The evening telegraph. [volume] (Philadelphia [Pa.]) 1864-1918, 1870-09-10

and her child. The old-fashioned types of
woman have matched each other on the three
adjoining thrones-in the profigate Isabella,
the dull, domestic British matron, and this
rare plebeian Spanish girl, who bore the crown
of Charlemagne with royal grace such as no
Bourbon ever lent to it. Let her have credit
for so much. Let us comfort our republican
souls as we will with the truth which this great
drama over in Europe teaches that monarchy
is orumbling sham, and kings are but pup
pets, whose strings work more awry with
every year. This puppet, at least, while her
partner could be seen of all men to be but
decayed wood, wore the golden rigol with
queenly spirit, impregnated her royalty with
her own life and beauty and grace. We re-
member, long ago, to have seen photograph
of young girl, half Irish by blood, just past
childhood, in simple dress, handkerchief
closely knotted about the throat. The por-
trait was shown to MS because of the wonder
full beauty of the face and the singular fore
boding of the eyes, prophetic of i'll fortune
1t was Mad'lle de Montijo, unknown 90 fame
or the world We should be glad if the eyes
could plead for the woman with the world as
they do with us. Our judgment, of course,
applauds those far-sighted thinkers among us
who have been shifting the air as tainted for
months about the Napoleonic dynasty, and
launching herculean invectives at Eugene s
paniers and puffs our conscience also must
approve the rejoicing of the advanced female
pointing her moral with the fact that this
goddess of dress was forced to leave all her
trunks behind her. "Where be your jewels
now? Your hundred milliners? Your
flashes of genius in robe or coiffure that
were wont to set the world of women in a
flame Not one now to mock your Quite
chapfallen? Now, get you to every woman s
chamber and tell her, let her paint an inch
thick, to this complexion must she come at
last" We know this sermon ought to be
preached by every sound female thinker on
next Sunday. But we are unsound. We
protest that this poor lady, who used her
beauty and her skill in dress for the service
of her husband and her child and her church,
with such persistent purblind fidelity, is
one of the most pathetic and picturesque
figures in history. Repubiicanism is great
and good thing But fair figure regally
draped, giving the world glimpse of refine
ment and grace, has it not also its uses? We
do not choose to give it up. Are all men and
women made only to shove on liberty and
progress? Were Cleopatra and Helen, and
Eugenie born to be hashed up into morals
to feed our children withal? We will not
look at her in a hackney coach, nor grin
when her trunks are left behind. We
choose to think her refusal to allow her
claim to be forced on the people-'I can
bear their pity, but not their hatred -
right royal utterance. Better, in that
mood, she had died; ga Queen, name for
ever" We enter protest in the name of the
eternal fitness of things against her life end
ing in that free land where, as Nine. de Stael
testifes, the exile's pain takes the shape of a
fat paw on ones shoulder or a glass of beer
by ones plate. We will not have her at
Newport and Fifth avenue, growing stout and
vulgar under our eyes. Has Wilhelm no St.
Helena? Or must she get her to nunnery !?
Let 'Louis and I" turn into British citizens
or be chopped into wurst-no matter. But
let history keep the shadow of this fair, sad
eyed woman undisturbed, and when her epi-
taph is written let Gradgrind stand back and
uncover his head