And it would ill become me, whom
my husband honours--wife to the man whom you would honour--to take a part
in changing the ancient custom which has been held in honour for all the
thousand years, which is the glory of Blue Mountain womanhood. What an
example such would be in an age when self-seeking women of other nations
seek to forget their womanhood in the struggle to vie in equality with
men! Men of the Blue Mountains, I speak for our women when I say that we
hold of greatest price the glory of our men. To be their companions is
our happiness; to be their wives is the completion of our lives; to be
mothers of their children is our share of the glory that is theirs. "Therefore, I pray you, men of the Blue Mountains, let me but be as any
other wife in our land, equal to them in domestic happiness, which is our
woman's sphere; and if that priceless honour may be vouchsafed to me, and
I be worthy and able to bear it, an exemplar of woman's rectitude." With
a low, modest, graceful bow, she sat down. There was no doubt as to the reception of her renunciation of Queenly
dignity. There was more honour to her in the quick, fierce shout which
arose, and the unanimous upward swing of the handjars, than in the
wearing of any crown which could adorn the head of woman. The spontaneous action of the Gospodar Rupert was another source of joy
to all--a fitting corollary to what had gone before. He rose to his
feet, and, taking his wife in his arms, kissed her before all. Then they
sat down, with their chairs close, bashfully holding hands like a pair of
lovers. Then Rupert arose--he is Rupert now; no lesser name is on the lips of his
people henceforth. With an intense earnestness which seemed to glow in
his face, he said simply:

"What can I say except that I am in all ways, now and for ever, obedient
to your wishes?" Then, raising his handjar and holding it before him, he
kissed the hilt, saying:

"Hereby I swear to be honest and just--to be, God helping me, such a King
as you would wish--in so far as the strength is given me. Amen." This ended the business of the Session, and the Council showed unmeasured
delight. Again and again the handjars flashed, as the cheers rose "three
times three" in British fashion. When Rupert--I am told I must not write him down as "King Rupert" until
after the formal crowning, which is ordained for Wednesday, October
16th,--and Teuta had withdrawn, the Voivode Peter Vissarion, the
President and Council conferred in committee with the Presidents of the
High Courts of National Law and of Justice as to the formalities to be
observed in the crowning of the King, and of the formal notification to
be given to foreign Powers. These proceedings kept them far into the
night. FROM "_The London Messenger_." CORONATION FESTIVITIES OF THE BLUE MOUNTAINS. (_From our Special Correspondent_.) PLAZAC,
                                                       _October_ 14, 1907. As I sat down to a poorly-equipped luncheon-table on board the
Austro-Orient liner _Franz Joseph_, I mourned in my heart (and I may say
incidentally in other portions of my internal economy) the comfort and
gastronomic luxury of the King and Emperor Hotel at Trieste. A brief
comparison between the menus of to-day's lunch and yesterday's will
afford to the reader a striking object-lesson:
_Trieste_. _Steamer_. Eggs a la cocotte. Scrambled eggs on toast. Stewed chicken, with paprika. Cold chicken. Devilled slices of Westphalian      Cold ham. ham  (boiled in wine). Tunny fish, pickled. Bismarck herrings. Rice, burst in cream. Stewed apples. Guava jelly. Swiss cheese. Consequence: Yesterday I was well and happy, and looked forward to a good
night's sleep, which came off. To-day I am dull and heavy, also
restless, and I am convinced that at sleeping-time my liver will have it
all its own way. The journey to Ragusa, and thence to Plazac, is writ large with a pigment
of misery on at least one human heart. Let a silence fall upon it! In
such wise only can Justice and Mercy join hands. Plazac is a miserable place. There is not a decent hotel in it. It was
perhaps on this account that the new King, Rupert, had erected for the
alleged convenience of his guests of the Press a series of large
temporary hotels, such as were in evidence at the St. Louis Exposition. Here each guest was given a room to himself, somewhat after the nature of
the cribs in a Rowton house. From my first night in it I am able to
speak from experience of the sufferings of a prisoner of the third class. I am, however, bound to say that the dining and reception rooms were,
though uncomfortably plain, adequate for temporary use. Happily we shall
not have to endure many more meals here, as to-morrow we all dine with
the King in the State House; and as the cuisine is under the control of
that _cordon bleu_, Gaston de Faux Pas, who so long controlled the
gastronomic (we might almost say Gastonomic) destinies of the Rois des
Diamants in the Place Vendome, we may, I think, look forward to not going
to bed hungry. Indeed, the anticipations formed from a survey of our
meagre sleeping accommodation were not realized at dinnertime to-night. To our intense astonishment, an excellent dinner was served, though, to
be sure, the cold dishes predominated (a thing I always find bad for
one's liver). Just as we were finishing, the King (nominated) came
amongst us in quite an informal way, and, having bidden us a hearty
welcome, asked that we should drink a glass of wine together. This we
did in an excellent (if rather sweet) glass of Cliquot '93. King Rupert
(nominated) then asked us to resume our seats. He walked between the
tables, now and again recognizing some journalistic friend whom he had
met early in life in his days of adventure. The men spoken to seemed
vastly pleased--with themselves probably. Pretty bad form of them, I
call it! For myself, I was glad I had not previously met him in the same
casual way, as it saved me from what I should have felt a
humiliation--the being patronized in that public way by a prospective
King who had not (in a Court sense) been born. The writer, who is by
profession a barrister-at-law, is satisfied at being himself a county
gentleman and heir to an historic estate in the ancient county of Salop,
which can boast a larger population than the Land of the Blue Mountains. EDITORIAL NOTE.--We must ask our readers to pardon the report in
yesterday's paper sent from Plazac. The writer was not on our regular
staff, but asked to be allowed to write the report, as he was a kinsman
of King Rupert of the Blue Mountains, and would therefore be in a
position to obtain special information and facilities of description
"from inside," as he puts it. On reading the paper, we cabled his
recall; we cabled also, in case he did not obey, to have his ejectment
effected forthwith.