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!"
