman as It Is to a man.” "How do you know?” he asked quizzically. She turned from him and looked In to the biasing fire. Her hands were clasped tightly on her knees. Her breath waa coming quickly. "I know.” she said softly with the quiet of a great happiness In her voice. “I know, because recognition has come to me.” “To you?” She nodded, unable for a moment to speak. "I have had a book accepted. The letter from the publishers came today. I have told no one else. 1—1 wanted you to be the first to know." "You have written a book? I did not know you had literary aspira tions.” "I have always wanted to do some thing that would stand as proof that I was not merely an idle, happy girl. I began to write stories while 1 was still in school. For years 1 have writ ten constantly and without the least encouragement or success. 1 have never told my family or my friends. Editors have been bombarded with my unfavorable manuscripts, i have had a long, long time of bitter disap pointment and discouragement and heartache. At last the first success has come. Behind it there is a tragedy of many failures. Perhaps that is why, now that it has come, it Is very precious; it has cost a great price.” "What sort of story is it?" "It ia the simple little story of the childhood good times of myself and some of my friends. 1 wrote of the things that as a little girl 1 loved." “A juvenile book?” There was dis tinct disappointment in his voice. "I supposed you had written a novel." A surprised, startled look came into her eyes. "What difference does it make what sort of book it is?” she asked. "The wonderful thing is that I have done something sufficiently good to win the approval of a critical editor.” "Literature is an Interesting voca tion,” he said, patronizingly. “1 am glad you have taken it up. I Intend to write a novel when I have time. 1 may do it next summer during my vacation.” After he had gone she sat for a long time before the Are. There was no joy in her eyes, and her face was white and tired. A clear, trilling whistle called her from her reverie. She went Into tha hall and opened the front door. "Come in, Rob." “I saw you sitting alone as I came up the street and 1 saluted you. I didn't expect such good luck as an In vitation in. Why, Jean," he exclaimed, as the light in the library showed the change in her face, "what is the mat ter? There is something wrong.” "There is not. Rob, 1 have had a book accepted.” "What? A book? You have writ ten a book?” “And an editor has accepted It." “Of course he has. Any editor that you would honor with a manuscript would accept it. Jean, I'm so glad. I can’t tell you how glad. I'll wager it's the very best book that has ever been written. But how hard you must have worked. You are such a con scientious person that you put your whole soul into everything you do, and this book mu6t represent long hours of work, the careful expression of your personality and the realization of a dream.” The joy, greater than before, had come back to her eyes. “Rob," she said solemnly, “you are the most un derstanding person I have ever seen." The understanding person looked slightly bewildered. “1 want to see the book Immediately. I can’t wait till it is published. Let me see the manuscript.” >■ “It is only a simple, little tale of my own childhood.” “Then it is the Btory of a most adorable little girl who became an adorable, thoughtful, ambitious wom an. Of course Halstead is Immensely pleased and proud.” “He is not. He does not realize what my accepted book means to me. He does not understand, as you do, that a woman has ambitions as real as a man’s, and that for them she is willing to work and to suffer as a man does. He is so—so interested in him self and so proud of himself. Rob, a man’s attitude toward a woman's dear est Interest may decide her regard for him.” She laid her bands on his shoulders and looked steadily into the eyes in which she saw the reflection of her own rapture and exaltation. “Your attitude, Rob, toward my lit tle dream. You understand the dream. Don’t you understand something else. Rob. dear?” Wedding Cake Pagoda. At MIngun, on the right bank of the Irrawaddy river, about five miles from Mandalay, in Burma, there stands a peculiar pagoda known as the Wedding Cake Pagoda, because it looks like a marvelously magnified bridal cake. It was built in the early part of the nineteenth century, and is in thoroughly good preservation, only a few of the Images inside having been broken. The extreme height to the top of the minaret is 80 feet and the circumference about 600 feet. The pagoda stands back from the river some 800 feet and is hidden from It by a grove of teak trees. Close to it is the famous Mingun bell.—Wide World. BAD FAULT IN A HUSBAND Failure to Notice the Food Given Him Makes Him Hard to Put Up With. It la a question which la the worst fault in a husband, to be too fastidi ous about what he eats, or not to be fastidious enough. The sort of man who looks con temptuously at the dish passed to Mm. mil asks if the cook has any brains that she contrives so little variety in the menu, is, of course, intolerable; but there la another sort of man with whom It Is just as hard to put up. A woman who married a short while ego discovered this to her sor row. She married with the excellent reeolve of making her husband happy by the steady practice of the domestlo virtues, but Ms palate was so poorly developed that unless an article of food was absolutely unwholesome or burnt to a cinder, he never discovered any fault in it Neither did he dis cover any merit in the noblest mas terpiece of the culinary art; by the finer shades of fttvoring and quality he remained unmoved, and even If hla wife gave him a lead by remarking about some special lalatr, “Isn't this delicious?” all tbe response she re ceived was, “Yes, dear." In an absent minded manner. He belonged to that Inhuman class which eats to live, instead of living to eat. and resembled a certain old gen tleman who went to a restaurant day after day and Invariably ordered a chop and chipped potatoes. On one occasion be was given steak and mashed potatoes tnstead, and after wards the waiter apologized for the mistake. "Didn't I bare chop, as usual?" the old gentleman asked. “I never noticed." British Modesty. A very loyal lady of British birth asked an American dame in England whether they had any painters la (America. “Oh. yes," said the Amer ican. “you have some of them here— Sargent and Abbey and Mrs. Merritt and McClure Hamilton." “Dear me,” said the English lady, "you'll he claiming Whistler next!"
