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The Motion Picture Story Magazine

Published for the Public Monthly by THE MOTION PICTURE STORY PUBLISHING COMPANY

Publication Office, 26 Court Street, Brooklyn, N. Y.

J. STUART BLACKTON, President D. ROY SHAFER. Vice-President

EUGENE V. BREWSTER. Secretary and Treasurer

Price per Copy, Fifteen Cents By the Year, One DoKar Fifty

Vol. 1

FEBRUARY, 1911

No. 1

'Dost thou love pictures f We will fetch thee straight — Adonis painted by a running brook; And Cythcrca all in sedges hid;

Which seem to move and wanton with her breath, Even as the waving sedges play with the wind."

— Taming of the Shrew.

EDITORIAL

PROEM

The Motion Picture Story Magazine presents its compliments to its readers and hopes for a more intimate acquaintance.

This publication is so absolutely unique amongst the hundreds of monthly magazines, its Editors feel assured that the novelty will of itself attract an attention that the publication will hold.

Irrespective of its merits as a play, the dramatized novel is assured the patronage of the supporters of the book.

The Motion Picture Story Magazine, thru the courtesy of the leading manufacturers of moving pictures, both here and abroad, is able to announce the monthly presentation of at least a dozen short stories lavishly illustrated with photographs from life of those actors engaged in the presentation of the photoplay upon which the story is based, and which will be produced within the current month at all of the leading photoplay-houses thruout the country. These stories will be among the most notable of the seventy or eighty stories to be presented each month, and will represent the very best of a varied product.

Unlike the dramatized novel, which frequently makes radical departure from the published book, these stories adhere closely to the original tale,

5

6 EDITCms&L

and the reader will find no disappointment in the pictured drama thru the violence done to preconceived impressions of the various personages.

We feel that this Monthly will meet a demand from the increasingly large number of picture patrons, and we thank you for the welcome of which we feel assured.

To imitate, as Aristotle observes, is instinctive to the human race, and from clever imitation all men derive a certain pleasure. That is why, for three thousand years, the drama has been to the world one of its greatest sources of entertainment, culture and education. Indeed, ' ' The play 's the thing, ' ' but not necessarily the spoken play. Gesture and facial expression are more eloquent than words. The eyes can speak as well as the lips. "Actions speak louder than words." And not only this, for all the world loves a picture, and that is why the moving picture has come into such unprecedented popularity. By Theophile Gautier it has been well remarked that the skeleton of every good drama is a pantomime, altho the bones that form it must be covered with the living flesh of poetry.

The moving pictures not only imitate ; they interpret human life. No painter can paint with the hand what the motion picture spectator can see with his eye.

As Cowper observes, "Blest be the art that can immortalize, — the art that baffles time's tyrannic claim to quench it." And what better accomplishes this than the moving picture? It puts in permanent form the history of to-day for the scholars of to-morrow. It sketches life, customs, habits and character as no words can do. It makes an accurate record of times present, and brings us into more intimate relations with times past.

The first dramatic representations known in Europe were devotional pieces, acted by the monks, in the churches of their convents, representa- tive of the life of the Saviour and of his apostles. The drama has long since passed the time when it was used for religious or even for moral pur- poses, yet the moving picture play has come, and we frequently see plays in illustration of Bible stories and of other moral truths.

One advantage of the moving picture over the theatre play is in the variety of the scenery and the facility with which it can be changed. At the theatre we seldom see more than three scenes, and we are obliged to wait several minutes to see even these ; while at the moving picture plays, we may see a hundred in one piece, without losing a minute of our time and without losing a bit of action. Besides this, the limited space on the theatre stage makes elaborate scenery impossible, whereas the picture play often presents real instead of painted scenery.

The picture play has been a God-send to those who have been complaining of bad acoustics in the theatres, and of actors with poor enunciation or bad elocution. And we must not forget that there is in every community a considerable number who are hard of hearing, or even deaf.

A famous preacher recently said that he believed more good was done to the boys by the moving picture plays than by the churches. "You can teach a boy a lesson," said he, "in Sunday School, but he is not interested, and, if he listens at all, he soon forgets what he has learned ; while the lesson of the moving picture is not only intensely interesting, but it has a more dramatic and lasting effect on the boy. If I could select my own pictures, I believe I could reform any bad boy."

PALS

Adapted from the Play by Colin S. Collins

The Story of a partnership that was broken thru the rascality of a Mexican, but made whole again thru fortunate circumstances

The wicked looking blade gleamed coldly in the light as it flashed on high. Some of the regular patrons of the "Grub Stake" bar edged toward the door. When "Greasy Diego" went on a drunk it was just as well to be somewhere else unless you happened to have a "grouch" against the life insurance company that wrote your policy. Those who could not get to the door

stood looking, with the odd indiffer- ence of the plainsman to <the passing of human life, and in that electric moment wondered what Jack Harper would do to Diego should the thrust not prove immediately fatal.

Harper was reasonably quick on the draw, but the hammer had caught against a frayed edge of the holster, and he was at the Mexican's mercy.

But the blade did not fall and

DENTON'S ARRIVAL IN THE WEST. 7

)

I

PALS

Diego uttered a cry of pain as an iron grip closed over the slender wrist with a pressure that seemed able to crush it. For a moment he writhed and struggled, seeking to turn the blade against this new antagonist, but the knife clattered to the floor and in another moment half a dozen men were piled upon his prostrate form and Harper was shaking hands with his preserver.

"And you a tenderfoot," he cried amazed. "When I saw you get off the stage I sure had it figured that you'd take some training to get in line for the West, but — say — you're a ready-made man, that's what you are. What's your name, Old Timer?"

"Brooks Denton," answered the easterner, not conscious of the compli- ment the expression ' ' Old Timer ' ' con- veyed.

"You're all right, Denton," cried Harper, "and any time you want a pal just tell me about it. I'm your man if you want me. ' '

"Then I may as well tell you now," was the smiling response. "I do want a pal, and if you mean it, I think we can get along first rate. I've enough to grub-stake two for a few months and—"

"And I've a pretty comfortable cabin," volunteered Harper. "Is it a go?"

' ' The very -thing I wanted, ' ' was the hearty response. "Let's have a drink to celebrate the event and then get down to business."

The invitation to all hands to step up to the bar completed Denton's popularity not an hour after he had stepped from the stage, and presently he became part owner of Harper's cabin by virtue of a liberal contribu- tion of stores.

The partnership brought success to Harper, whose development work on a lead did not return the promise of the indications. With two men to work they made more rapid progress, and the indications again grew most favorable. Harper had been famous in camp for his prejudice against "tenderfeet" from the East, but now he swore that the ideal combination

was a man from the East and one from the W^est.

When the work was temporarily stopped by a cave-in which laid Den- ton up for several weeks Harper nursed him as tenderly as a woman and knitted more firmly the bond between the two men.

Then came pay-rock, and day after day Harper and Denton 'added to the store of gold in the chimney piece and planned what they would do when the pile grew big and they could sell the mine for a good, round sum. Five thousand apiece was the sum they set for the "cleanup," and then Denton would go back East for his family while Harper stayed to sell the mine. Denton's mother was failing fast and he was anxious to get back home.

At last the day came when the dust was weighed for the hundredth time, and with the last addition made up the sum. Half the night they sat up and planned, and it was late when they rose in the morning.

"You go up to the claim and start in, ' ' suggested Denton, ' ' and I '11 wash the dishes and clean up. We'll put in one more day and to-morrow we'll cash in the dust and divide. I don't like the idea of so much dust here. Diego doesn't like us and one of these days he'll make a raid."

"Not while he remembers the grip you gave him, ' ' denied Harper with a laugh, as he shouldered his tools. "Bring up some stuff for lunch when you come."

Denton nodded, and when his pal had gone he busied himself with the dish-washing. He was still at work when a miner living up the creek dropped in.

' ' This came in on the stage this morn- ing," he explained, handing him a yellow telegraph envelope. "The driver asked me to bring it along to save him the trip, and he says he's going back at half past eleven."

He hurried away, for he knew the contents of the envelope and, man- like, he hated a scene.

With trembling fingers Denton tore open the envelope and confirmed his fears. His mother was sinking. Per-

DIEGO UTTERED A CRY OF PAIN AS AN IRON GRIP CLOSED OVER HIS SLENDER

WRIST.

haps it would be too late to see her alive, but she was calling for him and they knew that he would come.

He glanced at the clock. It was eleven. There was no time to go up to the claim and tell Harper. There was time only to throw a few things in a grip and hurry to the Grub Stake to take the stage for the railroad.

On the back of a flour-sack he wrote a brief note for Harper, explaining the situation, and promising to return as soon as possible. "I don't need the dust," he added. "We will divide when I get back."

He left this and the telegram on the table where Harper would be sure to see it, and he never 'noticed "Greasy Diego" peering through the window. The Mexican had seen Harper going toward the claim alone, and thought his chance had come to be revenged upon the man who had humiliated him.

Something he guessed from the mes- sage and the actions that followed,

and now a new scheme of revenge sug- gested itself. As soon as Denton left the shack he slipped thru the lightly latched door and made a rapid survey of the room. It did not take him long to locate the loose bricks in the chim- ney that marked the hiding place, and he paused only long enough to destroy the note and telegram and leave in its place another that read :

"I'm tired of the country and I'm taking the dust. You can have the mine to get more from. ' '

Diego, unlike many of his class, could write well, and it was not the first time that he had forged the writ- ing of others. The note would have puzzled Denton himself, and it com- pletely deceived Harper when he tired of waiting for his lunch and returned to the shack.

"My pal," he moaned as he sank into a chair. "He could have had the doggone dust, if he wanted, if he only had asked, but to do me dirt like this when I trusted him ! ' '

PALS

11

That was what hurt. He had trusted Denton as a brother. He had come to love him with more than a brother's love, and the betrayal destroyed his faith in all men.

For more than an hour he sat silent and gloomy, staring with unseeing eyes at the rifled cache. Then he rose, and there was a new look in his face ; it was hatred and stern purpose and he buckled his holster about his waist.

At the Grub Stake, while waiting for the evening stage, he learned that Denton had taken the noon stage and that he had carried a large bag that seemed to be heavy. It could not have contained all of the dust, some of it must have been cached; but he had gone, and with him all of Harper's faith in his fellow man.

"I'm going to catch him," Harper confided to the Sheriff, "and when I do I guess there won't be any need of an inquest to find out that he's dead."

"Better go careful," urged the Sheriff. "They don't care for gun- play back East."

" I 'm not doing this to please them, ' ' reminded Harper, as he climbed aboard the stage, and the Sheriff knew that it would be short shrift for Denton should he be found.

New York is a large place and Harper searched the directory in vain for the Denton he sought. There were many in the huge volume, but not the man he wanted, tho he visited each in turn. Day after day he set out on his quest, ever hopeful that he would find the man who had played him false.

He was on the search in the suburbs when there was a cry from the passers-by, and he turned in time to see a speeding automobile knock down a little child. The people surged about the car, but Harper was first upon the scene and it was he who raised the little one from the dust.

The self-important small boy vol-

HE TURNED IN TIME TO SEE A SPEEDING AUTOMOBILE KNOCK DOWN A

LITTLE CHILD.

12

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

'I'LL GIVE YOU TEN SECONDS TO SAY YOUR PRAYERS.

unteered to show the way to her home, and leaving the policeman to get the address of the owner of the car Harper bore his burden as gently as could a woman, nor did he lay the burden down until her own little bed was ready and the doctor had come.

"I'd like to come out to-morrow and see if she's all right," he said awk- wardly to the mother, and so it hap- pened that the next day Harper, ladened with fruits and toys, was ushered into the tiny room where the little sufferer lay, her sprained limbs tightly bandaged.

Harper loved children, and he was soon deep in the intricacies of a fairy tale, while the mother stole out to take advantage of the respite to attend to her household tasks.

" — And so the Princess turned and said," he recited, then he sprang to his feet and gave utterance to some- thing that was very unlike the lan- guage of a Princess in a fairy tale. Like a flash his gun was whipped from its holster, and he stood with the ugly

muzzle pointing to the heart of the man who had been his pal.

"I've found you," he cried, forget- ful of the child. " I 've found you, you thieving cur. I swore when I found you that I would shoot to kill and I'm going to do it, Denton."

"Jack! Are you crazy?" cried Denton as he saw the light of madness in the other's eyes.

"I guess I am," came the response. "You'd be crazy, too, if your pal had done you dirt."

" I ! How ? ' ' There was conviction in Denton's tones, but Harper gave no heed.

You know well enough,

he

snarled. "Don't lie out of it, now I have you cornered. I'll give you ten seconds to say your prayers. One, two—"

Denton could not speak. He did not understand what had happened. He could not imagine what his offense had been.

"Three — four — five — " Harper was counting slowly, and with the solemn

PALS

13

tones of a judge pronouncing a death sentence.

' ' Six — seven — eight — nine — ' ' The finger on the trigger trembled.

' ' Don 't you f righten my papa ! Don 't Don't!"

Both men had forgotten the child in the tense moments. The cry broke the spell. Harper let the pistol fall to his side.

"The kid saved you," he said huskily. l ' Let me go before the crazi- ness comes again:"

He turned toward the door, but Mrs. Denton blocked the way. In her hand she held a telegraph envelope which she offered to her husband. Denton read and passed the yellow sheet to his pal.

"The greaser got the money," the wire ran. "He borrowed a horse to take it across the border, and that is how we happened to get him. He confessed. Try and locate Harper and tell him. He's looking for you."

The slip fluttered to the floor. Harper turned to his friend.

"I ain't worthy, after the way I acted," he said huskily, "but if you can forgive — . "

A handclasp was the answer and Harper turned to the little bed and placed an arm about the frightened child.

"We'll make her the third pal," he said tenderly. "That morning I blasted out the pay streak and there's gold enough for three good pals."

Miss Clara Williams

Miss Clara Williams is one of the most popular of the picture players. While she has had fine success in various other roles, she excels in the plays of the West. Having spent several years on a cattle ranch, she is familiar with the real cowboy, she is an expert horse- woman, and a lover of out-door life. All of Miss Williams' impersonations are highly artistic.

Notable Bits from Photoplays

A SPIRITED SCENE FROM "THE BUCCANEERS.'

14

Birds and Birdmen

By J. Stuart Blackton

Illustrated with Photographs by the Author

OTORING thru Long Island one crisp brilliant day in October several years ago, we slowed down at the intersection of two picturesque ways where thickly wooded glades ran to the road's edge on either side, and halted our car where, thru a vista of crimson and golden leaves, a glimpse of sparkling water and yel- low marshland redolent of a George Innes landscape, tempted us to tarry and spread our "al fresco" lunch.

Half an hour later, with a cigar be- tween my teeth and feeling at peace with all the world, I lay flat on my back and looked straight up into the many-hued sky; looked just for the sake of looking, and saw, presently, half a dozen tiny black specks which finally took shape and resolved them- selves into a flock of wild geese. On

16

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

they came, straight and true, until, on outspread pinions, they floated direct- ly above me. Suddenly from the marsh, a heron rose with raucous cry and flapped grace- fully up and over the tree tops, while almost simultaneously a flock of wild ducks whirred out of the water and streamed out like a pen- nant swirled by the autumn wind.

The geese with one accord swept ma- jestically in a circle, and then, as if having decided unanimously on their direction, headed due South and in a few seconds disappeared.

Life did not seem so satisfactory; I envied those birds, envied their won- derful freedom of flight, their marvel- ous mastery of the domains of the air, a kingdom yet unconquered by man, and wondered if human science or in- ventive genius would ever put hu- manity on an equality with the goose in the matter of flying.

Last October at Belmont Park, a few miles from the same spot on Long Island, on the same kind of a day, I lay back on the rear seat of a touring car and watched two tiny specks so far up that occasionally they would be lost in a rose-col- ored cloud that appeared to be trying to blot them out. Steadily they grew larger and more distinct until every detail could be seen limned in black tracery against the glowing arch of the heavens.

My query of five

LE BLANC'S MONOPLANE IN THE AIR AND AFTER CUTTING A TELEGRAPH POLE

IN TWO.

18

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

years previous was answered — they were not geese — the two specks were Johnstone and Hoxsey descending from an altitude flight of nearly ten thousand feet above the earth's surface. As they neared the ground another shadow passed athwart my vision, and Latham in his bird-like monoplane swooped gracefully upwards, the golden sunset glinting on the under side of his broad pinions as he swerved and dipped in his circling flight, paraphrasing the heron whom I had not forgotten.

And still more wonders ! Here were the "wild ducks," the saucy little Demoiselles, and the baby Wright ; Grahame-White 's Bleriot and Moisant's monoplane, nine in all, cir- cling and wheeling; crossing and re- crossing; whirring and buzzing until the air seemed to be, and literally was, full of huge bird-like creations, conceived, built and operated by the genius, skill and daring of man. The domain of the air was conquered. This is a story of conquest.

Later in the week little Moisant with his quiet, confident smile and his courageous black eyes, noncha- lantly stepped into a monoplane that he had tried for only a few minutes and triumphantly flew from the mid- dle of Long Island to and around the Statue of Liberty and back to almost the identical spot from which he started. To-day I read that the same

intrepid little air voyageur had flown four times over the city of Richmond. Another conquest ! and yet, as in all conquests, the price has to be paid — the cost is dreadful. Poor, genial, dare-devil Ralph Johnstone has paid Death's toll and many others went before, in the same quest, and still more will follow. So, after all, is the question answered yet? Can man with all his human intelligence be compared, so far as flying goes, with the simple goose ?

"A double task to paint the finest

features of the mind, and to most

subtle and mysterious things give

color, strength and motion." —

A li e n side.

"A work of art is said to be per- fect in proportion as it does not remind the spectator of the pro- cess by which it was created." — Tuckerman.

''The object of art is to crys- talize emotion into thought,

and then to fix it in form." —

Delsarte.

Abraham Lincoln's Clemency

A Prose Version of Francis De Haes Janiver's Famous Poem, 'The Sleeping Sentinel"

It was against the regulations, and only a few days before, the General had laid special stress upon the importance of obeying to the very letter the injunctions laid down, but habit breeds contempt for infraction. An all-day scouting trip had tired the men, and Will Scott felt that it would not matter if for a few moments he sat down to rest his tired limbs. He was almost at the end of his tour of duty, but it seemed to him that he could not remain standing until the relief came wrhen he could find rest in the guard tent.

He only meant to rest for a moment but almost on the very instant, his head sank forward, and forgetfulness from his weariness came in blessed sleep.

He was back again on the green Vermont hillsides, and presently he would go back to the old homestead, where a huge cut of apple pie and a draft of milk would assuage a hunger made the more keen by his tramp thro fields and woods. He was just in sight of the home, as he thought, when a shot was heard — perhaps Dick Hoe was shooting squirrels with the old long-bore rifle that had been his grandfather's before him. "Post number seven!"

That expression had no part in the Vermont picture. Post seven? Why that was his post: the beat he had been set to guard. He sprang to his feet, rubbing his sleep-heavy eyes, and for a moment his heart seemed to cease its beating. Before him stood the sergeant and the relief patrol.

Will's own gun still smoked from its recent discharge, and far down the line he could hear repeated tne call: "Corporal of the Guard! Post num- ber seven ! ' '

The camp, roused by the alarm shot, was quickly astir, and the red- sashed officer of the day came hurry- ing to the scene. At command, Will stepped in between his comrades, and he marched off to the guard tent, not as a member of the relieved party, but as a prisoner, charged with being asleep on post.

Court martial convened in the morning. The Judge Advocate made his plea with a wealth of forensic elo- quence, but he knew that he urged a hopeless cause. Will Scott had been caught asleep on post, and "Post seven" at that, which was the direct approach to Chain Bridge, the road to Washington from the Virginia shore. Just beyond the lines were en- camped the Confederates, so close, in- deed, that tobacco from the Southern ranks was daily exchanged for sugar, tea and flour from the North. The fraternizing of the outposts of the two armies was a thing before unheard of. Strong measures were needed to stamp it out before serious consequences re- sulted. For the good of the discipline of the entire army, Will Scott must die, and not even Will himself was surprised when sentence was pro- nounced. He was to die within the week.

There was time for the ministra- tions of the regimental Chaplain, time to get a letter to the dear old Mother

19

20

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

IN THE LIBRARY OF THE WHITE HOUSE A TALL, GAUNT MAN LOOKED DOWN

UPON THE ROWS OP TENTS.

in Vermont, and with a keen eye for effect, General Smith — "Baldy" Smith as he was known to his men — argued that the lesson for the others would be the stronger if the execu- tion of sentence was delayed. The men were used to the instant snuffing out of life, and the sight of Scott wait- ing day after day to meet his doom would be vastly more effective.

It was night. On the lots back of the White House rose a white city of war. The tents, newly issued to the recruits, still were white in the moon- light, for these latest volunteers had not seen service and were waiting impatiently for orders to move South when some discipline had been instilled into the untrained companies.

In the library of the White House, a tall, gaunt man, whose face was beautiful for its very homeliness, looked down upon the row of tents.

Upon the strong, homely face there was a look of anguished sorrow such as the face of Christ might have worn in the garden of Gethsemane; for

Abraham Lincoln, stern of face, but tender in heart as any woman, knew that many of those who slept beneath the white canvas soon would sleep the last sleep of death beneath the red clay of Virginia, and his heart wept for those mothers who would mourn their lost firstborn.

The cause was just and holy, but he had plunged the country into war and he felt a personal responsibility to the thousands whose unmarked graves were filled before their time.

He did not see the broad Potomac, flowing in silver tranquillity past the sleeping city ; he did not see the broad sweep of the flats, or the headlands across the eastern branch. His gaze passed beyond these to the scenes of carnage, where brother fought against brother, and the flower of the land was laid low.

There came, too, the vision of that Vermont home from which had come that day an appeal for the life of Will- iam Scott of the Third Vermont. It was a simple little letter, eloquent not in words but in the simplicity of the

ABRAHAM LINCOLN'S CLEMENCY

21

mother's plea for her only boy who was to die disgraced.

He received hundreds of such let- ters, and they never lost their appeal ; but he had granted pardons until Sec- retary Stanton had declared that he was destroying discipline and had made the President half promise that he would withhold all pardons in the future.

It had only been a half promise, and altho he meant to keep it, the Presi- dent found it desperately hard. And something about this letter, its con- vincing simplicity, perhaps, had strangely moved him. Full half the night he had worked over plans, re- ports and dispatches, his heart strings torn by their stories of death and de- feat.

Out on the Virginia plains, on the other side of the river, a firing squad, still dull with sleep, and with no relish for their detail, listlessly made their way to the scene of execution. A week had passed, and Will Scott marched with head erect between his companions, whose rifles he would presently face.

Bravely he took his stand before them. Bravely he raised his head as the Sergeant gave the command to make ready, altho he knew that next would come "Aim," and "Fire," and with the last, a deafening roar that would be to him the last earthly sound. "Aim!"

His muscles stiffened and he waited the last command. "Halt!"

It was not the Sergeant's voice, and the hoof beats told of the approach of an orderly. It could not be a re- prieve. "What could it mean?

The bandage was torn from his eyes. An orderly from another regiment was standing beside the sergeant, and thru the dust that mingled with the morning mist a carriage was seen to approach, and presently the tall form of the President, taller still for the old fashioned high hat, came upon the scene.

"I need live soldiers more than I do dead ones," he said to the officer. "I pardon William Scott. ' '

He handed the formal pardon to the

'HIS HEARTSTRINGS TORN BY THE STORIES OP DEATH AND DEFEAT.'

22

THE MOTION PICTURE STOEY MAGAZINE

ALL HIS MUSCLES STIFFENED AND HE WAITED THE LAST COMMAND.

man, and turned to Will, who was speechless with joy.

"Young man," he said severely, "I have been put to a lot of expense to save your life. How are you going \o pay me!"

"We c'n mortgage the farm," sug- gested Will, offering the only solu- tion he could find. Lincoln placed his huge hands on Vein's shoulders.

' ' That is not enough, ' ' he said kindly. "Repay me by showing that I have done well in saving a man from dis- grace. Prove that he was worthy of that effort, and I shall not regret my lost sleep."

"I promise," cried Will, as the President turned away, and his words had the sanctity of an oath.

Again night, and a city of tents, but this time they are crude shelters, the makeshifts of the Southern army, stained by storm and soil; and, over the field where all day the battle raged, the boys in grey, by lantern light, picked their careful way, searching for the least spark of life in friend or foe. In the hospital tents, the surgeons, soaked in blood, perform

hasty amputations, or probe for hid- den bullets, and the brave women of the South lend their gentle ministra- tions to their heroes and to their ene- mies without discrimination. It is enough that they suffer.

In one corner of a field, half hidden by a fence, Will Scott moves delir- iously. Bravely he had fought to hold the position, ... urging his comrades to defend their, post, and the Third Ver- mont had done much to lessen the decisiveness of the Southern victory. In the camp of the Third, where they had halted in their retreat, the men speak in whispers of Scott's bravery, and even "Baldy" Smith admits that "Old Abe knew what he was doing" when he let Scott go free.

On the field, Will Scott looks up, and in his dream he sees the President approach, the kindly smile upon his face, in his hand a wreath of laurel. He half raises himself upon a shat- tered arm.

"Then you knew I kept my prom- ise!" he cried with joy, and with a happy smile upon his face he falls back — dead.

24

THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

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'I PROMISE !" CRIED WILL, AND HIS WORDS HAD THE SOLEMNITY OF AN OATH.

The field surgeon, hurrying hither, kneels beside him and feels his heart. "Pass on," he orders, as he lets the limp arm fall. "We are too late."

Will Scott had kept his promise. He had proven himself worthy of his par- don. He had fought for his flag and honor.

Vitalizing the Teaching of History

Reclothing the Dry Bones of the Dead Past with the Living Flesh of Reality

To the average schoolboy the per- sonages of history mean very little. It is true that a few of the favorite generals of the Eevolu- tion or of the Civil War are possessed of a sort of fictitious reality, but to most of our healthy-minded children it is unreasonable to expect them to be interested in the dry facts of his- tory.

The American boy knows the heroes

of the baseball field as he will never know Napoleon; the former are flesh and blood and the latter is hidden be- tween a worn-out cover of a History of France. It remained for the mo- tion picture producer to raise from these dead pages of history, real he- roes and stories of the past that will live in memory and hold the interest of the schoolboy spellbound. It 's his- tory disguised as fun.

The Life of Moliere

Moliere is one of the rarest order of poets, whose very faults become sacred in the eyes of admirers. He is not only revered as a master, but beloved by us as a friend. Of all the French dramatists, he is the only one whose genius is as conspicuous to foreign nations as it is to his own. Like Shakespeare, he is for all time and for all races. — Buhver, "Essays."

Moliere is perhaps, of all French writers, the one whom his country has most uniformly admired, and in whom her critics are most un- willing to acknowledge faults. — Hallam, "Middle Ages."

Living in the blindest period of the world's history, in the most luxurious city, and the most corrupted court, of the time, he yet manifests thru all his writings an exquisite natural wisdom; a capacity for the most simple enjoyment; a high sense of nobleness, honor, and purity, variously marked thruout his slighter work, but distinctly made the theme of his two perfect plays — the Tartuffe and Misanthrope; and in all that he says of art or science he has an unerring instinct for what is useful and sincere, and uses his whole power to defend it, with as keen a hatred of everything affected and vain. — Buskin, "Modern Painters."

Here Moliere, first of comic wits, excell'd Whate'er Athenian theatres beheld; By keen, yet decent, satire skill 'd to please, With morals mirth uniting, strength with ease.

— Lord Lyttleton,- "Letters."

Moliere — whose name is the greatest in the literature of France and who, in the literature of the modern drama, is the greatest after Shakespeare — the great actor-playwright who excelled in comedy and who was far ahead of his time in tragic declamation ; the genius who was decried and villified by competitors whose eyes were blinded by jealousy to his real greatness ; the husband who suffered tortures in his domestic life, thru the unfaithfulness of the wife whom he loved to distraction; the one-time strolling player who put rural France into spasms of laughter, and the polished comedian who contributed still greater distinction to the splendors of the most illustrious court that the world has ever known. — James S. McQuade.

Jean Baptiste Moliere was born on the fifteenth of January, .622, and he flourished during the reign of Louis XIV. His life was an eventful one, his career was pic- turesque, and now, after more than three centuries have passed, he is pro-

nounced The Shakespeare of France. It was a splendid thought that prompted the photo-artists to produce "The Life of Moliere" in moving pictures, and it is a pleasure to reproduce in this magazine a few of the many beautiful pictures, some of which are here shown.

25

\ .

THE LIFE OF MOLIERE

27

MOLIERE'S BOYHOOD WAS SPENT IN A THEATRICAL ENVIRONMENT.

We first see Moliere at work in his father's shop, when a boy. All the employees are busy at their appointed tasks, except the youthful playwright, who snatches time to re-read one of his earlier efforts. The door opens and Scaramouche, the Italian comedi- an, enters in quest of a particular style of chair. Moliere tenders his play for perusal ; but, just as Scaramouche begins to be interested, Poquelin, the father of Moliere, comes in unex- pectedly, and the play is hastily thrown out of sight. Again the boy poet places it in the comedian's hand, and some clever work is done by Scaramouche, as he tries to read the manuscript without being detected by the stern upholsterer.

The next scene shows Moliere at the Louvre palace, where he meets Louis XIV for the first time. Here we see the scorn of the courtiers for the actor-dramatist, and their conster- nation over the consideration shown him by their king. This scene will be

remembered for the delicate beauty of the interiors shown.

Next we view the stately splendor of the festival at Versailles, where hundreds of courtiers, ladies in wait- ing and great nobles attend on the king. The beauty of the court cos- tumes, which in that time set the fashion for all the royal houses in Europe, and the courtly air and de- meanor of every individual in the royal pageant, have been faithfully reproduced. One cannot but marvel at the excellence of the training of this vast throng of players, every one of which acts his or her part as if to the manor born.

As Moliere comes into the scene, the acting of the king, of the courtiers, and of the great actor himself, is fault- less. When the king places his arm around Moliere 's shoulders and walks off with him, it is a delight to watch the faces of the surprised and jealous followers; and, when next we see Louis seated at table with Moliere,

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HIS LAST APPEARANCE.

serving him with his own hands, the cnp of the courtiers is full.

The scene showing the distraction of Moliere over the desertion of his wife, is a pathetic picture, and displays talented emotional acting. Then, when she appears, and we watch the play of coquetry on her witching face, just before she finally leaves him, and note her charm of manner and grace of deportment, we do not wonder at poor Moliere 's abandonment to de- spair. The attempt of the faithful maid-servant to arouse Moliere from his apathy and melancholy, is a bril- liant specimen of silent acting in both roles.

The last appearance of Moliere, and his first in the role of Malade, in the notable production of his own famous work, "La Malade Imaginaire," is a

fine depiction of the stage of the ten- nis court theatre, and of the French manner of acting in the seventeenth century. He was seized with con- vulsions while acting this part, and died soon after, on February 17, 1673.

The closing scene shows a statue of the dramatist at Versailles, in bust form. By means of a dissolving scene, the bust is surrounded by a throng of notables, assembled at its dedication to the poet's memory. A beautiful girl approaches the statue and places a laurel wreath on the chiseled brow; then, as if by magic, a similar wreath is seen in the uplifted hand of every- one present, making an imposing and fitting apotheosis of the greatest lit- erary genius that France has ever produced.

For art is Nature made by Man To man the interpreter of God."-

-Owen Meredith.

mmmmm

H

MISS ALICE JOYCE.

One of the familinr figures in the moving picture world, find one of the most popular, is Miss Alice Joyce. Miss Joyce made her debut before the public as a moving picture player, she having had no previous experience upon the stage ; hut, from her grace and acting, this would hardly be believed, even by the most critical observer, and it is the consensus of opinion that the histrionic talents of Miss Joyce are quite equal to her beauty — which is saying a great deal.

The Love of Chrysanthemum

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A Little Tragedy of Japan Wherein a Tourist Fails to Realize That Love is a Sacred Thing the World Around

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Koto softly drew his breath be- tween his lips, a sibilant sigh of satisfaction. "The terms are well arranged," he said, as he clapped his hands; then to the little maid who entered he added: "Send Miss Chrysanthemum here."

Presently she came, as pale and slender as her namesake flower, and with a frightened look in her great black eyes that told her fears of what

was to come. She had seen her father in consultation with the marriage broker many times in the past week, and she knew that a marriage was planned.

"It pleases the honorable Sayo to make alliance with this despised house," announced Koto, tho his lips curled in scorn as he uttered the pre- scribed formula, for his grandfather had been a two-sword man, and none had heard of Sayo's father until the

CHRYSANTHEMUM PREPARES FOR HER MARRIAGE. 31

THE LOVE OF CHRYSANTHEMUM

36

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steamships and the white race had come to curse Nippon's shores.

"Surely the honorable Sayo would not demean himself by alliance with the poor Chrysanthemum," she pleaded, "and — Oh! Honorable Sir! — I do not wish to marry.' '

Pleadingly she regarded him, but Koto was not to be moved. Sayo had promised ten thousand yen. Chrysan- themum must be married, some time. The girl read his cold eyes and steeled her own.

Mechanically she submitted to the ministrations of her maids, adding the finishing touches herself to the elabo- rate make up as Koto entered with the groom. It was a brief ceremonial, and in a little while poor little Chrysan- themum was being carried to her new home, taking comfort only in the thought that Fusi, who had been her handmaiden since her childhood, was to go with her.

Vance Redmond, strolling along the

narrow road, drank in the beauty of the scene with the keen appreciation of the artist. The rickshaw, carrying the merchant to his business office, attracted his attention to the gate from which it had emerged, but the beauty of the garden was not what held Redmond's glance. The great masses of bloom were fair, but they served only as a background to the daintily dressed Japanese lady who sat idly upon the bench.

Six months had passed, and Chry- santhemum still dreamed day-dreams of a real love.

With an artist's keen appreciation of all things beautiful, Redmond feasted his senses until she raised her eyes, and their glances met. There seemed an invitation in her smile, and with a courtly salute Redmond pro- ceeded to enter the garden.

As quickly as her absurdly small feet would permit, she toddled toward him.

"The honorable stranger does not

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realize that this is private ground," she reminded him, with quaint dig- nity, even while the note of longing in her voice told of her desire to bid him remain.

Redmond's smile was frank and engaging. "Your pardon," he said quickly. "I only desired to ask guid- ance to the nearest inn."

With delicious indecision Chrysan- themum debated the question, con- scious that Fusi, from the verandah, was watching, with fear and disap- proval in her eyes.

Sayo was a master not lightly to be crossed.

But she could find no excuse for prolonging the conversation and Red- mond passed on with an elaborate bow and Chrysanthemum watched him until he passed from sight. A touch upon her shoulder roused her.

"My lord has long ears and a strong arm," she reminded. "It is not well that the Lady Chrysanthemum should speak at the gate with the man from across the sea."

' ' And yet, Fusi, our Emperor 's edict requires us to be courteous to all strangers," she reminded.

"Courteous, yes," admitted Fusi, ' ' but — ' ' she did not finish the speech as Chrysanthemum moved away with as much dignity as she could com- mand. How could a mere servant be expected to understand?

He came again on the morrow when Sayo had been whisked off to the town in his rickshaw, and this time Chrys- anthemum threw discretion to the winds and came to the wall to meet him.

"I'm coming in," he announced masterfully, after a moment's chat. "Don't look so alarmed, little lady, I know my way. I came last night when I could not sleep and looked at your window."

' ' You could not sleep ? ' ' she repeated. "Because "

"Because of my thoughts of you," he cried, as he took a seat on the bench and drew her down beside him. "I could only think of you as you

REDMOND FOUND THE ABSENCE OF SEATS AWKWARD.

THE LOVE OF CHRYSANTHEMUM

35

"I WAS HOMESICK FOR THE SIGHT OF A FAMILIAR FACE.

stood against the chrysanthemums yesterday. ' '

He reached for some of the lovely blooms, and she sank from the bench to the ground at his feet where she might better hide her blushing face. He filled her arms with the flowers he plucked, taking an artist's delight in the picture he created.

"It is warm here in the sun," he said presently, and Chrysanthemum smiled.

"If you will deign to enter our mis- erable house," she began, with cere- monious politeness, but Redmond was already on his feet and was assisting her to rise.

1 ' That I will, ' ' he cried heartily, and he followed her into the house where the cool shade was made more inviting by light hangings and matting as soft as carpet.

With a stroke of her fan against her hand, Chrysanthemum summoned the trembling Fusi, and ordered tea for the guest. Redmond found the

absence of seats awkward in spite of practice, and he was glad when the tea ceremonial was over and he could assume a more comfortable pose. Drawing Chrysanthemum toward him he drew back the shapely head and pressed a kiss against her coral lips.

To Chrysanthemum the world seemed to stand still. She had seen the European kiss, and to her it had seemed a silly custom; but now, it transported her to a new world of delight, a world of tender love so dif- ferent from the cold, formal love of Japan. She knew now why she had been loath to marry Sayo, and what it was she had longed for in vain. She raised her head and returned the kiss, and with it she gave her whole heart. 1 ' Madam ! The master comes ! ' ' Redmond did not understand the native tongue, but the horror in Fusi 's voice told him enough. He sprang to his feet, his face drawn and white. He felt no physical fear, but the

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'IT WAS JUST A LITTLE GEISHA WHO HAS POSED FOR ME."

scandal would not be pleasant, and he knew that Japanese husbands had a most unpleasant trick of suggesting " hari-kari " to faithless wives. It would be too bad should the flower- like little woman be compelled to pay so high a price. The thought dazed him.

The quick-witted Fusi pushed him behind a screen and sank to her knees before the empty teacup. Sayo glanced keenly at the cups — it was not usual that the maid drank with the mistress, and Chrysanthemum's manner betrayed her nervousness ; but he found nothing to confirm suspicion tho once he actually leaned upon the screen behind which Redmond was in hiding.

To Redmond it seemed hours before the husband left the room, but at last he went, and, with a hurried promise to return, he dashed past the rickshaw man and was gone.

Redmond, sitting in front of the

hotel the next morning, sprang to his feet as a party of tourists entered. He had spent a bad night thinking of what might have happened to poor little Chrysanthemum. Men and women of his own race would keep him out of mischief for a while. But his impersonal interest was turned to an active one as he spied Alice Lang- ley.

1 ' Vance ! ' ' she cried as he seized her suitcase. ''What good fortune brings you here? I was homesick for the sight of a familiar face, and here you spring out of the ground. ' '

"I haven't been planted yet," he answered with a laugh ; ' ' but I might as well have been buried underground as to be in this deserted inn."

"You libel the place," she protested. "It seems a most delightful spot. The country is beautiful. You must show me the most picturesque landscapes you have found."

"I'll be delighted," he cried sin- cerely, as they moved toward the hotel.

THE LOVE OF CHRYSANTHEMUM

37

"VANCE— WE ARE WAITING FOR YOU. ARE YOU COMING

Remove the dust of travel as quickly as possible, and the exploration shall commence. ' '

He handed the suitcase over to a Japanese, and with a laughing warn- ing to her to be quick, he turned again to his chair, but now the ennui had vanished. A sedan chair was com- ing down the road, the bearers advanc- ing at a trot. As they drew nearer, he uttered an impatient oath for Chrysanthemum was leaning from the chair, her face aglow with love and welcome.

"You did not come," she reproached, as Redmond assisted her from the chair. I waited very long and then — I came. Was it very wrong?"

"It was not wise," he said, gently, and Chrysanthemum winced at the reproof in his tones.

"But you did not come," she reminded, "so it was that I must come to you."

"I was coming," he explained rapidly, fearful that Alice might

return, "but some friends arrived; I will come later — this evening."

' ' This evening ? ' ' she repeated. ' ' You will surely come?"

"Surely," he cried. "I will come to find you waiting by the chrysanthe- mums. ' '

Slowly she turned, and as she did so Alice Langley ran down the steps.

"Was I very long?" she asked archly, ' ' or was I too soon ? ' '

She glanced meaningly in the direc- tion in which the chair had disap- peared. Redmond colored.

"Not a moment too soon," he declared, ignorant that Chrysanthe- mum had halted her bearers and had stolen upon the hotel porch to listen jealously to what this "friend" might have to say. "It was just a little Geisha who has posed for me. I'll get my sketching kit and we'll start out."

They hurried into the hotel, and with trembling steps little Chrysan- themum crept toward her chair. He

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THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE

1 1	,'		1 ESS
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NEVER BEFORE HAD SHE SEEN HIM IN ANGER.

had called her a Geisha, a dancing woman of the tea houses! — but he would come to her that evening, and perhaps then he could explain. These Europeans had so many strange ways. But the little woman, waiting in the fragrant night, was doomed to disap- pointment. Redmond, sitting with Alice Langley, was pouring out the story of his love into not unwilling ears. He had drawn out his watch to show her her own picture in the case, when the action reminded him of his tryst with Chrysanthemum, and he started up guiltily.

1 'Where are you going, Vance?" she asked, as he caught up his hat.

"An appointment I had forgotten," he answered, ill at ease.

"Important?"

"Very."

1 ' Then prove your love by remaining here with me and forgetting this very important engagement," she com- manded.

Slowly Vance sank upon the bench. Alice, with a quiet smile of triumph,

offered her lips for the betrothal kiss, and all else was forgotten.

And little Chrysanthemum, watch- ing amid the flowers, waited and waited in vain, until the faithful Fusi drew her away to bed.

Once again, in the morning, she made appeal. Miss Langley and others were already in their rickshaws as her chair came up. Only Redmond was waiting, suitcase in hand, for his boy.

1 ' You did not come, ' ' she said plead- ingly. "Have I offended?"

' ' Vance ! ' ' Miss Langley 's voice was cold and hard. "We are waiting for you. Are you coming?"

Silently he pressed Chrysanthe- mum's hand. Her face showed that she understood. With tear-blinded eyes she groped her way to her chair, as the others started away. Thru the shrubbery Sayo watched them go. watched Chrysanthemum borne back to her home, and with lowering face he followed slowly afoot.

But slow as was bis progress, he

THE LOVE OF CHRYSANTHEMUM

39

was in his home when Chrysanthe- mum crept, like a hunted thing, thru the garden and into the house. Already Fusi had been told to go and now Sayo faced his wife sternly.

"You come back to the house you have disgraced ? " he asked coldly.

"Disgraced?" she echoed dully. "Perhaps it is disgrace to love another and by him to be cast away? To make my name a laughing stock at the inn!"

Furiously he caught up a knife from the wall and bent over the pros- trate, shuddering woman.

Affrighted she shrank from his approach. She did not fear death. That she knew to be the only way to wipe out the stain, but Sayo fright- ened her. Never before had she seen him in anger, and there was some- thing more terrible than death in this swift change from the impassive man she had known. Her terror seemed to recall that coldness. The knife fell to the floor as he turned away.

"I cannot kill," he cried hoarsely. "I cannot kill— but go!"

Slowly she crept from the room, back into that garden where fate had come to her, to the bench whereon they two had sat, and he had filled her arms with flowers and had called her his Lady of the Chrysanthe- mums.

His lady! And now his caresses were for another and he was gone.

She pulled a chrysanthemum to her.

Perhaps it might be that his hand had brushed it as he had reached for those with which he had filled her arms.

Ruthlessly she stripped the petals from the stalk, as he had stripped her life of hope, and pressed the bare stem against her beating heart. Her hand touched the handle of the knife she had caught up when Sayo dropped it. One moment it gleamed in the moon- light, then, with a shuddering sigh, her slim body crumpled up and she lay very still, her face pale in the

THERE FUSI FOUND HER LOVED MISTRESS AND FELL SOBBING AT HER FEET.

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moonlight, while slowly the obi was stained with crimson hue.

There Fusi, stealing from the house, found her loved mistress, and fell sob- bing at her feet.

Chrysanthemum had loved. Per- haps it were better so, but in the cold moonlight Fusi sobbed for the mis- tress she could not yet follow across the River of Souls.

Notable Bits From Photoplays

SCENE FROM "THE CONSPIRACY OF PONTIAC."

Mike The Housemaid From the Scenario of William H. Kitchell

Wherein the "New" Maid hinds ratal to His Plans the Attentions of Policeman Clancy . _

It had been a week or more since Dutch Mike and Light-fingered Pete had made a haul, and then it had done little more than square ac- counts with Murphy, up at the cor- ner, for various and sundry "growl- ers" that had been had on credit, and duly recorded on the accommodating slate.

But that was not the reason Pete

was reading the "help wanted" ad- vertisements. Pete had read all the rest of the paper, and had turned to these for want of better. "Girl of all work; one competent to take care of the silver," he read. ' ' Gee, Mike ! I wish it was a butler. ' ' "The silver can't be much good if they don't have a butler," suggested Mike, consolingly.

CLANCY'S ARRIVAL INTERRUPTS THE TWO THIEVES.

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PETE'S MISERY IS MADE APPARENT TO HIS PAL.

"A sugar bowl and six plated spoons would look like a chest of silver just now," declared Pete, plaintively. ''Look here, what's the matter with you getting the job? You've got the things you used on that last lay." "Sure thing," assented Mike. "That won't take long! Excuse me a min- ute and I'll send my sister."

It required but a few minutes for Mike to transform himself into a de- cidedly personable servant girl, and an hour later Mrs. Carrington was explaining to him the duties expected of her maid. Mike noted with satis- faction that the silver was better than he had dared hope, and his report to Pete was more than satisfactory.

But Mike narrowly escaped detec- tion, the first evening, for slipping out of the back gate for a quiet smoke, he was very nearly caught by Officer Clancy. Mike quickly hid the ciga- rette, and his nervousness was as- cribed bv Clancy to the dawn of love. He liked to consider himself a "lady

killer," and he knew by experience with departed maids that the Car- rington larder was kept well stocked, and that Carrington himself was a good judge of whiskey, and did not keep too close an eye upon the de- canter.

It was only natural that Mike should dislike policemen, and when the gallant officer began his love- making, Mike longed to introduce his fist to Clancy's jaw; but he coaxed Clancy along and took satisfaction in fooling one of his sworn enemies.

The chance to "take care of the silver," according to the ideas of Mike and Pete, soon came, and the Carring- tons were not fairly out of the house before Pete slipped into the hall, and, after supplying Mike's demand for a cigarette, began to pack the loot into his bag.

But they had not counted on Clancy, who had also noted the de- parture of the Carringtons. The task was not fairly begun before his club

MIKE TEE HOUSEMAID

43

beat a lively tattoo upon the back gate, startling Mike and sending Pete into a panic of fear.

Dashing into the front hall and up the stairs, he found a safe conceal- ment in the curtained shower bath, and Mike made everything safe by tying the cord securely about the rub- ber cloth; then, with fair composure, he went to admit Clancy. "Sure it's a bite and a wee drink yer have for yer Clancy," he coaxed, as he followed Mike into the kitchen; 4 'an' since the folks are away, it's in the dining room we '11 eat in proper style."

He led the way as he spoke, and there was nothing for Mike to do but meekly follow, tho at every step he mentally devised fresh torments to which he consigned the policeman.

A cake and the decanter satisfied Clancy, tho now and then he varied the fare by cracking nuts on the ma- hogany table with the butt of his re- volver, and, with every stroke of the

weapon, Mike more and more wished that it was the Clancy skull that was being cracked.

With the quieting of the house, Pete stirred to activity. Now, it so happened that in tying up the rubber cloth in which Pete was concealed, Mike had tied Pete's hands to his side ; and, in his endeavors to free himself, Pete accidentally turned on the cold water of the shower bath, and the chill flood descended. Soon the tub was full to overflowing, and the icy stream flowed upon the floor. The door fitted too tightly to permit a free passage of the water, and soon the bathroom was afloat.

Pete writhed and struggled, now cursing, now coughing, but never ceasing his efforts to free himself. The water soaked thru the tiles, and the steady drip-drip of water on the table below soon attracted Clancy's attention to the trouble above. "Sure, the water do be comin' from

THE CARRINGTONS ARE ASTONISHED AT THE INDOOR SHOWER.

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th' bathroom, Nora, darlin'," he murmured. "I'll be after runnin' up and shuttin' it off."

"Ill go," Mike interrupted. "It will need mopping up."

"I'll come and help," volunteered Clancy. "It's not Pat Clancy who'll let them little hands do all th' hard work. ' '

"You'll not," declared Mike, thrust- ing him back into the seat with un- necessary force. "I'll have no man messing things up. You stay here and finish the decanter."

"I'll come," insisted the stubborn Clancy. " I '11 follow me darlin ' Nora to th' ends av th' earth."

"You'll not," said Mike, wondering what could have happened to Pete. I'll go and you'll stay right here."

"I'll do no such What's that?"

Mike shared Clancy's dismay. It was the master and mistress unex- pectedly returned, and there was Pete tied up in the shower bath!

"You get out the back way before they see you and report you to the Captain," ordered Mike, as he started on a run for the second floor.

Clancy was too startled to follow

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MIKE IS DISCOVERED.

the advice, and he blindly pursued Mike up the stairs. To throw him off, Mike bolted into a bedroom, but Clancy was too close to be shaken, and he thrust his way into the room in spite of Mike's endeavors.

' ' Hide me, ' ' he cried hoarsely. l ' The Sarge told me last time that I'd be broken th' next time they found me off post."

In his desperation he threw his arm about Mike's neck in eloquent appeal, and his red thatch-like hair nearly rose erect, while Mike's glossy wig slipped from his head and hung heavy in Clancy's hand.

"Ha! ' Dutch Mike!'" gasped Clancy. "It's you, is it, up to your tricks again?"

Mike 's only answer was to bolt from the room and into the bathroom, where Pete had just succeeded in freeing himself. At the sight of Clancy he sought to climb thru the window, but it was too small, or Pete was too large, and the bedraggled burglar was yanked back into the room only to splash again into the tub.

There is no use in fighting the po- lice. It only means a clubbing, and Mike and Pete, realizing that the game was up, consented to go quietly, and Clancy proudly led them down the stairs. He had counted on help from Carrington, but there was more than that, for the disorder in the dining room, the water dripping from the ceiling and the noise upstairs had sent Carrington to the 'phone to call the police, and the reserves were there to observe Clancy's triumph.

"I saw that there was something up," explained Clancy, with a warn- ing look at Mike. "Th' back door was open and in I came. 'Twas a desp'rit fight, and I lost me gun, but I bagged 'em, Sarge."

With proper escort the twain were marched off to the station house, while Clancy lingered to permit Carrington to slip a note into the hand thrust ostentatiously behind his back.

' ' Sure it was a lucky escape, ' ' mused

MIKE THE HOUSEMAID

45

Clancy, as he trudged toward the sta- tion, "an' them fellers won't tell; but it's a pity Nora is Mike or Mike wasn't Nora. Sure she — I mean he —

was a fine figure of a gurl. It was Mrs. Clancy it was after making her I was — and she — I mean he — is Dutch Mike ! — a curse on the pair of 'em. ' '

CLANCY PLAYS A CLUB AGAINST A PAIR OF KNAVES AND TAKES THE TRICK.

Arthur Hotalling dates his picture career back to the first machines. He had charge of the first exhibition of motion pictures which was given at Atlantic City some sixteen years ago.

One of the star pictures of that day was one of John C. Rice and Miss May Irwin, in their famous kissing scene from The Widow Jones.

After the performance one evening a woman approached the manager with the request that her card be sent back to Miss Irwin. Mr. Hotalling

explained that the actress was in New York.

"I know better," was the indignant response. "I have known her for years and I saw her on the stage just a moment ago. Please take my card or when I do see Miss Irwin at her hotel I shall report your refusal."

Vainly he tried to explain that the photographs had been made in New York, and that only the pictured pre- sentment was shown, but she would not have it so, and the following morn- ing's mail brought a note for Miss Ir- win that fairly sizzled with wrath.

JUDGE WILLIS BROWN, THE CREATOR OF THE CITY OF BOYS AT CHARLEVOIX, MICH.

The City of Boys

A fascinating sketch of the city founded by Judge Willis Brown to make bad boys into good citizens

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A SCHOOL OP CITIZENSHIP ! That sounds better than the reform school, doesn't it? And it is better, for it is conceded that reform schools often serve to make good boys bad and bad boys worse, particularly when they are "schools of crime where the older offenders instruct the lesser delin- quents in the art of law breaking." At Boy City these same " kiddies* ' are taught to make and to enforce laws — not to break them. They are taught all the duties of citizenship and when they leave Boyville for the world outside they are better in mind, body and morals, for their residence within the charmed limits of the play city. That is the idea of Judge Willis Brown, of the Juvenile Court of Chi- cago, and Boy City is famous among penologists the world over. It is a manufactory of manhood that is doing more good for the youth of Chicago than can be realized without intimate association with Boy City and its products.

The City of Boys is not an institu- tion of instruction but of education in its broadest meaning; the educa- tion which eomes from experience. It is a system of educational recreation. The City of Boys emphasizes the real elements which make up a boy's desires — fun and opportunity actu- ally to do things. The instruction and discipline which obtains in a boy's life in home, school and church; every activity in which he enters, is under the direction of adults who are in authority. This discipline is

necessary and its purpose is to grow a man of character. Its fundamental is that the growing, boy needs mould- ing in the right way so that in after years when manhood is the fulfilment of boyhood, there shall be fixed habits of honor and virtue.

Notwithstanding this care and instruction given boys, many of them go wrong. Many violate laws to a greater or less extent. When a boy becomes incorrigible, disobedient, will- ful; when he smokes cigarettes, stays out nights, runs away to adjoining cities and often to far distant places, two deductions are always made. One is that the boy is naturally bad and needs severe punishment, the other is that the boy has not had proper con- trol and instruction. This latter reason may well be responsible for many of the boys of bad homes and vicious environment doing unseemly acts, on the theory that they know no better, that they are but following the example set before them and that they are misunderstood. The harsh treat- ment given these boys by the criminal courts made necessary the establish- ment of the Juvenile Courts.

As a judge of the Juvenile Court, Judge Brown found a great many boys of good homes coming before it. These boys having had good examples, loving parents and religious instruc- tion and advantages not enjoyed by the poorer boys, nevertheless com- mitted acts fully as vicious as these so-called unfortunate boys. Then it was claimed that these boys were simply "naturally" bad, and, in

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THREE CHARACTERISTIC SCENES IN BOY CITY.

THE CITY OF BOYS

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spite of their good homes, they chose to be tough and unruly. Out of these situations Judge Brown came to the understanding that no normal boy desires to do the wrong thing. That all. boys, however they might be instructed, were following the adult life of the community in which they lived. Not because those they fol- lowed were adults, but because adults made public sentiment, and boys were but a part of the community life, and therefore attempted to act their part. A majority of the boys coming before Judge Brown in the Juvenile Court commenced their delinquent habits as they were made a part of society: First, the gang of boys with a leader, then the larger group, until, uncon- sciously the boys were doing things contrary to the desire of parents and teachers, but in harmony with the accepted policies and sentiment of the boyhood of the community, the Boy City in the regular city in which they lived.

The purpose was to organize the boys of a community into a regular Boy City, where they could be recog- nized as a real part of the city life, distinct and apart from the men; where it was recognized that boys had certain rights as well as responsi- bilities, and therefore it is deemed not fair to measure the acts of any boy, whether those acts be good or bad, by the standard with which we measure the acts of men. In this plan there is still the unconscious influence of the adult community and in the working out of the City of Boys to its real success, a National City of Boys at Charlevoix, Mich., was established by Judge Brown. It comprises 100 acres, where, every summer, boys live in a real City of Boys. No adults other than those who accompany groups of boys to live in the city.

This "City of Boys" idea says to every boy : ' ' You know what is square. You have been taught by mother and father, you know what is their desire for you to do. You know what religious belief they wish you to follow and you know what is right for you to do. In the Public School you

understand the purpose of study and instruction. Now we give you an opportunity to carry out all you know in a city of your own where no man or woman rules. Run your own busi- ness. Have your bank, conduct your daily paper, eat when you want and sleep when you desire. Do whatever you please, enter politics or business, play all the time if you can afford it, or work, but do everything on the square. ' '

The City of Boys is not a reforma- tory or a scheme of moral instruction. If a boy cannot play square he is sent home, and denied citizenship, not by adults, but by the boys themselves. A cheat, in any- way, loses his citizen- ship. The City is for clean boys, who must meet responsibilities, who must meet temptations, who must assume responsibilities, who must grow into citizenship, and it is a place where he can test himself, where he can apply the instruction and example he has received and where he can find him- self at a period of life where habits are not fixed and where changes can be made without the overturning cf a whole life as is the case with men. It is a federation of groups of boys from various cities of the country who camp for the summer in one place. Each camp becomes a city ward, with its coun oilmen, who thus become a part of the city administration. It is pre- ventive work, and educational to the highest degree.

On the fun side, which largely con- trols a boy, the fun is at its extreme tension here. The things a boy enters on the fun side are real. The circus is a real circus, with real people pay- ing real money to witness the mar- velous feats of the show. Their games are under the direction of experts, and they have their National League play- ing by wards. This City of Boys is a living illustration to the boy of all the fun he ever dreamed of having, and the biggest fun any boy can have, because there is eliminated entirely the undesirable methods attending so much of the so-called fun boys have in the adult-city life, which fun makes necessary the juvenile court.

Mr. Charles Kent

Charles Kent is an actor of international reputation, and he has lately acquired a repu- tation equally great in the moving picture world, not only as a picture player, but as a director, for he has also staged a number of elaborate picture plays, notably "Lancelot and

tures of Mr. Kent will doubtless be recognized with pleasure by thou- sands of readers, for he has become a favorite,

Perhaps no more fitting illustra- tion of the vivification of history may be found than in the pic- ture story of Thomas a Becket. If some liberties have been taken with the test they are slight, and do not interfere with the main facts, while they add dramatic value.

The opening picture shows King Henry II playing at chess with his favorite courtier, his Chancellor, Thomas a Becket. Rosamond, the king 's mistress, stands beside the mon- arch, her arm carelessly about his

shoulders, a tableau that shows imme- diately the status of the group.

Becket, assured of the good graces of his king, allows himself to win the game, and with an angry gesture, Henry overthrows the table with its kings and queens, its knights, bishops and pawns — an action significant of the tragedy that is to come.

A messenger is announced, and he enters with a letter announcing the death of the Archbishop of Canter- bury, and presents the king with the cross that is the emblem of that holy

THE KING AND HIS CHANCELLOR PLAY AT CHESS.

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KING HENRY JEERS AT BECKET'S PENANCE.

office. The Archbishopric is at the disposal of the king.

For a moment Henry pauses. He is not at peace with the clergy. To them the Pope is higher than the King. His glance falls npon Becket. Here is the sort of Archbishop that he needs, a conrtier ready to do the bidding of his king, a man of adroit address, of vast wealth, of worldly knowledge and desires.

The king is not without a sardonic sense of humor. He will make his Chancellor an archbishop.

Aghast at the honor thrust upon him, Becket would refuse the office, but the insistence of the king is not to be denied. Slowly Becket kneels, and about his neck is thrown the chain which supports the cross. The Arch- bishop of Canterbury is no longer dead, but now he is called Thomas instead of Theobald.

The second scene establishes in a few fleeting feet of film the character of the man far better than it could

be done in pages of character draw- ing.

The son of a Saracen mother, con- verted to Christianity, thru love for Gilbert a Becket, a London merchant made a prisoner and a slave while on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land, Becket at heart was a deeply religious man, tho the calling of his conscience had been stilled by his life at court and by kingly favor. His embassy to France, when the magnificence of his retinue moved the French to wonder- ment, had still further contributed to the carelessness of his conduct, but his elevation to the Archbishopric deeply moved him, and we see him in his chamber of his palace seeking to convince himself that the appoint- ment was ordained of God and not merely the jest of his royal master.

In a vision he perceives an angel of the Lord; and, in answer to his eager questioning, he is assured that indeed he is the chosen of the Al- mighty, and with his eyes upon the

J

FATHER GERALD DENOUNCES THE KING'S LOVE FOR ROSAMOND.

'THE CHURCH ALONE HATH TOWER TO PUNISH HER TRIESTS.

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FRAMING THE FAMOUS CONSTITUTION OF CLARENDON.

cross, he consecrates himself to the work.

He next is seen in the oratory of the palace at Canterbury. In peni- tence for his sins he humbly bares his back, and while he prays for forgive- ness, his priestly attendants lash his shoulders with knotted ropes.

There Henry finds him and for a moment hugely enjoys the scene. The thought of Becket, the pleasure loving Chancellor, the man whose wealth and power were second only to that of his king, baring his shoulders to the thongs of his monks and priests, is a delightful bit of humor — something quite in keeping with the royal jest that turned from court to church the gayest spirit of them all.

With deft touch he mirthfully imi- tates Becket 's sighs and groans, elicit- ing from the attending courtiers a responsive laugh; for, like their mas- ter they assume that Becket 's attitude is but a pose.

But the sincerity of the man is not to be denied. With simple dignity and

impassioned eloquence he urges Henry to turn from the evil of his ways. One by one the courtiers slink away, until only Henry is left to face the telling reproaches. At last, he too, bows be- fore the passionate plea, and, with a laugh that carries no mirth, he leaves the chapel.

Henry 's mercurial temperament soon shook off the effect of Becket 's words and the gay court found no change. Rosamond, more favored than Queen Eleanor, carried things with so high a hand as to stir the whispers of the subjects, and the King's confessor, Father Gerald, pleads with • him to give up the favorite. In a paroxysm of rage Henry orders him from the room and Gerald hurries away. But dismissal, will not suffice. Men-at-arms are dispatched after him with orders to behead him, and he, himself fol- lows fast to see the decree carried out.

And so they come to the Palace of Canterbury where Gerald has found sanctuary. In vain does the king de-

THOMAS a BECKET

55

mand that Gerald be turned over to justice because of his insult to his monarch. The Church claims power over her priests, and Becket will not listen to the demands. By the sheer power of personality he stands defiant before the king, and the king and courtiers, for a second time, make a retreat.

But the hot-headed monarch is not to be bearded by a priest. Becket is summoned to Clarendon, where the Barons are met in council, and where they have framed the Constitution of Clarendon. And one of the first clauses of that constitution decrees that the priests shall be answerable to the courts of law and not to their bishops for their transgressions.

Here, surely, has been found the means of breaking the proud spirit of the courtier-priest, but Becket regards with contempt the demands of the Barons, and with equal indifference he faces their flashing swords, when they storm into the hall to demand of

him the reasons for his insolence. With calm mein he raises his cross of office, and they retire abashed.

The defiance of the man whom he has raised to power maddens Henry and with furious cries he utters the historical lament:

"What a parcel of fools and das- tards have I nourished in my house that none can be found to avenge me on one upstart priest?"

Four of his knights took heed of his cry. They were Reginald Fitzurse, William Tracy, Hugh de Morville and Richard Brito. Three of these had been attendants upon Becket when he was Chancellor ; had eaten of his bread and enjoyed his bounty. Now Becket had become an ''upstart priest" of whom the king would be rid, and they rode to do his bidding, forgetful of the debt they owed their former mas- ter. Their allegiance had been trans- ferred to the king.

Rapidly they rode to Canterbury, and there, amid his frightened priests,

THE TEMPORAL BOWS BP^ORE THE SPIRITUAL POWER.

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they found the man they sought. Ap- prised of their approach Becket had sought one of the chapels of the Cath- edral and, still defiant of his king, and still loyal to his Church, Becket bravely met the fate that made him a martyr to his cause.

The last scene shows Henry receiv-

ing the news of Becket 's death, and, almost on the instant, the dispatches announce the failure of his arms in France and Scotland. In a vision the saintly face of Becket is seen, his hand raised in the apostolic benediction, as the king cowers before him, torn by his awakened conscience.

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THE DEATH OF BECKET BEFORE THE ALTAR OF ST, BENNET.

The World Before Your Eyes

By Prof. Frederick Starr, of Chicago University

I have seen Niagara thunder over her gorge in the noblest frenzy ever beheld by man — I have watched a Queensland river under the white light of an Australasian moon go whirling and swirling thru strange islands lurking with bandicoot and kangaroo — I have watched an English railroad train draw into a station, take on its passengers and then chug away with its stubby little engine thru the Yorkshire Dells, past old Norman Abbeys silhouetted against the skyline, while a cluster of century-aged cottages loomed up in the valley below, thru which a yokel drove his flocks of Southdowns — T have been to the Orient and gazed at the water-sellers and beggars and dervishes — I have beheld fat old Rajahs with the price of a thousand lives bejeweled in their monster tur- bans, and the price of a thousand deaths sewn in their royal nightshirts as they indolently swayed in golden howdahs, borne upon the backs of grunting elephants — I saw a runaway horse play battledoor and shuttlecock with the citizens and traffic of a little Italian village, whose streets had not known so much commotion since the sailing of Columbus — I know how the Chinaman lives and I have been thru the homes of the Japanese — I have marveled at the daring of Alpine to- bogganists and admired the wonder- ful skill of Norwegian ski jumpers — I have seen armies upon the battle- field and their return in triumph — I have looked upon weird dances and outlandish frolics in every quarter of the globe, and I didn 't have to leave Chicago for a moment.

No books have taught me all these

wonderful things — no lecturer has pic- tured them — I simply dropped into a moving picture theatre at various mo- ments of leisure, and at the total cost for all the visits of perhaps two per- formances of a foolish musical show, I have learned more than a traveler could see at the cost of thousands of dollars and years of journey.

Neither you nor I fully realize what the moving picture has meant to us, and what it is going to mean. As children we used to dream of a jour- ney on a magician's carpet to the legendary lands, but we can rub our own eyes now and witness more tre- mendous miracles than Aladdin could have by rubbing his fairy lamp. But we 're so matter-of-fact that ,we never think of it that way. We 're living at a mile-a-second gait in the swiftest epoch of the world's progress — in the age of incredibilities come true. "We fly thru the air — chat with our friends in Paris by squirting a little spark from a pole on one shore of the At- lantic to another pole on the other side, and so we take as a matter of course that which our great-grandfathers would have declared a miracle.

The moving picture is making for us volumes of history and action — it is not only the greatest impulse of entertainment but the mightiest force of instruction. We do not 'analyze the fact that when we read of an English wreck we at once see an Eng- lish train before us, or when we learn of a battle that an altogether different panorama is visualized than our for- mer erroneous impression of a hand- to-hand conflict — we are familiar with the geography of Europe — we are well acquainted with how the Frenc'

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(

dresses, in what sort of a home he lives, and from what sort of a shop he buys his meat and greens.

We take so much for granted — we are so thoroly spoiled by our multiple luxuries — that we do not bestow more than a passing thought upon our ad- vantages, because the moving picture machine is an advantage — a tremen- dous, vital force of culture as well as amusement. An economy, not only of money but of experiences — it brings the world to us — it delivers the uni- verse to our theatre seat. The moving picture is not a makeshift for the playhouse — its dignity is greater — its importance far beyond the puny func- tion of comedy and tragedy. It is a clean entertainment, lecture and

amusement all rolled in one — in its highest effort it stands above litera- ture— in its less ambitious phase it ranks above the tawdry show house. It teaches nothing harmful and it usually teaches much that is helpful.

The moving picture is not a make- shift, but the highest type of enter- tainment in the history of the world. It stands for a better Americanism because it is attracting millions of the masses to an uplifting institution, drawing them to an improving as well as an amusing feature of city life. Its value cannot be measured now, but another generation will benefit more largely thru its influence than we of to-day can possibly realize.

A Dixie Mother

THE CAUSE OF ALL THE TROUBLE. (See Opposite Page.)

A Dixie Mother

By Louis Reeve Harrison

A fatal day near the end of the Civil War saw General Capel, desperately wounded and sup- ported on either side by his sons, seek refuge in their old home. The destructive blast of battle, which had swept that region and withered the face of nature for miles around, was not spent. A shell exploded near the fugitives as they passed an uprooted tree, and an old family servant came forth to warn them that they were pursued by a detachment of Union soldiers; their situation was almost as

desperate as their irretrievable for- tunes or their hopeless cause. Physi- cally ruined, all was lost save honor.

The divinity of their home, a Dixie mother, was comforting her frightened daughter and waiting to embrace her husband and sons. Virginia Lewis Capel, devoted wife and fond mother, stood proudly in an old colonial hall, whose walls were hung with ancestral portraits and revolutionary swords, waiting and hoping. She was slight of figure, almost as delicate looking as her daughter, but there was a great

THE DIXIE MOTHER BOWED HEE HEAD IN BITTERNESS AND YIELDED HER SWORD AS GRAVELY AS IF SURRENDERING AN ARMY.

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THE MOTHER SAW AND UNDERSTOOD.

heart throbbing in her bosom. She came from more than one line of those indomitable fighters who conquered savages at home and foes from abroad for generations. There was iron in her blood.

When the men entered the hall, Mrs. Capel's eyes filled with tender sympathy for all, but she took the man of her heart in her arms. She lavished tenderness on him while mak- ing him comfortable, then turned to her sons as if the deep wells of her affections were inexhaustible.

To her eldest son, Fielding, about to return to the field in spite of a serious wound on his head, she said with deep emotion :

' ' Oh, but I am proud of you ! Go if you must. The splendid Boys in Grey are contesting every inch of ground and can not spare you from the ranks. Go and win gloriously! The battle is to the brave, my son, not to the strong. ' '

She turned to her youngest child, Merriweather, fresh from a military

academy, but he shook his head mourn- fully, indicated that they were sur- rounded by the enemy and turned away completely disheartened.

She laid her hand in gentle protest on his arm; he was the last babe to nestle on her bosom, but he only sighed in despair. The soft light faded from her eyes as she took a sword from the wall, pointed to the portraits of her son's ancestors, and said, significantly:

"Lest we forget!"

1 1 They fought in a better cause, ' ' he muttered.

The mother's eyes flashed and the sword gleamed in her hand.

"Go fight!" she commanded, giving him the sword and drawing him on. "Fight, my son! Fight till the last drop of blood in your body is shed. Shall our men stay at home when others are in the field? If you must fall, let it be with your face to the enemy. Die like a Southern gentle- man. ' '

Fielding had already , gone, deter- mined to rejoin his regiment.

A DIXIE MOTHER

61

Merriweather kissed his mother fondly and hurried after his brother.

A detachment of Union soldiers under Lieutenant Sears was approach- ing, as the Capels attempted to escape, and a sergeant raised his gun and fired.

Merriweather Capel, bravely facing the detachment with uplifted sword, clasped his hand to his breast and fell, mortally wounded. He kissed his sword, wafted the kiss in the direc- tion of his darling mother, closed his eyes and died content, "like a South- ern gentleman. "

The shot warned those in the hall of impending danger. Mrs. Capel roused her husband and managed to help him to a hiding place behind a secret panel door, and then went forth to learn the fate of her sons. Field- ing had escaped, with Lieutenant Sears in pursuit. Merriweather lay dead, and near him stood a Union sergeant loading his gun.

The mother saw and understood.

Pale and tearless, she led the way to the hall, while the Union soldiers carried in Merriweather 's body and laid it on the sofa. They wasted no time on sentiment. Mothers' sons were falling like autumn leaves. The privates went to search the house, while the sergeant prodded the walls with his bayonet in quest of some secret hiding place.

The mother watched him with sullen hatred. Her eyes wandered to the body of her son and then to the weapons on the wall.

Suddenly a flame lighted in her eyes.

She seized a sword and attacked the sergeant with the ferocity of a tigress defending her cubs.

She was driving him all over the hall, beating down his defense, when Lieutenant Sears entered and parried her weapon with his own sword.

She was now surrounded by blue- coats, her daughter was pleading with her, and the big Lieutenant reminded her that she was a non-combatant.

The Dixie mother bowed her head in bitterness and yielded her sword as gravely as if surrendering an army-

corps. She conceded the force of his claim, but there was no submission of spirit. When her son Fielding was brought in, a prisoner of war, the little mother shed no tears. The only betrayal of her heart's agony came when she placed one hand on the brow of her dead boy, the other on the breast of the survivor and said to Sears: "God has taken one. Spare me the other!"

The Lieutenant bowed gravely and assured her that Fielding should be his special charge, and with his troops left the house.

That day Sears sought his sister, working as a nurse in a field hospital, and committed Fielding to her par- ticular care, saying :

' ' Blue or Grey, we are simply Ameri- can brothers fighting among our- selves. ' '

When General Capel came to view the body of his dead son and learned that the other was in the hands of the enemy, his revengeful passion was fearful to behold. The grizzled war- rior raised his sword hand in fierce resentment and his eyes glowed with settled hatred as he exclaimed:

"May Almighty God strike me dead when I bow to that flag ! ' '

The Dixie mother sank down by her dead boy and murmured : "Oh, the pity of it all!"

In the years that followed the close of the war, the wounds on nature's face were gradually covered by green verdure, but the scar on General Capel's heart never healed. His son, Fielding, had married the lovely northern girl, who had nursed him through a dangerous illness, and had remained in the North to repair his fortunes. The brooding General would accept no aid from what he regarded as a traitorous source, and his gentle wife asked none. She bore most of the after-burden of hardship and self- denial with the same mental power of endurance that had inspired her pa- tient courage under affliction.

One day, after she had been gather- ing flowers for their meagre table, the faithful old servant and her daughter

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came driving up in the venerable fam- ily carriage with precious news. Field- ing and his wife, with their baby, accompanied by her brother, Lieuten- ant Sears, had come South for a fam- ily reunion, and were lingering near until Fielding could be assured of their welcome. Fielding sent the picture of his baby and hoped that his father would give it the kiss of peace.

The irreconcilable old General refused.

In the baby's hand was an Ameri- can flag.

That was the cause of the trouble.

Mrs. Capel followed her husband into the house, trying to pacify him and bring about some arrangement to unite the family after long separation, but he was inexorable. Sure that he would eventually consent, Mrs. Capel sent Cuffy for the cradle in which she had last rocked Merriweather. She continued to plead with all the sweet- ness of her nature, her daughter joined her voice to the supplication, and even old Cuffy, when he had returned with

the cradle, made a mute appeal, but General Capel pointed to the sofa where his son's body had lain and said : ' ' Have you forgotten ? ' '

The Dixie mother, crushed at last, sank into a chair by the cradle.

Her proud spirit was broken.

The long restraint she had placed on emotions failed her when it seemed that the light of woman's life must be denied her, and her mind went wandering. She rocked the cradle softly and smiled. She was thinking of her own little babe, but there was a strange expression in her eyes that alarmed General Capel. The divinity of his home had given the best of herself to every one within reach of her influence. Her reward was a denial that threatened mental disso- lution if not death. ' ' Come, ' ' he said to the others, ' ' there is not a moment to lose."

All three hurried out, and the little mother was left alone.

Mrs. Capel's smile vanished. She

'MAY GOD ALMIGHTY STRIKE ME DEAD WHEN I BOW TO THAT FLAG.

A DIXIE MOTHER

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BLUE OR GRAY, WE ARE SIMPLY AMERICAN BROTHERS FIGHTING AMONG

OURSELVES."

dimly realized that her youngest child was dead. She rose and took a few flowers from the table, then dropped them one by one in the cradle. How sorrowful to part with children ! The earth is dreary without them. When their light is gone, the purest charm of existence is taken from us. But we can meet them again. Once more we can look into the pure eyes of love and discern the infinite purpose.

The little mother took a sword from the wall and tried its point.

She raised her arms on high to ask pardon for her deed.

It was time for her to go to meet the child in Heaven.

Then there came a heaven-sent mes- sage.

Lieutenant Sears, the baby in his hands, dashed in at the door and placed the little messenger from on high in the Dixie mother's arms.

The others followed and gathered round the source of their happiness.

Now her heart glowed with the warmth of old days.

Gradually, the intelligence returned, and when she realized her full happi- ness, the Dixie mother turned to her husband and whispered:

"Let us keep our feelings sacred in our hearts and leave no heritage of hate to our children.' '

General Capel was no man of half measures.

He took the baby that held the flag and pressed his lips upon it with the old-time chivalry that had made him the Dixie Mother's best beloved.

It was a kiss for peace for the new generation.

North had met South and had van- quished, but his son had won a daugh- ter of the North, and the little one, nestled at last in its grandmother's arms, was promise of that day when sectional prejudice should be forgot- ten and Mason and Dixon's line be- come a memory.

MISS FLORENCE E. TURNER.

One of the picture-play artists who will never be forgotten is Miss Florence E. Turner, for she has won a permanent place in the affections of the picture pub- lic. Beautiful, graceful, versatile, sympathetic, she adopts her mar- velous talents equally well to every part assigned to her, and she has taken rank among the foremost players of the world. This is not surprising, however, when it is remembered that she began her public career on the stage at the age of three.

Love's Awakening

First Love Is Not Always Best nor Is the Race Always to the Swift

Hiram Graham smiled as the last huge load of hay rolled into the barnyard, and the haymakers, young men and women, slid from atop the load, the girls protesting with many a giggling shriek that they never could jump, but suggesting that it was very easy when a pair of strong arms waited to clasp them as they landed.

It was Dave Allen who was first off the load to hold out his arms invit- ingly to Jewel Graham, but she paused a moment, and it was Jim Long who secured the plump prize and bore her away in triumph. Dave was only a farmer's son, while Jim was a clerk in a village drug store. He had been "keeping company " with Jewel for several years and Dave Allen's more quiet love making availed him nothing.

Perhaps it was those long summer days in the haying field, when Jim begged a week off to share the fun, that brought matters to a head, but it was not long after when Jim and Jewel sought Hiram Graham and Jim asked his approval of their engage- ment.

' ' I guess it 's all right if Jewel wants you," assented the shrewd old man with a kindly smile, "but don't you think, Jim, that you are wasting your time here? Doc Tanner told me the other day that a smart young fellow' like you ought to be able to make his way in the city. They pay better there, and I guess Jewel would rather wait until you can make a home for her in the city."

"I guess you're right," assented Jim, coloring with pride at the praise. ' ' I was thinking of that, and if Jewel will wait I'll try."

Hiram nodded and so it was decid- ed that Jim should go to town. His employer recommended him to a city friend, and the Hopkinsville Banner in stilted praise congratulated the city upon such an important addition to its captains of industry.

But Jim made good for the most sanguine prophecies. He knew his business, and the patrons of the city store took a liking to the fresh-faced lad, whose manner was an odd blend of country freedom and city elegance. The young women, in particular, found many more errands calling them to Stephan's drug store, and Stephan smiled and raised Jim's sal- ary.

He was not insensible to their flat- tery, and he responded readily to their flirtations, even tho he was faithful in thought to Jewel ; but while the oth- ers were content to let it remain a flirtation, Violet Ware had decided upon a conquest, and bet a box of chocolates with her chum that she would wring a proposal from Jim within three months.

Violet was a leader in the neighbor- hood and her very evident preference flattered Jim; but while he felt him- self bound to Jewel, his resistance was breaking fast.

Stephan was willing to give him a few days off, and he wired Jewel that he would arrive on the evening train the following day. He felt that could

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JEWEL'S FATHER SENDS JIM TO THE CITY TO WIN HIS WAY.

he see her again he would forget Violet's fascinations, but Violet was not to be denied.

"Tomorrow's your night off, isn't it?" she demanded, as she perched herself on one of the high stools be- fore the soda fountain. "We are going to have some people in to play euchre. Now don't say no. You simply must come."

Jim's face clouded. "I'm sorry," he began slowly, ' ' but I am going to take

a vacation and go home for a day or two."

"To see your sweetheart?" demand- ed Violet jealously. "I know that is what it is. And you'll leave me in the lurch, Jim, when I had counted on you? I made it Thursday because I knew that was your evening off. If

you don't stay I'll "

She did not complete the sentence, but her eyes were eloquent of threat, and of promise as well. Jim was weak

LOVE'S AWAKENING

67

and before she had left it meant an- other wire to Jewel calling off his visit. He felt like a coward, but Vio- let was near and Jewel seemed very far off.

There was wire trouble and it was not until Jewel, stealing from home, had eagerly paced the station plat- form, that the telegram was given her. Dave Allen saw the droop of her shoulders and hurried to her side. "Bad news, Jewel?" he asked with sympathy. "Don't break down, little girl; don't break down." "I'm not going to," she declared be- tween sobs, "but Jim promised to come and then he telegraphed that he couldn't."

" Perhaps he couldn't," urged Dave, generous to his rival, but Jewel shook her head.

"We were going to be married. He could come if he wanted to. It's some girl."

As Jewel turned toward 'home, the tears would not keep back. Dave took her in his buggy, and with his strong arm about her, he offered consolation that he sought to make brotherly, but which none the less had a touch of his hopeless love in it, and Jewel found it very comforting.

He came again in the morning and together they sat upon the porch. Hiram, seeing them, smiled to him- self, for Dave always had been his favorite.

The rural delivery driver came down the road in his rattling buggy

and dropped a letter in the Graham box. Jewel ran to get it.

"It's from Jim," she announced, with flashing eyes, as she perched her- self up on the top step to read it.

It was a long letter and between the lines Jewel could read many things, for Jim had written it late the night before when he wras still smarting under the thought of Violet's answer to his proposal, — "Why I didn't know you cared for me that way, Jim. I'm so sorry."

It was a plea that had worked be- fore, but Jim knew that he had been tricked, and in his eagerness to get back what he had lost he said too much.

With flaming cheeks Jewel folded the letter and tucked it into her pocket. Dave rose awkwardly from the steps.

"I guess I'd better be getting along," he said slowly, feeling that he was in the way.

"Must you?" asked Jewel in a voice that she tried to make careless but which told it's tale."

• ' I don 't have to until you send me, ' ' he announced, as he took his seat be- side her. "Will I ever have to, Jewel?"

"Not unless you want to, Dave," she said with a blush, and her father, coming suddenly upon them, smiled and gave his blessing. He had always had faith that his little girl would find true love some dav. And she had.

J

w»^

HER GRAN'PERE WAS A BIG CHIEF."

The Perversity of Fate

From the Picture Play by Taylor White

In which the reader is taken from the city streets to the Canadian wilds, and is once more shown that Fate is a fickle jade who disarranges even the best laid plans

'k

" A nd you 'll wait, dear — even tho /\ the time seems long?" 1 % Marion Marlow glanced at the thin gold circlet that was the sole ornament of her slim, capable fingers. It was characteristic of John Rose that he should ask Marion to marry him, even while confessing that he could not afford a diamond ring as the pledge of his troth.

"I'll wait," she promised, with a little shudder that caused her to nestle more closely against the power- fully muscled shoulder, "but Quebec is such a long way from here, Jack." ' ' Not so far as the Michigan camps, ' ' he declared lightly, "and I stand a better chance. I'm not fitted for the city, it's too big and too small at the same time."

Marion nodded understandingly. A few years before he had come to New York to make his way — one of the thousands who annually set forth to conquer — and Rose had been one of the conquered. He longed for the freedom of the lumber camps, the wide, open spaces of the woods, and he lacked the aggressiveness that forces men ahead where opportunities are few and applicants many. He was not content to be a clerk in a store, yet he could not advance himself.

Marion herself had done much setter. From file clerk she had worked her advancement until now she was James Elrood's confidential secretary, quiet, alert to her employer 's interest,

and never forgetful of her duties. She was making more money than Jack, and it was partly this thought that drove him back to the woods when the offer came from the Elk River Com- pany's foreman. In the woods he could earn enough to support a wife and family. In the city he never could hope to gain the advance.

And so he went back to the Can- adian forests, where, with each stroke of his keen-bladed axe, he liked to think that he was carving out the home that he should make for Marion and her mother ; and Marion, in the city, went quietly about her work making herself more and more valuabla to Elrood.

Jack's letters carried small encour- agement. Several times it seemed as tho promotion were in his grasp, but always there came the unexpected — once a touch of fever, once a broken arm, but always when he came back there was a new foreman in charge of the camp and Chance had again passed him by.

"It's the perversity of Fate," Jack wrote. "Some time, when I do not need the luck, it will come. And when I see Royston and his family I envv them."

The words came back to Marion one night as she sat in her cold room and counted and recounted her slender resources. All summer her mother had been slowly failing, and now the great specialist to whom she had gone

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HE WAS THINKING OF ROYSTON'S COURTSHIP.

for advice had ordered her South for the winter.

"The first flurry of snow will seal her death warrant, Miss Marlow," he had solemnly assured her. ' ' She must go South before the frost conies, or it will be too late."

He had turned to the next patient with no thought of the quivering lip or blanched face. To him she was only a "case" — not even an interesting one ; and now she sat with the bank- book and her purse before her, won- dering how she could make one dollar do the work of ten.

But the problem was solved and some weeks later John Rose, sitting in front of the rude bunk house, read and reread the brief letter that had come in by the last messenger. It seemed as if he knew it by heart, yet he read it over and over again, trying to realize that it was from Marion.

"Dear Jack," she had written, "don't think badly of me because I return the ring. It is not because I am tired of waiting, dear, but because I cannot make mother's life the price. Mr. Elrood has asked me to be his

wife. We shall be married in Sep- tember and the honeymoon will be to take mother South, where she will at least have a chance for life. Forgive and try to forget. Your Marion. "

A light step on the dried grass roused him, and he looked up with a scornful smile on his lips. Tel, the daughter of the half-breed, Pierre, who possessed all the lithe grace of her Indian mother, the daughter of a line of chiefs, made no secret of her affection for the stalwart woodsman. Whenever he sat down to rest and to think, he was accustomed to hear the light footfall, as the girl silently stole past, content if he but gave her a smile.

Slowly Rose tore up the note and let the tiny fragments nutter to the ground. "Tel," he called, "come here."

With the rich blood dyeing the light tan of her face the girl obeyed, eyeing him wonderfully. Rose had affected a contempt for her silent worship. He was thinking of Royston's courtship. It was seldom that he spoke; never had he called her to him before.

PERVERSITY OF FATE

71

"Tel, you love me, don't you?" he asked. "To-morrow we will go and see the priest. Father Raoul shall speak the service. Shall it be so ? "

Wonderingly the girl stole toward him and raised his rough hands rev- erently to her lips.

Rose laughed loudly, mirthlessly, as he rose and took her in his arms, and presently he went in search of Pierre, to whom he repeated his proposal.

As if to emphasize the irony of fate, promotion came quickly to Rose, now that he no longer cared. From foreman of the gang to superintend- ent, he rose with a rapidity that caused Pierre to smile and murmur softly to himself:

"That girl Tel is mascot sure, and Jack Rose she is ver' lucky that she has ol ' Pierre 's daughter for her bride. Her gran' pere was a big chief. She is of blood royal."

Surely it seemed as if Jack was lucky above his fellows, for Tel worked wonders in making the simple hut a home, and only the gnawing

thought of Marion saddened his con- tent. He had thought to marry Tel and forget his faithless love ; but, the more he strove, the more she seemed to dominate his thoughts.

And so it was five years later when Le Blanc and Frangois paddled their light canoe swiftly up the river to the lumber camp. There was a third figure in the frail craft and John Rose's heart gave a great leap as he strode down to the bank to welcome the voyageurs.

"Mrs. Elrood!" he cried in surprise as he lightly lifted her to the shore.

"Not Marion?" she asked gaily as she shook her skirts, wrinkled from long sitting in the canoe. ' ' Surely you should have a warmer greeting for one who has traveled thousands of miles up this horrible river just to see you. I thought the Mississippi was the longest stream, but I know better now."

"To see me?" echoed Rose. "Then Mr. Elrood "

"Is dead!" she completed, as a

'AND WHEN I SE'3 ROYSTON AND HIS FAMILY I ENVY THEM.

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FATHER RAOTJL SHALL SPEAK THE SERVICE."

shadow flitted across her face. "My sacrifice was in vain, Jack. Mother died that winter. Not even the South could save her. Last spring Mr. El- rood died, and I thought that — per- haps— that you "

She faltered, but Jack did not come

to her aid. Thru the leafy screen of

the forest he could hear Tel as she

sang about her work.

"We shall be glad to welcome you,"

he said quietly. "Mrs. Rose sees few strangers."

' ' Mrs. Rose ! You are married ! Im- possible ! ' ' cried Marion. ' ' Jack, dear

Jack, surely you waited "

Rose hung his head. "You said yourself we had waited too long," he reminded. "It was not that I did not care. I sought f orgetfulness. "

"And found it?" she cried, anx- iously. "Oh, Jack!"

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1

Rose made no reply, but it was clear he had not forgotten that Marion still reigned queen over his heart.

"She is your lawful wife?" cried Marion, "or is it one of those mar- riages with an Indian, or a half-breed? There are many such wives — but the union is not legal."

"We were married by a priest," ex- plained Rose, "but it didn't need that to make her my wife. She loves me. She is faithful. She brought me luck. She made my home. She trusts my promise. That's the hard part, you see — she trusts me ; can I prove faithless to that trust?"

"What is all that to love?" cried Marion, contemptuously. "Jack, I am a rich woman; a very rich woman. She shall have money. She can go to Quebec or Montreal. In the novelty of it she will forget. Perhaps she would prefer to stay here and marry one of her own kind. It can be arranged — with money. I have that."

"I have money, were that all," in- terrupted Rose. " It 's not the money. If it were only that."

"You care more for her than you do for me?" she demanded, jealously. 1 ' I am less to you than this half-breed girl. You no longer care ! ' '

Rose caught her hand. " I do care, ' ' he cried. "There has not been a day in all these years that I have not cared — that the hurt has not been here. In my sleep I see your face, I hear your voice. Awake ! — I long for your ca- ress ! ' '

Marion clasped her hands with joy. "Then my trip is not in vain," she cried. "Since we two still love, no- thing else matters. You will tell this little half-breed that you are going away. You will soon forget her and

she "

The man checked her with a ges-

ture. ' ' She must not know, ' ' he said earnestly. "We have made a sad mistake, and nearly ruined our lives, dear heart, but it must not touch her. The good Father over at the mission has made us man and wife. What God hath joined no man may put asun- der, unless he pays the price. The price would fall on you as well as on me."

"I am ready to pay, Jack," she cried fearlessly.

Rose shook his head. "You do not know the cost. Think of the price that she, too, must pay. We should have each other. She would be left alone. I cannot ask her to pay. I cannot, I must not ! ' '

For a moment the woman of the cities looked into the brave, fearless eyes of the man of the woods, and her own faltered. She saw that he still loved her with the love that never dies, but she saw also that she could never win him. Above love he placed duty — duty to the woman he had sworn to protect. Did she tempt him she would gain only his physical com- panionship. He would despise her for causing him to break his word.

At her call the guides came, and wonderingly resumed their places at the paddles. Thru the winding trail his wife regarded the odd tableau curiously, then the paddles dipped into the water and strong strokes forced the canoe through the still waters.

With folded arms Rose watched the woman he loved borne from him, and then he turned to the woman who loved him. "The perversity of fate," he murmured, recalling a letter writ- ten in the long ago.

"Luck comes too late — but honor stays," and with his arm about Tel, he turned back to the cabin that she had made their home.

"Whosoever loves not picture, is injurious to truth, and all the wisdom oi poetry. Picture is the invention of heaven, the most ancient and most akin to nature. It is itself a silent work, and always one and the same habit. ' ' — Ben Johnson.

Personalities of the Picture Players

MISS LOTTIE BRISCOE.

The great success of Miss Lottie Briscoe as a photoplayer is not surprising when it is remembered that she was, for years, with that master of dramatic art. Richard Mansfield Miss Briscoe has already won a host of admirers in the moving picture world bv her clever work and pleasing personality.

Stage Favorites in the Film

By Stanley Crawford

The drama makes its contribution to the photoplay as do all the branches of literature

AuL branches of literature make contribution to the photoplay stage, the humorist and the his- torian, the novelist and the dramatic writer, the scientist and the sage.

Perhaps no stage production enjoys more general favor than the dramati- zation of Marie Corelli's novel Thelma. With many stage directors it is a fixed fact that when business is

bad Thelma will build it up and the box office always proves the value of the rule.

It was inevitable that Thelma should find its way to the photoplay theatre. Apart from its popularity, the splendid opportunity for the pre- sentation of striking scenes would tempt any director and so it happens that Thelma has become a reality to

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THE OLD NORSEMAN INVITES THE ENGLISH TOURISTS TO DINE WITH HIM. HERE THELMA FIRST EXPERIENCES THE DELIGHTFUL SENSATIONS OF LOVE.

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STAGE FAVORITES IN TEE FILM

77

THE PARTING. OLAF GULDMAR IS LOATH TO GIVE UP HIS DARLING THELMA.

thousands, a living woman, not a per- sonage in a book or "that dear Miss Blank" who is the favorite at the local stock company's home and Thelma for a week.

For theatrical presentation a diver- sity of scenes is not practical, but the photoplay ignores these limitations and the main incidents of the book are portrayed with a realism that is not possible to the stage with its restric- tions of space and its painted scenery.

Thelma in picture form is vastly more convincing than the stage pro- duction, and will bring delight to thousands of admirers of Miss Corelli's most favored novel.

With the constant additions made

highest

to the list of visualized literature, the library and the photoplay-houses will become adjuncts of each other, and in course of time the field will be broadly covered by a series of productions so carefully made as to be worthy of their association with the forms of the literary classics.

It is not looking too far into the future to anticipate the time when the motion picture camera will become an aid to the lecturer on English liter- ature, and the film will find its proper place in the school room and in the lecture hall. Already increasing use is being made of motion pictures in the medical schools, and this is but the first step in that direction.

;

MR. G. M. ANDERSON.

_ One of the youngest men in the moving picture world, yet one of the oldest in the industry, is Mr. G. A. Anderson, who first became prominent as a photoplayer, then as a dirpctor, then as a playwright, and finally as a manufacturer. lie is at present associated with Mr. George Spoor, and he seems to succeed equally well in all that he undertakes.

The Golden Supper

From the Poem of Lord Tennyson

"| ionel! You love Lionel ? " j For answer Camilla hid her blushing cheek against the rough fabric of Julian's doublet, and the simple action told more eloquently than words that to her he was but the cousin and foster brother. In a glance and a word the dream of years had vanished.

Her mother dead in childbirth, Ca- milla had known no mother but his own, and she had shared her father with him in return. As sister and brother they had grown to youth, and

the simple affection of the girl had found a rich return in Julian's love, a love so strong it had not seemed that words were needed.

And now, as a sister confides in her brother, she had confessed her love for Lionel, and poor Julian found the world suddenly grown grey and cold.

But Lionel found words to tell his love, and soon their troth was pledged, and only Julian took no pleasure in the fact. He made ex- cuse to seek the wilds, and tho his

LIONEL AND CAMILLA IN THEIR GARDEN.

70

*§-te-^-^9- .v7rla-#

TEE GOLDEN SUPPER

81

LIONEL LEADS THE BRIDE TO HIS OWN HOME.

absence robbed the marriage of one great joy to Camilla, she did not realize that it was a hopeless love that kept him from the feast.

When she was gone, he came home again, but sadly changed, and found his greatest pleasure in long walks among the hills : for, he was possessed by visions, in which it seemed that the wedding peal was followed by the toll for death, and this, in turn, by wedding bells again.

So persistent was the vision that he fought down his desire to leave the land and to journey in strange countries that he might forget his grief, and he lingered on in the home that had been theirs.

Nearly a year had passed. Not once had Julian seen his cousin, for he felt that to look upon her face again would only open the old wounds, and he kept close at home until the dreadful day, when gently his mother broke to him the news that Camilla was no more.

At least a part of the vision had

come true, for the knell had indeed followed the marriage chimes; and with bowed head and heavy heart Julian sought Lionel, who had been his friend, to share his grief.

For three days the fair young bride had lain in that last sleep, and now the time had come to carry her to the vault wherein her mother lay.

No casket shrouded the lithe form, for in that land it was the custom to lay the bier within a niche in the vault, and slowly Julian followed the sad procession that bore her to the tomb.

His tears were natural, for was he not the foster brother of the dead? So he and Lionel mingled their grief above the still vision that seemed the sleep of life instead of death. Then the mourners went their way, leaving the newly dead among the ashes of the old, and Julian rushed into the forest that so often had been the sanctuary of his grief.

But he came again that night to the city of the dead. In life Camilla

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;

had been denied him, but now the dead was his; and, stealing into the vault, he struck a light that showed him in fleeting flare his path to the cold marble where lay Camilla. The moon from a vault high up lighting the calm face, it seemed to be the face of one that still lived.

Julian bent and kissed the cold lips — his first tender kiss of love, and it seemed that the softly curving mouth had not the marble chill of death, but the velvet warmth of life. With strange persistence the thought clung that she still lived, and his trembling hand sought the snowy breast.

It could not be a delusion — faint but steady the blood seemed still to pulse through the veins ! Half -mad with doubt and fear he looked again upon the peaceful face. An eyelid quivered and the first faint flush of life tinged the marble of her cheek and throat.

With a great cry he caught her up, and, wrapping her in his cloak,

bore her to his mother's home. More than once on the long journey he was forced to sit and rest, but always he held the still form in his arms, half fearful yet that he had not wrested her from death.

His mother started at the appari- tion, as Julian staggered into the hall bearing his lovely burden ; but now the breast heaved faintly, the tinge of life was more pronounced, and as the dawn drew nigh, the mother ceased her ministrations ; for the trance was ended and, weak and spent, Camilla lay like a broken lily nursed again to bloom.

Gently they told her of her trance, and of the burial, and she gave a little cry of surprise and disappointment. ''And was he so quick to let me go?" she asked, and the look of agony in her eyes cut like a knife her brother- lover's heart, even while it bade him hope that he might yet keep her for his own.

This hope was soon dispelled by her demands that Lionel be sent for, but

JULIAN LOOKS HIS LAST UPON HIS LOVE.

THE GOLDEN SUPPER

83

the sorrowing man had left his home to wander Avith his grief. "He will return," Camilla said, with faith, "and when he does, yon, who gave me back my life, shall give me back to him."

Silently Jnlian left the room and took to horse lest his temptation be too great, but he left word that a summons might reach him when Lionel wras returned.

Meanwhile another life, brought from the tomb, came into being; and

in grateful recognition Camilla named her son after Julian, and this was his reward.

Then Lionel was brought back from his seclusion by the sea, where he had been living as a hermit; and Julian made a feast for him, a banquet so stupendous that it had no equal.

With lavish hand roses were strewn in garlands over the hall, and the table gleamed and glittered with gold and precious stones set in Venetian crystal. A huge portrait of Camilla,

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draped in black, seemed to lend the presence of the original t« the feast; and, when the guests had done, Julian rose to speak.

"It is a Persian custom, " he be- gan, "when greatest honor would be done a guest, to lay before him every treasure of the host."

He paused and all the guests ap- plauded the idea; but Julian raised his hand for silence and went on.

"The custom carries further. When the guest is honored to the utmost, the host brings that which is thrice dearest to his heart. But first I ask a question.

"I knew a man who had been served for years by a faithful slave who, now grown old and weak, was thrust into the street to die. There came another man who pitied his estate, took him to his home and nursed him back to health. Now to which man — - the one who cast him forth to die, or to the one who saved from death — ■ did that old slave belong?"

Julian paused, and with his silence

the debate began. Some argued for the owner, but the rest pleaded for the man who had saved the slave's life, declaring that he who owned the slave had cast him aside as worthless while the other had beneficently ren- dered him of value.

At last they turned to Lionel, who was learned in law, and left the point to him.

"No point of law holds good," was his reply. "By all the claims of love and gratitude the slave belongs to him who saved — not to the one who cast away. ' '

Julian smiled, and, turning to a friend, made sign to him to bring Camilla in.

She came, clothed as a bride with wondrous veil, and yet, unlike a bride, she bore the rosy infant in her arms. "Now are you fully honored," said Julian with a smile, "for you behold all that I hold most dear ; ' ' and with a courtly bow he led her to a chair beside Lionel.

A murmur of surprise swept over

JULIAN'S GIFT TO HIS GUEST.

THE GOLDEN SUPPER

85

the hall. She was so like her picture that some said that Camilla must have had a sister who had come to take her place; but others called her a cousin, and still others thought her some woman from a foreign clime whose marvelous likeness to Lionel's dead bride had led Julian to bring her to his home.

Questions came thick and fast, but Camilla made no reply, and when they asked her if she was dumb, it was Julian who answered for her. "She is dumb because she stands, like that poor slave of whom we lately spoke, obedient to the master, who, by your own decree, has every right. Now shall I excel the Persian, for I

give, to my beloved guest, that which I hold most dear!"

Simply he told the story of his love for the foster sister that had shared his childhood days, told of the vision of the bells that had rang, first mar- riage, then death, and then joy again. Told of her trance, of his visit to the vault, of her return to life, the birth of her young son, and, then, rising, led to Lionel the bride he thought was dead.

And with the climax of the Golden Feast, Julian turned from the hall, with but a single friend, and then left the country, that he might not see the happiness he had so generous- ly given back to his friend.

The story will never go down." — Fielding.

A picture is a poem without words." — Horace.

Art is more godlike than science. Science discovers; art creates." — Opie.

"There are shades in all good pictures, but there are lights too, if we choose to contemplate them." — Dickens.

"He cometh unto you with a tale which holdeth children from play, and old men from the chimney corner." — Sir Philip Sidney.

"In portraits, the grave and, we may add, the likeness consists more in taking the general air than in observing the exact similitude of every feature." — Sir Joshua Reynolds.

"The artist is the child in the popular fable, every one of whose tears was a pearl. Ah! the world, that cruel step-mother, beats the poor child the harder to make him shed more pearls." — Heinrich Heine.

"The first merit of pictures is the effect which they can produce upon the mind; and the first step of a sensible man should be to receive involuntary effects from them. Pleasure and inspiration first; analysis afterward." — Beecher.

MR. HARRY McRAE WEBSTER.

Scotland has her chief representative in the moving picture world in the person of Mr. Harry McRae Webster. Mr. Webster's skill and extensive ex- perience in all matters theatrical have served him in good stead and made him a notable figure, and he has done much to raise the standard of merit in the photoplay industry.

Elaine in Picture

'Now for the central diamond and the last And largest, Arthur * * * let proclaim a joust At Camelot," and when the time drew nigh Spake, (for she had been sick) to Guinevere

'Are you so sick, my Queen, you cannot move To these fair jousts ? " '.' Yea, Lord, ' ' she said, ' * ye know it.

'Then will ye miss," he answered, "the great deeds Of Lancelot." # * * And the Queen Lifted her eyes and they dwelt languidly On Lancelot, where he stood beside the King, He thinking that he read her meaning there,

: ' Stay with me, I am sick ; my love is more Than many diamonds," yielded: and a heart Love-loyal to the least wish of the Queen Urged him to speak against the truth and say,

"Sir King, mine ancient wound is hardly whole, And lets me from the saddle;" and the King Glanced first at him, then her, and went his way.

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LANCELOT'S ARRIVAL AT THE CASTLE OF ASTOLAT.

He left the barren-beaten thoroughfare

Chose the green paths that showed the rarer foot.

And there among the solitary downs

Full often lost in fancy, lost his way;

Till as he traced a faintly shadow 'd track

That all in loops and links among the dales

Ran to the Castle of Astolat he saw

Fired from the West, far on a hill the towers.

Thither he made and blew the gateway horn.

Then came an old, dumb, myriad-wrinkled man,

"Who let him into lodging and disarm 'd.

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••*>•■— --""r ■■**■	'^ /» 'Ifek.
	Jj|-* *^p* MW^ . fjar
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LANCELOT IS WOUNDED AND UNHORSED.

They couch 'd their spears and prick 'd their steeds, and thus

Their plumes driv'n backward by the wind, they made

In moving, all together clown upon him

Bare, as a wild wave in the wide North Sea,

Green-glimmering toward the summit, bears with all

Its stormy crests that smoke against the skies,

Down on a bark, and overbears the bark,

And him that helms it, so they overbore

Sir Lancelot and his charger, and a spear

Down-glancing lamed the charger, and a spear

Prick 'd sharply his own cuirass, and the head

Pierced thro' his side, and there snapt, and remained.

BLAINE IN PICTURE

91

SIR GAWAIN IS SENT IN QUEST OF LANCELOT.

'Heaven hinder/' said the King, "that such an one, So great a knight as we have seen to-day — He seemed to me another Lancelot — Yea, twenty times I thought him Lancelot — He must not pass uncared for. Wherefore, rise

0 Gawain, and ride forth and find the knight. Wounded and wearied needs must he be near.

1 charge you that you get at once to horse.

We will do him No customary honor: since the knight Came not to us, of us to claim the prize, Ourselves will send it after. Rise and take This diamond and deliver it, and return, And bring us where he is and how he fares, And cease not from your quest until ye find."

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. - >•-

Then she that saw him lying un-

sleek, unshorn, Gaunt as it were the skeleton of

himself, Utter 'd a little tender, dolorous cry. The sound not wonted in a place so

still Woke the sick knight, and while he

rolled his eyes Yet blank from sleep, she started to

him saying, 'Your prize, the diamond, sent you

by the King:" His eyes glisten 'd; she fancied "Is

it forme?" And when the maid had told him all

the tale Of King and Prince, the diamond

sent, the quest Assign 'd to her not worthy of it, she

knelt Full lowly by the corners of his bed, And laid the diamond in his open

hand.

There from his charger down he

slid, and sat, Gasping to Sir Lavaine, "Draw the

lance-head;" Ah my sweet lord Sir Lancelot,"

said Lavaine. I dread me, if I draw it, you will

die." But he, "I die already with it:

draw — Draw," and Lavaine drew, and

Sir Lancelot gave A marvelous great shriek and a

ghastly groan. And half his blood burst forth, and

down he sank For the pure pain and wholly

swoon 'd away. Then came the hermit out and bare

him in.

ELAINE IN PICTURE

93

"I pray you use some rough discourtesy To blunt or break her passion."

Lancelot said "That were against me: what I can I will;"

And Lancelot knew the little clinking sound;

And she, by tact of love, was well aware

That Lancelot knew that she was looking at him.

And yet he glanced not up, nor waved his hand,

Nor bade farewell, but sadly rode away.

This was the one discourtesy that he used.

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THE BARGE AT THE PALACE WATER GATE.

-and the barge,

On to the palace doorway sliding, paused.

There two stood arm'd and kept the door; to whom

All up the marble stair, tier over tier,

Where added mouths that gaped, and eyes that ask'd

What is it?" but that oarsman's haggard face

As hard and still as is the face that men

Shape to their fancy's eye from broken rocks

On some cliff-side, appall'd them, and they said,

He is enchanted, cannot speak — and she,

Look how she sleeps — the Fairy Queen, so fair !

Yea, but how pale! What are they? Flesh and blood?

Or come to take the King to Fairyland ?

For some do hold our Arthur cannot die

But that he passes into Fairyland."

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95

THE PROCESSION TO THE SHRINE.

So toward that shrine which then in all the realm

Was richest, Arthur leading, slowly went

The marshal'd order of their Table Round,

And Lancelot sad beyond his wont, to see

The maiden buried, not as one unknown

Nor meanly, but with gorgeous obsequies,

And mass and rolling music, like a Queen.

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LANCELOT GRIEVES AT ELAINE'S BIER.

For what am I? what profits me my name

Of greatest knight ? I fought for it, and have it :

Pleasure to have it, none; to lose it, pain;

Now grown a part of me : but what use in it ?

To make men worse by making my sin known?

Or sin seem less, the sinner seeming great?

Alas for Arthur's greatest knight, a man

Not after Arthur's heart! I needs must break

These bonds that so defame me: not without

She wills it: if she will'd it? nay,

Who knows? But if I would not, then may God

I pray him, send a sudden Angel down

To seize me by the hair and bear me far,

And fling me deep in that forgotten mere,

Among the tumbled fragments of the hills."

1 he big ^Scoop

By James Bartlett

A Graphic Story of Panic Days on "The Street" and How a Reporter Regained His Situation

D'

runk again, " murmured Gor- don, who sat at the head of the "rewrite" desk and nursed a perpetual grouch.

"Which one?" demanded Conover, the City Editor, wearily. "I wish I was editing a temperance paper. Per- haps then I could count on a staff."

"It's Connors," explained Douglas, known in the office as ' l Gordon 's anti- dote," but you can't blame the boy. Three hours in the flooded gutter last night at the warehouse fire with thin shoes and silk socks. You can't ex- pect him not to 'take something' for it — and you know Jim's failing."

"But wre're paying him to work, not to get drunk," protested Conover. "Connors," he added, raising his voice.

Jim Connors made his uncertain way to the desk and held on the side to steady himself.

"Go to the cashier," came the sharp command. "We must have men here who can do their work."

"There's lots of other papers!" came the thick response.

"Then get one," was the quiet retort, as Conover turned again to his work. Late that night Jim Connors stag- gered into the little flat that was his home and Bessie Connors gave a pa- thetic little cry.

"Again, Jim?" she asked with gentle reproach.

"Worse than just 'again,' Bess," he said, half sobered by the thought. "I'm let out and Conover said last time it was final."

"It will come out all right," she as- sured him, comfortingly. "Get a good night's rest and it will be all right in the morning."

With tender sympathy she helped him off to bed. It was Jim's curse that he loved drink, but she could not re- proach him when she realized the hardships a reporter is called upon to endure.

But it wTas not all right in the morning. Jim, clean shaven and in his right mind, swallowed his pride for the sake of Bess and begged to be taken back. He even took appeal to the managing editor, wThen Conover proved adamant, but it w^as of no use. Discipline must be maintained, and sadly Jim turned from the familiar office to seek some other place.

But in panic times newspapers re- trench, and everywhere he was met writh the same reply. They w^ere laying off, not taking on men. There wras no opening.

Since the panic w7as most pronounc- ed in the financial district, Jim bent his steps toward ' ' The Street, ' ' in the hope that he might pick up some item of newrs that he could sell at space rates. Even a couple of dollars would help. But, tho he wTent to all the offices where he was known, the reply was the same. There was nothing not covered by the City Press.

Long after the Exchange closed, and the busy brokers had rushed up to the uptown hotel that w7as their favored gathering place, Jim hung about the deserted district in the hope

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"GO TO THE CASHIER," WAS THE SHARP COMMAND. "WE MUST HAVE MEN HERE WHO CAN DO THEIR WORK."

that some late stayer might give him a tip ; and more than one worried offi- cial was staying long after hours planning how they might weather the next day's storm.

It was late when Jim entered a cafe for a cup of coffee and a sandwich, and as he slowly sipped the cof- fee he was conscious that men at the next table were discussing matters of importance, tho they spoke so low that even Jim's sharp ears could not catch what was said.

It was enough for him that one of the men was Taylor, the president of the Consolidated Trust Co., so he listened; and when they went out Connors followed, stopping a moment to pick up a paper that had fluttered to the floor beside their table.

Almost stealthily they entered the side door of the bank and the door closed upon them. Jim could not see thru the frosted glass, and after a moment's inspection of the paper, which represented nothing to him,

he decided upon a bold stroke and loudly rapped upon the door.

With the explanation that he had a paper belonging to Taylor he brushed past the night watchman and entered the Director's room. His appearance was timely, for the loss of the paper had just been discovered, and Taylor was turning his pockets inside out in the hope that it might yet be found concealed among the other bulky papers that he carried.

He breathed a sigh of relief as Jim handed him the paper, and for a mo- ment the men forgot his presence as they discussed, the loss of the sheet, each seeking to blame the other for the negligence. The party had been joined by another, whom Jim recog- nized as the State Bank Examiner, and Jim realized that a big story was brewing. He realized that he would not be permitted to remain in the room much longer, and with quick movement he broke the end from a penholder and wedged it into the desk

THE BIG SCOOP

99

telephone standing on the table so that the lever would be kept up.

A moment later Taylor dismissed him with a word of polite thanks and the veiled suggestion of a reward. Jim accepted the thanks but declined the reward. Once outside the room his mind worked quickly. He knew that the telephone desk was close to the private entrance, and as the watchman stood to let him out, he paused.

"I'd like to use the 'phone a mo- ment," he said, trying hard to keep his voice steady. ' ' I understand about using the board. "

"Against orders," was the curt re- sponse, but Jim was insistent. He re- minded the watchman that he had just performed a service for Taylor and the man in gray gave a reluctant assent.

"I've got to go and punch the clocks," he said. "Hurry up and be done by the time I get back."

With the time clock slung from his

shoulder he started upon his tour, and Jim quickly took his seat at the board. Plugging the jack into the switch for the directors' room, he was delighted to find that his ruse worked. Assured of their privacy, they spoke loudly in their excitement, and it was soon made plain that the Bank Examiner had not found their affairs to his liking. When banking hours came in the morning, there would be a notice of suspension on the heavy plate glass of the doors, which would probably sound the doom of other trust com- panies that were already trembling on the verge.

Jim could hear the steps of the watchman on the stone of the stair- way and he got the Record office.

"Give me Mr. Bruce," he cried. "That you, Mr. Bruce? this is Con- nors, Jim Connors. I 've a clean scoop. Will you hold the press until I can get up?"

Bruce, the night editor, promised, and with a hurried word of thanks to

CONSCIOUS THAT THE MEN AT THE NEXT TABLE WERE DISCUSSING MATTERS

OF IMPORTANCE.

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i

'I COULDN'T EXPLAIN OVER THE 'PHONE !" HE GASPED, "BUT THE CONSOLIDATED WON'T OPEN IN THE MORNING."

the watchman, and with a coin to back it up, Jim slipped from the bank. It was several blocks to Broadway and the cars, and Jim sprinted, only to be stopped by a watchful policeman sus- picious of anyone in haste at that time of night amid the storehouses of millions. His reporter's card set him right, but precious moments were lost.

Meanwhile, in the office, chaos reigned. Bruce had ordered the forms held for the scoop, and others hotly protested. It was merely some drunk- en freak of Connors' they declared. More than likely he would not show up, but in the back room of some sa- loon would sit in maudlin glee over the trouble he had created. "I'll give him five minutes," an- nounced Bruce at last. Some of the men gasped. At that time of night, with the out-of-town mails to catch, seconds were minutes and minutes hours. Gordon, working overtime, smiled evilly.

With his eye on the clock Bruce waited. One minute, two, three, four times the second hand had gone round, and a fifth time it drew close to the minute. There was a stir outside and Jim burst into the room.

' ' I couldn 't explain over the 'phone because the watchman was coming," he gasped, "but the Consolidated Trust won't open in the morning and the story is not to be given out!"

It was Gordon himself who sprang from his seat and thrust Jim into it. Someone else brought a typewriter and as the sheets flew from the ma- chine they were rushed to the lino- type men. There was no time to write whole sheets. In sentences and para- graphs the paper was pulled from the machine and rushed off, and when Jim wrote the "30" under his last line Bruce heaved a sigh of relief. The mails would be caught and the story was worth waiting for. "I guess you've earned the right to another drunk if you want one," he

THE BIG SCOOP

101

said with a smile, but Jim shook his head.

"Me for the girl and the kid and a big sleep," he said with emphasis. "Don't hurry down in the morning,"

nounced with a happy laugh as Bess, roused from her nap as she sat at the table, looked half fearfully up. "It's high time you and the kiddie were in bed, little girl, and that's where I be-

"IT'S HIGH TIME YOU AND THE KIDDIE WERE IN BED.

urged Bruce, "but there will be your old desk open for you when you come."

With a grateful pressure of the hand Jim hurried away and the sub- way whisked him home. "I'm late but I'm sober," he an-

long, for I 've pulled the big scoop for to-morrow, and — Gee ! but I 'm tired. ' ' Bess understood and with a cry crept into his arms. Jim had made no pledge, but she felt that this time the wordless promise would be kept.

A Cowboys Vindication

A shot during a struggle, and Frank Morrison is branded with the mark of Cain, but by his own efforts the real murderer is discovered

"|-^rank, do you suppose he is going \ to town again?" 1 "It looks like it," admitted Frank Morrison with a frown. "And only yesterday he promised to leave drink and the cards alone. It's not altogether Will's fault, tho. The fellows at the saloon seem to take a delight in getting him drunk."

"Perhaps if you went after him," suggested the mother, "you might induce him to come home."

"I'll try," promised Frank, but it was with no hope of success that he saddled his horse and rode into town after his errant brother.

Will had a good start and a better horse, and it was not long before he drew rein in front of the Golden Gulch Saloon. With shouts of wel- come the habitues gleefully pounced upon him and dragged him inside to buy the drinks for all. Faro Nan was included in the invitation, as a matter of course, and Will stood be- side the bar chatting with her as Jesse Gibbs, a gambler, entered and took in the scene with one quick glance. In a flash he had drawn his gun, but before he could fire, Frank, entering just behind him, had caught his hand and wrenched the weapon from him.

"You leave Will alone," he sharply commanded as he returned the gun to the gambler.

"Then tell that brother of yours to keep away from Nan," was the surly reply.

Well pleased with the situation Nan laughed triumphantly. She was beautiful, in an evil way, and more than one had paid for his adoration with his life. She gloried in her records.

She suffered Frank to take his brother away, for she was a little afraid of Gibbs, and was glad to have Will out of the way for a time.

The brothers drove home in silence and when they came to the corral Frank pointed to the house. "I'll take care of your horse," he said shortly. "Go into the house and don't bother mother."

Usually Will was quiet after one of his trips to town, but the few drinks he had taken had fired his blood with a desire for more, and when Frank entered he was locked to find his mother in tears.

Bit by bit she told him how Will had taken money from her purse and had slipped out of the house again, and with an angry exclamation Frank turned and retraced his' steps toward the corral.

Will was there, trying with hands that trembled in their haste, to saddle his horse. As Frank came upon the scene Will turned with an ugly oath and whipped out his gun. There was a short, sharp struggle, a report, and Will sank limply to the earth.

Stunned by the thought that he had killed his brother Frank could only kneel beside the body, Avildlv crying to Will to speak to him. He never

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A COWBOY'S VINDICATION

103

V 1
	SjK .r
1 .	y "/ T--^,-"- 2*s*»_- *i&&§6$^ ■ f^^fonyitff*

PRANK IS UNJUSTLY ACCUSED OF KILLING HIS BROTHER.

saw the slinking form of the gambler hurrying toward his horse. Coming to the ranch to dispose forever of Will's rivalry, Gibbs had seen his chance to blame his crime on Frank and it was his gnn that had spoken at the very moment that Will's pistol was discharged in the struggle.

But with cooler thought Frank realized that when the pistol was dis- charged the gun was pointed into the air. His mind reverted to the quarrel of the morning and pinning a note to Will 's coat announcing that he was going in search of Will's murderer, Frank left the corral and followed the tracks clearly made in the soft earth by Gibbs' horse, which was differently shod from those of the Morrison ranch.

Gibbs had taken a back trail to town, and it so happened that the Sheriff and his posse, apprised of the

murder by the gambler, and riding to apprehend the slayer, did not pass Frank as he rode to town. There was only Nan and the barkeeper in the Golden Gulch when he entered.

Gibbs' face blanched as he saw Frank enter, and he sought to draw his gun, but the cowboy was too quick for him, and had him by the throat before he could draw.

Nan looked curiously on, declining to interfere and rather enjoying the struggle between the two men.

Frank had only surmised, but Gibbs' face told him that his guess was right, and the sheriff, riding back to town after a fruitless quest, found them there. The confession was brief, and Frank, cleared of the brand of Cain, rode back to comfort the mother who, alas, was bereft of a son, but of one only, for Frank had found his vindication.

jriv Prairie riowcrl

fln exchange of Identities in which it is Proven that the Master is the Better Han

" I EXKINS ! Mr. Eobert back yet?" J Henry Ford's voice was sharp and quick; the voice of a man ac- customed to command others, but there was a suggestion of eagerness in the masterful tones.

"Not yet, sir/' came the respectful response. "He said as how he was likely to be a little late, sir."

"Little late," Ford glanced at the clock. It had been late when they left the opera and they had dropped the Brandons at their home, a full half mile out of the way. "Jane, if that boy comes home in the same condition he was in last night, I'm going to send him away."

"Boys will be boys," she reminded. "There was a time when you sowed wild oats, Henry."

"I know I did," was the unexpect- edly frank response, "but if I had sown as many as Bob, I'd be cutting hav vet. It's for the boy's own good, Jane."

He turned as there came from the hall the smothered voice of expostula- tion, a thick protest and an opera hat rolled into the room, followed by Rob- ert Ford who the moment before had thrown the hat at the expostulating Jenkins.

"I -thought so!" cried the father. "Bob, you've had your last chance. I told you last night that if you ever came home in that condition again I would send you West. I'm going to do it, sir, to-night — now !"

Bob waived his hand in an amiable gesture of acquiescence and fell into a

convenient chair, promptly going to sleep. He was oblivious alike to the weeping mother and his angry father. It had been something more than a year since the threat of being sent to a ranch had alarmed him. He had heard the cry of "Wolf !" too often to be dis- turbed.

"Do you hear what I am sa}7^?"' demanded Ford. "I tell you that I shall send you West unless you prom- ise to mend your ways."

"All ri'," "assented Bob. "Tell me res' in mornin'. Goo' night."

Ford straightened up hopelessly. His wife plucked at his arm timidly.

"He's a clear good boy, Henry," she pleaded. "It is merely that he has bad associates. There is no real harm in him."

"Precisely why he is worth while saving," explained Ford as he shook her off with gentle roughness. "Jen- kins !"

He raised his voice to a shout, but Jenkins appeared with a promptness that argued that the valet had been listening outside the door. Silently the man received instructions to pack Bob's grip and see that he caught the morning train, and after completing the task somewhat reluctantly, he touched his forehead in acknowledg- ment and turned to the sleeping lad,

Bob responded to his persuasion, for more than once Jenkins had let him into the house without disturbing the old gentleman, and had lied loyally afterward as to Bob's condition at his homecoming. Stupidly Bob made his

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'ALL BI , TELL ME THE EES IN THE MOBNIN .

exit, leaving his father declaiming vio- lently to hide his own sudden flood of tenderness.

It was several days later that Bob and the faithful Jenkins arrived at Midland, the closest railroad station to Star Ranch, where Henry Jones raised the cattle whose flanks bore the Lone ►Star of the State. Jones and Ford had been college chums, had entered the same fraternities, and each, in his way, had been successful.

Jones had been advised by telegram of Bob's coming but the wire had mentioned no train, and the travelers had made better time than was expect- ed. For his old chum's sake he was glad to take Bob in, but he did not like the idea of having a roystering young chap from the city where his pretty and susceptible daughter, Flora, might fall in love with him.

It was well after train time when his foreman arrived in town for the mail,

and dropped into the hotel to ask the clerk to send Bob on to the ranch on his arrival, and in that interval Bob had been inspired with an idea.

The idea came from Bob's knowl- edge that Jenkins carried a letter to Jones from the elder Ford. It was unsealed and Bob grinned as he read it thru. It was not a long letter but right to the point:

New York, May 7, 1910. My dear Habby, —

My son, Robert, has been on a spree and needs bracing up. Take care of him for me and give him plenty of hard work. Jenkins, his valet, who hands you this, will assist you in keep- ing him straight. May come out later myself.

Your old schoolmate,

Henby Fobd.

"Jenkins !" Bob's tone was of judi- cial severity. "I don't like this idea of hard work. I think that we'll just

MY PRAIRIS FLOWER

107

swap identities for a while. You will do the hard work, Jenkins, and I'll have the harder work of assisting in keeping you straight."

"But the master — " began Jenkins faintly. "He said, sir — "

"Never mind what he said/' or- dered Bob sternly. "It's a bad thing for a servant to repeat bits of gossip that he overhears. I don't want to hear it. I'm saying that you are to be Kobert Ford for a time, and you want to see to it that you do not disgrace the honored name you bear, and that you work hard to get all that alcohol out of your system. You hear me?"

The habit of obedience was strong within him, and Jenkins meekly an- swered "Yessir," and wondered miser- ably what the elder Ford Avould say if he found out. He was still receiving instructions from Bob when the clerk entered to announce that a man had come from the ranch and would take

them back with him. Jenkins made a dive for the grips, but a warning kick from Bob when the others had their backs turned, reminded him that he was "Mr. Ford" now, and, rather en- joying the sensation, he led the way grandly from the room.

It was a rough ride through the al- kali, and both master and man were glad when the inviting green of the ranch house grove came into view. For a moment Bob half decided to resume his own identity, when he caught sight of Flora on the porch, standing beside her parents; but the thought of the hard labor changed his mind again, and leaping lightly to the ground he turned to assist Jenkins out.

Instinctively the valet turned to get the grips, but a low growl from Bob reminded him of his new estate, and a moment later he was greeting the dis- appointed Jones and the wondering Flora. A tug at his coat reminded him. and in a careless fashion he made

A TUG AT HIS COAT REMINDED HIM OF HIS POSITION.

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Bob known as his valet and Bob was honest enough to blush.

Jones called one of the men to help Jenkins with the bags and dismissed him from his thoughts. He was wor- ried about his guest, and more than ever he was decided that it would be well to keep him away from Flora as much as possible. ■ A quiet glance from his wife confirmed this opinion, and as her mother led Flora into the house Jones suggested to Jenkins that they take a look over the ranch buildings.

Bob was surprised to find that ranch houses are as well furnished as places "'back east," for the room into which he was led was as comfortable, tho not quite as elegant, as bis own apartments in New York. He looked longingly at the soft bed and the lounging chair close to the shaded lamp, but- his escort brought him rudely back to earth.

".Dump your boss' grip and come along," he suggested. "I got to get back to my own work. You can come back to fix him up."

He led the way down the stairs and across the yard to the low bunk house. Here was the real "roughing it," and for a second time. Bob's heart failed him, as he glanced at the tiers of bunks three high, and was told that as a new- comer he would have to sleep in one of the topmost row.

"T have to be in the house," he remonstrated ; "Mr. Ford will want me early in the morning."

"Hell get you," was the unfeeling response. "We get up at four and I guess you can get across the yard be- fore he gets up. We'll see you don't oversleep."

There was a meaning in the grin with which the last sally was greeted, and as one of the men threw his suit case into the despised bunk, Bob sank upon the edge of the lower one with a groan of dismay. He was game, but there seemed little choice between the hard work for Bob Ford and the hard bed for Jenkins. He was sorry he had not remained Ford.

The feeling was emphasized a little later when Bob went back to the house. The Jones family were just sitting

down to an appetizing supper; and Jenkins, cordial with a manner that would have been a laughable imitation of Bob's own air, had he an apprecia- tion of humor at the moment, was making himself pleasant to all.

"Everything all right, Jenkins?" he asked, condescendingly, as Bob touched his hat. "Better get your supper, my man. I shall not need you until bed- time."

He nodded to indicate that the in- terview was over, and turned to Jones, Avho indicated that he was to sit next Flora. Unconsciously Bob reached for a chair, to Jones' shocked surprise; and Jenkins, mindful of the kicks he had received, let his face broaden into a grin that changed into a look of shocked surprise as Jones turned ap- pealingly to him.

"Jenkins," he said severely. "I am surprised at you. Eetire immediately, and remember, my man, that Texas is the same as New Y'ork."

Flora's look of surprise made Bob wince, and as he turned away he re- membered the letter.

"Beg pardon, sir," he said with the salute he had copied from Jenkins. "I was 'most forgetting, sir. A letter from Mr. Ford, sir."

He handed Jones the letter and smiled at the appeal in Jenkins' eyes. He watched, as Jones read the brief letter; and when the ranchman had placed it in his pocket he enlarged upon the habits of the supposed Ford, and the necessity for making him work very hard, until Jenkins lost his appe- tite for game pie and the other tasty dishes, and pleaded a headache, which only served to confirm Jones in his de- cision to "work it out of him" in the most complete fashion.

Slipping from the "big house," Bob sought the lair of cookee and, attracted by the savory odors, found to his sur- prise that bacon and potatoes are de- cidedly tasty to a hungry man, and that good coffee from a tin cup is good coffee still.

There was a steady stream of rough witticisms directed at Bob, but he took it all good-naturedly, answered in kind,

MY PRAIRIE FLOWER

109

and by the time the meal was over he was so thoroly in their good graces that Jim Langdon decided that he should have a drink from his flask to farther the cementation of friendship. For a moment Bob clntched eagerly at the flask. Beyond the "tapering off" drinks on the morning of his departure, the watchful Jenkins had seen that there was no opportunity to obtain whiskey. Now, the very odor of the raw liquid fired his blood, and he greedily raised the flask to his lips.

He stopped and put it from him. He knew what the result would be, and he could picture the look of grieved surprise in Flora's face when she saw him intoxicated.

"I'm much obliged/' he said simply, "but it's 'bad medicine' for me, old man/'

"You mean you're too good for this crowd ? You don't want to drink with us?" came the truculent demand.

"Not at all," pleaded Bob. "It's

merely that whiskey doesn't agree with me — or agrees with me too well. Have it either way."

"You take a drink!"

Langdon offered the bottle with one hand and in the other he presented his revolver. He had had two drinks, which was just enough to stir up trouble.

"I have no gun and I wouldn't use one if I had," cried Bob, hotly. "I tell you I don't want to drink because it's not good for me and you offer to shoot. I fight with my fists, man fashion. If vou want to try that way come out- side."

"That's the way to talk." Bud Hen- drie sprang to Bob's side and laid an approving hand on his shoulder. "You're some fighter, Jim. Make good."

Nothing loath, Langdon slipped off holster and cartridge belt, and let them tie the boxing gloves on his hands. Bob had expected bare fists and was

LANGDON FELL HEAVILY TO THE GROUND.

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glad that it was to be with gloves, tho there was little of the original padding left in the gloves. Bob slipped out of his coat and into his gloves, and the whole crowd adjourned to the front of the cook house where an impromptu ring was quickly formed.

It was a short fight but a good one. Langdon was no mean adversary in either skill or strength, and had a slight advantage in weight; but Bob, in his better moments, was something of an athlete, and knew how to handle himself well. Indeed, a champion mid- dleweight had gained a fat check for teaching Bob the secrets of his knock- outs. Bob sparred to hold Langdon off, and, when he saw his chance, he shot over a blow that had earned for its inventor a belt and a title, to say nothing of the inevitable vaudeville engagement.

Langdon, taken off his guard, fell heavily and took the count, but soon was on his feet and as eager as the rest to shake Bob's hand. The sudden

change in the temper of the crowd was a surprise to Bob, and with entire frankness he explained the reason of his refusal, and pledged his friendship to them all. He was now a full- fledged member of the bunk house, and Langdon even offered him his own lower berth, a proffer that Bob was too generous to accept.

He spent a better night than Jen- kins, who tossed restlessly upon the soft mattress, as he dreamed that he had been sent to herd cows, and that the fierce animals had turned on him. Jenkins had the city man's dislike for animals with horns, and Jones took a pride in his little herd of Longhorns as a breed that was fast disappearing and soon to be almost as rare as the buffalo.

He woke to find his master standing at the foot of his bed, and regarding his slumbers with amusement.

"It's about time you got up, Jen- kins," he said pleasantly. "I've been up about two hours and have had

A STRANGE AND FRIGHTENED COWBOY.

MY PRAIRIE FLOWER

111

SEE. HE IS FALLING

breakfast. Get into these togs. They are your — er — working clothes, you know."

Jenkins regarded with marked dis- favor the rough clothing, the chaps and spurs that told of work on horseback; but he knew better than to disobey, and rose with a groan as Jones entered to see if his guest lacked for anything.

With Flora not present, Bob was able to embroider the tale of the sup- posed Fords' misbehavior, and to dilate upon the father's eagerness that the son would work hard.

"He's right," assented Jones heart- ily. "I'll see to it that your master has plenty of exercise. You won't know, him in three months. We'll build out that flat chest and put some flesh on those thin arms. You leave him to me."

Jenkins shivered at the suggestion contained in the last words, but there was no help for it; and, looking very little like a cowboy, he was led to breakfast and then to the sacrifice. The

little knot of cowboys were waiting for him in front of the ranch house, and Bob could scarcely restrain his laugh- ter when he assisted his frightened valet into the saddle. Jones had picked out a horse safe enough but scarcely to be called gentle and Jenkins bounced about in the saddle disgracefully as Avith a whoop the cowboys surrounded him and raced off.

Bob lingered for a moment talking to Jones, as Flora emerged from the house in her riding habit, and a man brought up her pony. She bowed cold- ly in response to Bob's defferential sa- lute, and for a moment he felt hurt, until he could realize that to her he was only a servant.

She was scarcely in the saddle when her mount shied, and Bob, alert to her slightest movement, sprang to the horse's head. This time a smile was his reward as she cantered off.

He looked after her longingly, and Jones, who found the imitation valet more to his liking than the real valet.

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suggested that he might like to take a ride himself. Bob eagerly accepted the invitation, and a little later he com- manded the respect of the cowboys by not "grabbing leather," when the usu- ally quiet horse took it into his head to do a little pitching. The only re- sult was to dislodge a sombrero several sizes too small.

Jones offered to see if he could find a larger one, and with an impatient "All right/' Bob tossed the hat to one of the men and headed his horse after Flora. Someone called after him but he did not hear what they said. All that was important was that Flora was far ahead.

He had not thought it possible that the sun could be so hot. It beat cruelly upon his unprotected head, and soon his handkerchief was soaked with per- spiration. But now Flora was scarcely a quarter of a mile ahead, and Bob pressed on, tho his head was swim- ming, and only a perfect seat enabled him to keep in the saddle.

The girl, unconscious of having been followed, turned carelessly as she heard the beat of hoofs, but her face went white as she saw the rider reel in the saddle and fall limply forward. The startled pony wheeled and broke into a gallop and Flora put the spurs to her own horse and followed. The way was rough and there was no telling when that limp form might fall from the saddle to find death under the flying hoofs. It was a hard ride but she won, and pulled up the horse at a water hole not a mile away.

She was surprised to find that it was the valet, but pity was her uppermost emotion, and she soon had him out of the saddle and in the cool shade where she bathed the fevered head, and used her own sombrero as a fan.

Bob quickly recovered consciousness, but he found her tender ministrations very comforting, and he was quite will- ing to obey her injunction to lie still until he was better. He was willing to lie there all clay but she was anxious to get him to the house where more effective aid could be rendered and, half supporting him, she led him to his

pony and helped him into the saddle. Then, with the reins within easy reach, she led him toward the ranch.

Jones and Jenkins were sitting on the porch of the ranch house as they rode up, and Jones hurried forward with real concern to lift Bob from the saddle. His action was so different from his merciless joking over Jen- kins' laments at the hard ride he had taken, that the valet scowled. He, too, had fallen in love with Flora, and it was bitterness to think that the master, in spite of the masquerade, held the inside track.

He was of little importance until after Bob had been made comfortable, and the further affront to his dignity only added fuel to the flame of his love. Perhaps it was that which ren- dered him reckless of consequences when, the following afternoon, he came upon Flora at the water hole where the day before she had rescued Bob. With a blush of maidenly shame she recalled the scene to her mind, and thought of how gratefully he had held her hand, longer, perhaps, than mere gratitude required. The soft flush that mantled her cheek at the thought made her more beautiful than ever, and Jen- kins, coming suddenly upon her, lost his head completely.

In impassioned speech he told her of his love and begged her to elope with him. She shrank back from his in- temperate declarations. She knew that Ford had been sent to the ranch to avoid drink. It seemed as tho he must have obtained some from the cowboys in spite cvf the strict rules. Thoroly alarmed, she sprang to her feet and Jenkins clasped her in his arms; when an unexpected thing happened. As tho in answer to her cry, Bob came upon the scene and with an exclamation of anger threw the valet to the ground. Jenkins rose with a snarl, thinking it one of the cowboys; but at the sight of Bob he cringed.

"Get out," commanded Bob briefly.

For a moment Jenkins hesitated. He had a wild notion of defying Bob and refusing to go ; but habit is strong, and with an unconscious salute he

MY PRAIRIE FLOWER

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turned and slowly retraced his steps toward the house.

"One would think you were the mas- ter/ not the man," cried Flora as she turned to Bob.

"I'm a man/' he reminded. "Any cad like that would obey in such a case."

"But the salute ?" she reminded. At the first glance she had guessed the truth.

"That gets me/' admitted Bob with a laugh. "But let's forget the boss. I haven't had a chance to thank you for all your kindness yesterday and there could not be a more appropriate spot than the scene of my Waterloo."

"You remember the place?" she asked quickly and the color surged to her cheeks again.

Bob threw off his sombrero, this time one that fitted, and sank upon the grass at her feet.

"Can I ever forget it?" he asked soberly.

Later in the afternoon the livery rig from town came toiling through the alkali and discharged Henry Ford.

"I had to come after the boy/' he said awkwardly, when he had ex- changed greetings with his old chum, and had been made known to Mrs. Jones.

"I've got him working hard, as you told me," explained Jones placidly.

"It looks like it," suggested Bob's father drily, as that young man came cantering toward the house with Flora, so engrossed in their conversation that he did not see the group on the porch.

"His man may be able to tell you more than I can," suggested Jones, and Ford gave a shout.

"His man!" he echoed. "I'll bet the boy has got Jenkins doing his hard work for him. Bob, you scamp, here's 3^our old father come to see you."

Bob slipped quickly from his horse

'MY PRAIRIE FLOWER.

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and gave his father a hug then turned to lift Flora from her horse.

"Jenkins," he said, as the valet came softly from the house. "Take my father's things up to my — your — er — my — er — the room you slept in last night. Hang it all, I don't know what I do mean, but get!"

Jenkins "got," glad that there was no more serious demonstration, and Bob turned to his father.

"It's all your fault," he cried gaily. "You gave Jenkins the note asking Mr. Jones to make me work hard."

"I'll take the blame," agreed his fa- ther, and with that slight explanation everyone was content. It was enough that Bob was Bob, and not the valet. Not so much that they regarded posi- tion as that they did not like Jenkins, and it was a happy party that sat at the supper table, while Jenkins mourn- fully supped in the cook-house and

found it hard to get in touch w'th .. fellows.

The next afternoon Flora, sitting on the stump beside the water hole, thoughtfully pulled the petals from a daisy and repeated the magic formula.

Her face fell as the last petal flut- tered from her fingers to the accom- paniment of "He loves me not," and in her disappointment she did not hear the light laugh behind her until a pair of strong arms clasped her waist. "Better try it again with another daisy — unless you want to take my word for it," cried Bob. "I think, on the whole, it's better to take my word for it. It saves the daisies and the worry, dear. It was for me, sweetheart?"

For a moment Flora hid her face against his shoulder, then she raised her head and smiled.

"Well — it wasn't for Jenkins," she answered, and hid her face again.

Maurice Costello

Lis

MAURICE COSTELLO, whose work as a local favorite for many- years in Spooner's stock company, the American stock company, at the Columbia Theatre, the Yorkville stock company of Man- hattan and Boyle's stock company of Nashville, Tenn., has brought him into eminence as a leading man both in juvenile and heavy char- acters, has distinguished himself as a star and feature of the "life portrayals" which have made him known in all quarters of the globe.

His characterizations always show a masterful appreciation of the requirements that bear the impress of genius peculiar to the moving picture star; nofceable instances of which are seen in his portrayals of the actor in "Through the Darkness," "Orestes," "Electra," and "St. Elmo" in the "life portrayal" of the same name. He will perform a most wonderful impersonation of Sydney Carton in the production of "The Tale of Two Cities," which is in process of construction.

MAURICE COSTELLO.

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IRe Notion

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Magazine

.^lOl

MARCH 11

IJ&BUSHED^ PJBLIC

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©HIS Magazine is owned, and published monthly, by The M. P. Publishing Co., a New York corporation ; office and principal place of business, 26 Court Street, Brooklyn, N. Y. City; J. Stuart Blackton, President ; D. Roy Shafer, Vice-President ; Eugene V. Brewster, Sec.-Treas. and Editor. Subscription, $1.50 a year in advance, Including postage in the United States, Cuba and Mexico; in Canada, and in other foreign countries. $2.00. All manufacturers of motion pictures are invited to submit pictures and scenarios which, if accepted, will be paid for on publication at usual rates. All pictures and manuscripts must be accompanied with return postage, and must be submitted at the owner's risk. Contributors should retain copy of all matter submitted. The contents of this magazine are protected by copyright.

Copyright, 1911, by The M, P. Publishing Co.

Application has been made at the Brooklyn Post Office for entry as second-class matter.

Personalities of the Picture Players

MISS LOTTIE BRISCOE.

The great success of Miss Lottie Briscoe as a photoplayer is not surnrisin'* when it ta remembered that she was, for years, with that muster of dramatic art Richard IfanqflpM Miss Briscoe has already won a host of admirers in the moving picture world 'bv hS clever work and pleasing personality. ° * u w,y UC1

MAURICE COSTELLO.

MISS ALICE JOYCE.

One of the familiar figures in the moving picture world, and one of the most popular, is Miss Alice Joyce. Miss Joyce made her debut before the public as a moving picture player, she having had no previous experience upon the stage ; but, from her grace and acting, this would hardly be believed, even by the most critical observer, and it is the consensus of opinion that the histrionic talents of Miss Joyce are quite equal to her beauty — which is saying a great deal.

Mr. Charles Kent

Charles Kent is an actor of international reputation, and lie has lately acquired a repu- tation equally great in the moving picture ■world, not only as a picture player, but as a director, for he has also staged a number of elaborate picture plays, notably " Lancelot and

companymg pic- tures of Mr. Kent will doubtless be recognized with pleasure by thou- sands of readers, for he has become a favorite.

MISS FLORENCE E. TURNER.

One of the picture-play artists who "will never be forgotten is 'Miss Florence E. Turner, for she (has won a permanent place in the affections of the picture pub- lic. Beautiful, graceful, versatile, sympathetic, she adopts her mar- velous talents equally well to every part assigned to her, and she has taken rank among the foremost players of the world. This is not surprising, however, when it is remembered that she began her public career on the stage at the age of three.

C CLB241064

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C)he QQotion

Qicture @tory

Magazine

•Key

I

(Copyright, 1911)

>00<

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I

CONTENTS

MARCH, 1911

Vol. I. No. 2

Price

FIFTEEN CENTS THE COPY ONE DOLLAR FIFTY THE YEAR

L

PERSONALITIES OF THE PICTURE PLAYERS:

Miss Lottie Briscoe i

Maurice Costello 2

Miss Florence Lawrence , 3

Miss Alice Joyce 4

Charles Kent 5

Miss Florence Turner 6

Miss Clara Williams 57

NOTABLE SCENES FROM THE PHOTOPLAYS:

Moliere Dining with Louis XIV 7

Napoleon Parting with Josephine 8

Elaine in Picture 58

The Buccaneers 70

The Conspiracy Pontiac 72

PICTURE STORIES:

A Dixie Mother, by Louis Reeve Harrison 11

Mike the Housemaid, by James Blair 17

My Prairie Flower, by Epes W. Sargent 27

Abraham Lincoln's Clemency, by Mary R. Martin 41

The Big Scoop, by James Bartlett 47

Pals, by J. T. Maines 52

A Cowboy's Vindication, by Constance Hall 59

The Perversity of Fate, by E. W. Sargent 63

Love's Awakening, by "Milo" 73

Herod and the Newborn King, by Montanye Perry 77

The Golden Supper, by E. L. Martin 87

A Republican Marriage, by Roy Mason 93

An American Count, by Marie. L. Rask 105

SPECIAL ARTICLES :

Wanted to See Miss Irwin 21

The City of Roys, illustrated 23

Birds and Birdmen, illustrated, by J. Stuart Bla. Icton 37

Vitalizing the Teaching of History 46

The Wizard of Sound and Sight (Thomas A. Edison) 69

The World Before Your Eyes, by Prof. Frederick Starr 71

Stage Fright in Pictures 85

The Picture Play as an Educator 92

POEMS:

From the Dark to the Dark, by H. M. C 16

. At a Motion Picture Show, by Hunter MacCulloch 10

EDITORIAL:

Editorials 1 14

Musings of a Photoplay Philosopher 116

Editorials by our Readers H9

i

At a Motion Picture Show

By Hunter HacCulloch

A ghostly seance this, from first to last, Materializing thus the buried past.

Device so simple, yet with wonder rife: Into a picture breathe the breath of life; The living present seize and fix for aye The unconsidered doings of the day; Create anew the vanished past at will, See all its fleeting features fleeting still. Not memory, graved in shallow lines or deep, Whereby some portion of the past we keep; But this most startling vision, born of art, That leaps to life complete in every part.

These minutes made immortal bring the thought Of some transcendent 'graph wherein is caught Thoughts, words and deeds thruout this life-long

strife — A threefold moving picture of our life.

Ah! Paris next. Three thousand miles away: I saw it just a year ago to-day. The "Place de Concord" — yes, I know the place; 'Twas there one day I came within an ace — Hello! The devil! Well, of all things! Whew! Yes, there I am; an unexpected view. The agent de police I did not choose As escort — yet I could not well refuse. Who is the lady? Ah! you have me there! See how I struggle! Can't you see me swear? And Hugo's gamins, how they jeer and scoff! Ah! there I go! I'm glad he's dragged me off!

This new invention can be made to lie Like facts and figures do, and not half try. Come, let us go to lunch, and on the way I'll tell that story — good as any play.

Note: These verses were written in 1898 by Hunter MacCulloch, who died March 20, 1905, and they are now published for the first time.— The Editor.

A Dixie Mother

By Louis Reeve Harrison

A fatal day near the end of the Civil War saw General Capel, desperately wounded and sup- ported on either side by his sons, seek refuge in their old home. The destructive blast of battle, which had swept that region and withered the face of nature for miles around, was not spent. A shell exploded near the fugitives as they passed an uprooted tree, and an old family servant came forth to warn them that they were pursued by a detachment of Union soldiers: their situation was almost as

desperate as their irretrievable for- tunes or their hopeless cause. Physi- cally ruined, all was lost save honor.

The divinity of their home, a Dixie mother, was comforting her frightened daughter and waiting to embrace her husband and sons. Virginia Lewis Capel, devoted wife and fond mother, stood proudly in an old colonial hall, whose walls were hung with ancestral portraits and revolutionary swords, waiting and hoping. She was slight of figure, almost as delicate looking as her daughter, but there was a great

THE DIXIE MOTHER BOWED HER HEAD IN BITTERNESS AND YIELDED SWORD AS GRAVELY AS IF SURRENDERING AN ARMY.

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THE MOTHER SAW AND UNDERSTOOD.

heart throbbing in her bosom. She came from more than one line of those indomitable fighters who conquered savages at home and foes from abroad for generations. There was iron in her blood.

When the men entered the hall, Mrs. Capel's eyes filled with tender sympathy for all, but she took the man of her heart in her arms. She lavished tenderness on him while mak- ing him comfortable, then turned to her sons as if the deep wells of her affections were inexhaustible.

To her eldest son, Fielding, about to return to the field in spite of a serious wound on his head, she said with deep emotion :

"Oh, but I am proud of you! Go if you must. The splendid Boys in Grey are contesting every inch of ground and can not spare you from the ranks. Go and win gloriously! The battle is to the brave, my son, not to the strong. ' '

She turned to her youngest child, Merriweather, fresh from a military

academy, but he shook his head mourn- fully, indicated that they were sur- rounded by the enemy and turned away completely disheartened.

She laid her hand in gentle protest on his arm ; he was the last babe to nestle on her bosom, but he only sighed in despair. The soft light faded from her eyes as she took a sword from the wall, pointed to the portraits of her son's ancestors, and said, significantly: "Lest we forget!" r

"They fought in a better cause," he muttered.

The mother's eyes flashed and the sword gleamed in her hand.

"Go fight!" she commanded, giving him the sword and drawing him on. "Fight, my son! Fight till the last drop of blood in your body is shed. Shall