Photoplay Magazine, February 1912

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liswbiislifrt lK/.s I J hones Wabash A TRIAL AT THE Kercher Bath Co. Will L"nn\ iiirc vrui that our L'omlijr.atiiiti bath and treat- ment fs tht' iiu^l thing on earth for 505 S. WABASH AVENUE Cor. Congress Si. Plots Wanted for Motion Picture Plays Ynil rrt/t irrisr l/irin IVv f.WJvh pfift fly mull lit H'" conrmf ffi ttifff-fftit* (t>r /dire tni/ne snrri:v*fnt w'"t mttCH if err t/rf n fi'tr t:\frtirf.i /'run: fhi'ir le(trr.-i I h.iW ...111 -J'lir tWM Sulsi.M [ Mil?. In. null! mt linnl |.l;n. 'Tin' ■"t'hr \*tMtii ;li(tiJifMI m v lli^L wly t-,. 'T[ti' |{.f.ir]t|:t I l.:n nf .Jllll tt'.lriJ ■ '["In iri.il"i--i!"Lfc.- lW* ylUV&il-M*! tin M-i'lliir ..i "J ■ 1 1 KII'IILI'lli Till' St'tU HI 1 1 1 H -I I'f- t \'tH"fU6SJ]^li ' I IhlH'.MlllJ t. i 1 I Ln - V | L^/ri P b9 L ( I ' [ llnvr- jusl ili^tMin'.l ..f "["Jii- ruhi T "I'll U'.t i'^ l.i tin- Kili-'ir t i"! Till.* 1 1 i'"Lr rii I'fl c ;i(TiLlHr~.t fin hiji*i mil -.["itui nil K-.'i'ic'TD lil**i iVl Till' !!l:ii'!i!i>LH M;iU lin-i'il 1 In-. Iiwl.i"" uri'l iitjiur ai Iht sm-e.'-..-: ful i«m«iin:i »i-m n «'••'■! i**' ntfivMii* »«?r« ir lln' iiri nr w rn iiit. i L - ■ r i [.ii'turi' i'lu.v:. t>, ;i iiht>* wat!;iiia '>r i Vmir ni'iiiiil .hhkItijU «i)rk imi»l lu1 iIimvl- rt| . rnUi'i^i'il ;itlLi;l| y/i'iJ iieilL ivri'.vl I'll: 'nil- i. t In ■ *rlnmi tiijii ili'i's vi' 'ri: . U I Iti-r. I'lih .'m il $> II Hit, Lli lllilll.l im i-nik' 1 'nr( &1l)»rvt.pftl» ASSOCIATED MOTION PICTURE 634 SHEp IE3AH ROAD, CHICAGO The Prices that Independent Commercial Service 2 Reels, 6 Times per week, $11 2 Reels, 7 Times per week, $13 3 Reels, 6 Times per week, $15 3 Reels, 7 Times par week, $17 Posters and Song Slides Free Write tor Film List and bf Convinced National Film Brokers 136 LaSalJe Street CHICAGO Made of Your Own Material 166 N. STATE ST. Room 4i Opposite Maaanic Temple CHICAGO, ILLINOIS Tin' iiifin- jpeft ri'iiiMnul t&mw flu -,, jut. t|N. lu'itcr iw c;mi ftutki- till- niii-:;i/.iiii-

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Af&$ I'AULINE BUSH WtlttiHfj W*W$*\ Anwntin, mm *!<■;; (',, i

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GEORGE PERIOLOT Ciuitftrtrr Uart,s> American Film Stork Co

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Scene /'mm " t?h> Acirc.ss'

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Photop lay Magazine NOTICE. Fay ne fo »^'.n( trfifi fitting ifc* PHO TOPLA Y MAC AZIX£ btaf proper ttrdrniial* from the company t"KUJit*.\liY. \\t\'J N O; I 7 A E OF CONTENTS ' OF PICTURE STARS Mini-- Kiln- Piuilfnt! Hush - I Wiivivii ri^iiu - Jut k Itiehardsotj , QefttiK rVrlotol .*• PHOTOPLAY STORIES J.inlo Uetl Itldluu llniHt i.M:i .sl|t*l Jl Tin- Xiw*y and the Tramp jTlinnluui*.-ri . . .' .......... ... 12 Tin* llt-st Policy i Aiiu ruan • t4 Tht* Attn-ss i.Mnji'siIri IC ltonila of Kl Cnjon t American ' . 1> Tbe'^IortwiM i American . . . If Objection* Ovi-rruW i Anuricani .. Tin- Ti i ( 'litim | > i : Tlie Cnulr MIhs Piru.dp A Traitor mi tin- SfjliT i ('unlet I irt(;mi|iinti i 2s 34 3"i ■ * ■ ■' HII»M HIilll|-HFIII ^>Flt-f»r*«4■■ + 1 er t ... 41 Hands Arnw* tin- An i Eclair* 4S Teiii|.ernmeiits. iCoim-n .............. ."-2 Simple Uvcs il'onWtt ."4 Ziitfinar i Feature A.- F.dueat:onul Film Co i _ .....* V£.RSES AND SPECIAL ARTICLES The World ttpfmv Yotar Eyes Prof. Frpilerick Starr Notes of Inierem llUli-' Mo»-inn I'iiiur.- World ..... Tin- Krooil % : n,L'T. Tin' siury of iln* Motion 1'iimtv . ..Kdwnrd Frtin.*is Mclniyrf A OttEoriil (Vniidr it. 1 1. ArinsiroitfT A Story of thi> fircai I >-iilri ill I'liMnlHVr lit I'hii'ii^'i LL si nhnjl- i'Iliim 11 ih 1 1 rt* Siil-i'rli"! 1>-TI ti I"' H vi-nr in ailv:uii - IHlIll SlLlliil- ini'CWil .111 (imci4f:ii'[uii-r^ t M.ilinii I'ii'iiirr- sitv Invlti'fl In iillHiitT ^-pn:irln>. juul iiiini"-. OT»r ntlmrt-amiMt iinrii'riuiii' t" rm-t mill m>nn the iin'ritiof MH>n»rtiw. >ti irit-^ timl t-tMLHi Ihi'-x- tiin^t I*1 Mi*>t»ilLi. il ilintft u> unioi|lu*"«tir»'r?i uf M.-ii-ti I "n-rn n ~. Suit* 1208, WS Weat Monroe St., Chicago, III. The Photoplay Magazine • + + * * i 1 1 * if * * I i * * **************************+♦***» »******^^

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I PHOTOPLAY MAi*n£te3s. in the agv where incredibilities come true. We Hy through the atr, that with our friends in Paris hy seiiiirting a liule syark from a pole on one shore of the Atlantic to another pole on the other side, and so ? + I § * + + * ■k I * ■ + J + + + * + + * * * +

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MmMMf*¥*¥*¥*******¥+******* ********************* 1 HI Til 1-1 W«>KL1> UKr'tMEK ;**************************************************+***+*******J I- ■ «*« take :is a matter ai caui'st ihat which uiir greatgrandfathers would have tl ec la red a miracle. The talking machine litis canned the great voiced aittl master melodies of our tinie, hut (he moving picture machine has done more — ii is making For us volume of history am] action. It is not only the greatest Impulse of entertainment, bm the mightiest force of insi ruction. We do not analyze the facL thai when we read Df an "English wreck, we at once see an English train before, us, or when we learn of a battle, then an altogether different panorama is visualyxed than our foTiner erroneous Impression of a hand-to-hand coiiiliei. We are familiar with the geography of Europe, ■A*e are well aeu.uninted with how the Frenchman drosses. In what sort of it home he lives, ami from what sort of a shop lie buys his meat and greens. We hike bo much tor smuted, we are so thoroughly spoiled by our multiple luxuries, that we do nut bestow niurs? than a passing thought upon our advantages, because the moving picture machine is an advantage, a tre- mendous, vital force of culture as well as amusements, an economy not only of money but of experiences, IT BRINGS THE WORLD TO ITS. It de- livers the universe 10 our theatre seal. The moving picture is not a make- shift for the playhouse; its dignity k greater, its importance far beyond the puny function of comedy and tragedy. It is a clean entertainment, lec- ture and annulment all rolled in one. In its highest effort It stands above literature, in its less ambitious phase. Its rank above the tawdry show- house. It teaches nothing harmful and It usually teaches much that is helpful today. The moving picture Industry Is developed to a high degree of perfection In America and in Europe-. Millions of dollars are. invested in the production of moving picture films Entire companies of trained and practiced actors are carried to every Interesting spot on the continent and carefully drilled lo enact pantomimes which will concentrate (vithin the space of a few minutes the most entertaining and instructive incidents of the world. A r.ew type of dramatists has arisen — men who search through the literature of the ages and construct tableaux In action which will render vividly the entire tonieiits of famous works of the drama, of the novel and of history. The moving picture Is not a makeshift, but the highest type of entertainment in the history of the world. It stands for a better Ameri- canism because it, is attracting millions oi the masses to an uplifting, draw- ing them and improving- chenj, as well as being an amusing feature oE cny Hfe. its value cannot be measured now, but another generation will benefit more largely tti rough lis inllueaces than one of today can possibly realize-

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- * * vvvViVVvwvw T ~ T ~ ~ ~ ~ n ri r In Story Form Condensed for Rapid Reading I * 1 * i * LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD i Majestic) I AWp as Red Riding Hood Tin- donr old grandma litis come to Red Hiding Hood's Siome, bearing a present for hi>r grandchild which she hr-s made herself. This is a beamlCul lined nmdc in granny's cleverest and most laving way. Little Red Riding Hood is charmed by it. and ex ureases her Joy rreely. Granny then goes home to her lonely hut In the woods, escorted by her niece, One beautiful autumn nlienioon little Red Ridirif; Rood is sent by her mother to take sonu1 goodies to grandma. She repairs on her way, hut + i I * * 1 n * * | 4c r*************** ********* >★***★********★★★★★★★ *****f***-* * * ******

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£ '"M X K WS V A N E) T 1 1 K TJ 'A Ml' 1 J * ^^*^***+^^*¥¥*¥****^+^+******+¥+*¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥^f-¥*++++¥-*¥j i f!i'o\Vf lirt-d and sils io rest under a tive. Sin- slops ami dreams 111 c well- -K known story: i Mow a wolf in tlic t;ul up (if a friendly dog came and asked her where sli^ + wns gofng. She told him. and the said wise wull" sped to granny's cot In n * shorter ilireriloli. ArriviuK fltaw* lie satisfied his wolfish appetite cm poor J grandma's aged carcass. unJ donning her night cap took lipr place in the ->t bed. Utile Red Riding ilood appears and enters the bedroom, gladsoirjcly + exhibiting fej presents. The wary wolf, nfter a confidential chat, jumps at "t her. She, screams; bter father, the woodsman, and his trusty men rush in. -k dispatch the wolf and save lier. Awakened suddenly by lie?r own screams, $ Red Rttftng lluod cannot break the spell of that awful dream. So she goes + liniidly to the cottage, pecks cautiously in-at the window, finding alive and well. The Newsy and the Tramp tThanliouser) Kugsy w as a 11 lain newsboy, lie wasn't" even a newsboy wkh a house; lie had been "selliir italics" from the day his drunkard father kicked him Into the street, and his abiding place was wherever Cnkind Providence permu- ted lilm 10 hang his en[t, OTteii It was in the iiark. ivhere a bench made a Ijt-d at a sort, and where he always had lots of company. Tramps" were (hick in thai park that year. Ragsy came to know the tramps, lie even came to like them — to admire their carefree, go-as-you-please style of living. When he grew up; HE would be a tramp! How lie wished thai lie were big enough to take to tlue COCL.I> shoot correctly as a Cimid ■

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■ s 5 Eg a I i5

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* * U THE HKST IMLICY r * * * i 9$ 77ic Best Policy Western Comedy (American) = * * * i * * * The three gentlemen had ret I red from active business, due to persistent attention on the. Mart of Hi*1 county sheriff, who. with his deputies, were desirous of meeting with the aforesaid gentlemen and assisting theni in remaining idle by giving . them a home where they would be free from teuiptiitlon and autside InlliLeiMf, hi fact, they were ho desirous of meet- ing the train robbers that they posted notices or reward lo anyone who would give them an Inkling as to the whereabouts of the lawless trio. Forced lo Idleness and seeing no Immediate prospect of adding to their wealth through the usual channels, the oldest thief and his boon companion deter- mine to appropriate all they had gathered together and leave their- com- panion a chance lo work for his living. They take the treasure a ad conceal it in a tree, but the young robber, having overheard the plan, upbraids the remaining robber. Together they apparently give the old man the double cross. He is fortunate, or unfortunate enough, as the case may he. to hear their plans and forestalls them in getting possession of. the treasure. That is. he leaves it in the tree and places a false package in his shin. The young robber holds him up and secures the package. It dat^tts on him that there is n« necessity for sharing it with the third robber, but that per- son believes otherwise and relentlessly pursues them lo secure his share. After a running C^ht he at last overtakes his fickle pat an to share the loot with him. * Willi great expectancy they open llieir bag of treasure, to find it Is only a bag of loose earth. Disappointment proves too much for them and they console each other. The old robber, having got safely away from his com- panions, conceals himself In the undergrowth and begins to count the treas- ure. He is still deeply engaged ltl that pleasant occupation and falls lo hear the approach of the sheriff and his deputies until lie tlnds himself look- ing with fascinated interest into the mouths of their guns. At the urgent request of the sheriff, who hacks his argument by the aforesaid guns, the old rubber allows the sheriff to assume the custody of the loot and himself. 1 « ■* ■* * I -K * I *. i * * * * * * * i * * - 1

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- { : v ■ ■ - Si I V 4 -

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l * * * *- * **** il J************************************ THK ACTKESS ******************** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * + I * I I * * * * * * * * ************ The Actress (Majestic I I See page 6) ■ , It is t l:e last rehearsal of the new play, upon whose success iejlfeBtfs the fortunes of .John Millroy— a season's profitable work for the artists of the company — -the prosperity of the theater and its employes, and last, but not at all least, the reputation of the star, winsome Ellen Duran. Bilm Duran has at last succeeded in securing a part that gives to the full, opportunity for displaying all the dainty graces and coquettries of a ni i id en charming enough to win the hearts of an audience as well as those of the actors playing* opposite her. The company has rehearsed almost up to the hour of the opening of the play, and the manager has sent out for refreshments in order that the almost exhausted people may not be required to leave the theatre for the little time left before the fateful call of half hour, which must find them all in their dressing rooms. t 1 Ellen, however, refuses the food offered her by her maid, and after an anxious moment over the, phone, runs to the manager and tells him she must go to her home at once. Her child, a little girl of six, is critically ill at home with pneumonia, and she has just received word, that the little one is much worse. Millroy places his ear at her disposal and she hurries home to find flu1 state of affairs even more alarming than site had antici- pated. The baby's little feet are straying perilously close to the river which al! must cross, and while her mother has been bravely at work perfecting , t lie little tricks which shall that night win a thousand hearts to laughter —Utile arms have reached out bravely tor the mother that hungered to be there to comfort. The doctor's words are not needed to tell her of her child's condition and <:he mother heart is lashed by remorse at the baby's cry: "Mama, ma- ma; I want my mama!" ✓ The tears come to the manager's eyes, but he turns to the sobbing little woman, and silently shows her the time. She looks up at him in agony — that hard tick of the, watch is calling to her, shouting at her — her duty to that, public which is now snuggling complacently over good dinners dis- cussing its prospective pleasure in the evening's entertainment she will afford. Let the watch tick its grim reminder, let it shout a command; that lit-- tie child's feeble cry tops and drowns all else and the mother, no longer ***************************** ******* * * * * * * * * * 1 + * * i * i

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************************** t * the actress, refuses to leave her child. The manager flies back to the thea- tre, but a vain hope, that Homebody else may be able to play her part is soon crushed. He looks at the stricken company, a short time before alive with joy and anticipation. He hears the growls of the impatient first night au- dience— he has broken faith with them — he sees a thousand thumbs point- ing down; he looks into the white faces of the stage manager and. the leading man and knows their thought!-" — she must play the part. The mother is torn from her child, and out of the house goes a woman with baby cries ringing in her ears and before her eyes an ever-present vision of baby arms reaching out vainly for (heir mother— reaching out feebly, and then still more feebly until — Into her dressing room flies the actress and all through that terrible night a dainty little ingenue makes men and women chuckle with laughter that, even after her exit, comes dully, but audibly, to her ears, as with white lips and staring eyes she stands at the telephone demanding news of her chilli— news that is never of a nature to give one moment's peace to that racked mother soul. "there comes a time when physician and nurse, engaged to the'r utmost in admistering oxygen to the baby can not answer that desperate phone call, and the actress is fairly carried to the wing fighting to retain posses- sion of that slender connecting wire. Her cue comes, she darts in the en- trance door and appears upon the stage a mischievous, pouting, laughingly alluring bit of femininity that causes an old gentleman in the audience to nudge his neighbor with the remark that "she is the true spirit of :'oyous and as yet unhurt youth." The play ends, and only kept on her feet by the desire to reach her child's bedside, the actress is taken to her home. There is a terrible mo- ment in the hall outside of the bedroom door where a weary, haggard nurse holds up a warning finger and then the mother flies past her into the room where the tired physician catches her and in answer points to the child while a quiet smile of content lightens up his face. The crisis has safely passed and too bitter a price has not been paid by the little mother for her obedience to the call of her profession. * * i I i -K I * * ■ I ■ e ■ < ■t ■( ■t ■f t ■( •t •< •t ******************* + f ***** *******

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BOX IT A OF EL CA.ION * * Bonita of El Cajon { Americanl Honita was the daughter of the leader of a gang of outlaws. She had never known female companionship an 1 had grown up in her father's camp of lawless, reckless men as free as the birds in her mountain ranges. One day her father's lieutenant ventured down the mountain, and, find- ing a beautiful girl outside her home, attempted to kiss her. Freeing her- self, she secured a gun from the house and returned to find Iter assailant gone. W hen her lover. Jack Dickson, of the rangers, called she toWl him of the outlaw's attack, and he departed into the mountains to locate and punish her assailant. Reconnoitering .in the mountains, .lack meets Bonita, and the care- free, happy girl is deeply impressed with the handsome ranger. Their meeting is observed by the lieutenant and he informs Bonita's father. When Bonita returns she is told that when she sees the ranger again she must decoy him into camp, as he is dangerous. But Bonita, instead, warns the ranger of the outlaw's intentions. He departs to bring his posse, and Bonita, loyal to her father, returns with a warning of the rangers' eontem- * * * , . , , | J . I l , 11 1 111 I i , 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 11 1 ■

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P HOTOPL A Y M AG AZIN K ********************** *r ******************** f 19 plated raid. They break camp, and while the rangers are searching for them the outlaws arrive at the home of the ranger's sweetheart, for the lieutenant has determined to make the plucky girl his wife and also to use her as a club to hold off the attack on their "camp. She is turned over to the care of Bonita, and the mountain-bred girl is full of wonder when she sees the beauty and grace of her charge. She attempts to imitate her grace and man- ner. She sees a locket around the captive's neck and examines it curiously. She accidentally touches the spring and the locket opens, disclosing the handsome, smiling face of the ranger. She asks her -captive who he is and learns that the ranger is engaged to her. Bonita is full of jealous fury, but at last her passion subsides and she determines to rescue the girl for the ranger. This she accomplishes by exchanging places with the captive and sends her to her lover down the mountains. The ranger's sweetheart shows him the way back to the outlaw's camp. The old outlaw, surprised by the sudden attack, points his gun at his daugh- ter, thinking she is the captive girl, and warns the rangers that he will kill her instantly if they come nearer. Bonita, turns and laughs at her father. He attempts to shoot the ranger, but Bonita, divining his intentions, throws herself in front of the ranger and receives the bullet intended for the man she had learned to love. The ranger's gun barks in return and the old. outlaw joins his daughter in the Great Beyond. The ranger's posse takes care of the other outlaws, while the ranger and his sweetheart kneel beside the body of little Bonita of El Cajon. ***$ * * * * * * * i * The Mormons (American) (See page S) In the early days of the West it was customary for the Mormons to attack wagon trains, in order to secure new wives in the practice of their polyganms belief. This story deals with such an attack. The young son of the Mormon elder was dearly beloved and faithful, and was given the post of outlook, to locate wagon trains, ascertain the number of men and women in them, and assist in the attack. One morning he spies through his powerful telescope a lone wagon crossing the prairie. He hastens to a council of the Elders and tells them of the approaching immigrants. He is sent to ascertain the number of men with the wagon and encounters the girl. It is a case of love at first sight. He gazes earnestly in the girl's eyes and sees an answering light in their depths. Then he realizes his mission and that the capture of these women will make them the wives of the prophet. A fierce desire overcomes him to possess her for himself, a thing not possible in the church. He renounces his faith and warns the emigrants. He assists in fighting off his own people and at last they hold up the flag of truce. The old father loarns that his son has become an apostate. Sadly he returns to his home to grieve over his erring son, lost to him for- ever, The emigrant having been killed, the young Mormon takes his place, and with the girl by his side turns to a new life with the woman he loves. t****************************-^ * * * + * *

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2» ORIKCTIOXS OVKRKl.'LKD I i I — -K * *- i * * * i * * * * * * Objections Overruled Comedy Drama * i American I HecaiiM- In- way leading a useless life and was undermining his health smoking- cigarettes and kindled vices. 01d: .lack Howard sent his son to t he West with a check for $t,uuo in his pocket and an order to make a man of himself if he wished to inherit the old man's money. That was how .Jack Howard, Jr.. came 'to meet Daredevil Anne, lie gets a glimpse of her as she comes racing into the town, nearly riding him down, and he determines to make the acquaintance of the dashing voting lady. Accordingly, lie obtains a horse at Hie livery and seta out to follow her. Unused to Western horses, the little mustang runs away with him and throws him violently by ^^^^ I -fr**+****** the roadside. Daredevil Anne finds hju and takes him to her home. Later she leads him a most strenuous life, and he finds that in order to keep the pace she sets he. will have to forswear cigarettes and drinking, He is moulded tinder her influence until lie becomes a thorough man, and when he tells her he loves her*, he is worthy of Iter, He telegraphs his father r *-********** **************** -K * -K * * -K *

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t PHOTOPLAY MACAZISTK ■2\ '. a. * .v > + Jf he intends 10 marry Daredevil Anne. The fattier, with visions of a bad match, replies, telling him to come home at once or be disinherited. Jack Howard, .Jr., replies, telling his father to keep his money. Angered, the old man determines to go West and stop the marriage. lie is held up by the cowboys on the ranch and told he is a prisoner of Daredevil Anne's. They' take him up the mountain side and hold him a prisoner, allowing him to witness the marriage of his son through a power- ful telescope. They ask him to sign a paper forgiving the young couple, but he refuses. In order to compel compliance with their wishes he is lowered over a cliff and the leader threatens to cut the rope with a knife. The old man surrenders and is turned loose to wander down the mountain side. He stumbles to the ranch, and, approaching the well, tries io remove the dirt that, had accumulated during his enforced stay in the mountains. A sweet girl comes to his assistance, and the old man is moved to wish his son had married a woman like the girl beside him, At this moment Jack Howard, Jr., arrives and introduces the girl to his father as his wife, and everybody is happy. I * v * * * * * i I ★★★★★★*★★★+★★*★★**+★★★★★*★ ************************************** Mr. and Mrs. Edward Wallace are an apparently happy couple. They have a luxuriously furnished home, servants, etc., and an air of bliss and centeniment seems to pervade the place. But the pair soon elect to dis- agree, and through a number of quarrels become eventually estranged. The first tilt occurs at the breakfast table, and it is continued when the ques- tion of naming the baby at the christening arises. Hubby has his views about, the matter, and wife has hers. .Bitter words follow and Mr. Wallace departs, vowing he will never see his wife or baby again. The wife tries to persuade him to remain, but her pleadings are all in vain. Two years pass. Mr. Wallace is lonely, and as he looks at the picture of his little one tie sighs and longs to clasp his child to his heart. 1 Another scene shows the wife with her darling. Baby is playing on the lloor. The wife is for her husband. She looks at his picture in a locket which she wears around her neck, removes it and hangs it around her child's neck. Baby soon falls asleep and the mother then gently tucks it into a small wicker basket, attaches a tag on which is written. "Open itimediately and feed," and carries her precious burden to her husband's apa -tments. Mr. Wallace is out, and the wife hides behind a pair of portieres awaiting developments. Soon Mr. Wallace returns, and. seeing the basket and note, expresses sur- prise. He opens the basket, and. discovering the locket and his picture, realises that the little charge before him is his own son. His joy is unbounded, and, clutching, his offspring again to his heart, unconsciously calls for the mother. Of course the wile appears and there is Ian Immediate reconciliation. j- * I I * 1 *

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'J* * * * * * * TMK HKLKNTLBISy LAW rT,*T*T"T T" T T' T'*T T T 1 1~~T- I Relentless Law Western Drama (American) This remarkable dramatic production depicts that in our civilization the law is supreme "arid those who disobey its mandates cannot escape just punishment tor their crimes. It also exemplifies that higher law beyond man, old as the world, that the innocent must suffer with the guilty. II aiding '"transgressed the law of his country, Jim Dawson is tried, con- victed ifnd sent-fo the penitentiary, After a year in the prison he manages t^escape, and the intelligence is dashed all over the country. The relentless machinery of the law is set in motion .and the man hunt is on. He is dis- covered by a posse in the mountains and stalked as if he were a wild beast, a dangerous animal. Running and fighting, hiding and sneaking, he escapes their vigilance, and, securing one of the horses belonging to the posse, again escapes, this time to the house of the woman whom he had married when he still retained the spark of manhood. During his absence a child had been born, born of a union that began with so much of promise and so little fulfillment. The desperate animal does not realize that the child is his, that the woman suffering tl;e torture that comes to those who realize that their love has been showered upon a worthless object, is his wife. "Hide me; save me," is his plea. Mechanically the dazed woman sets about I I * -K ■K $ ************** ***********

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3 ■ * * THK PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE i 23 > ■ * »■ >■ >■ > >■ > ■ * * * * i ■ .cleaning his wounds and feeding the famished man approaching horsemen is heard, and, kissing the child wife, the hunted man leaps through the window and mountains lie finds a cave and believes himself secure the wife waits with a nameless dread in her soul the minions of the relentless law pick up the fugitive' They locate his lair and camp, knowing that he is as secure as if behind the thickest bars. At and terror-stricken, the maddened man attempts posse flash and the convict has paid the toll exacted the valley a widow with her fatherless child in her nameless dread in her soul. Then the sound of but refused by the is gone. Up in the Down in the valley the mountain road trail. without food or water ast, starving, thirsty The guns of the the law. Down in arms waits with a UP escape. by The Saving of Dan [ Champion) In this story-, the Photoplay fan will be at sea as to the ending, even though he be generally wise to a picture's conclusion . Here we have just such a construction of plot that the denouement is as surprising as pleasing. Dun Blake is a cowboy with many ^.ood qualities, hut he lias an ungov- ernable temper, and we find as a result that all his other traits are sub- merged by his -fearful outbreaks of passion, which are injurious lo his wel- fare. Beating his horse one day. because the animal had annoyed him, and was now resting, he was surprised by the ranch owner's daughter, who roundly berated him and caused his discharge. Humiliated, he took his leave, vowing dire vengeance. A little later, fate played into his hands. He was sitting by the side of the road, rolling a cigarette, when the girl came along — all unsuspecting. She was on horseback, but in an instant he had dragged her from the saddle. Her struggles were futile against the powerful efforts of the infuriated cow- hoy. She was in his power now, and he was resolved to make her pay the full penalty of the deep humiliation she had brought Jhim. But as the girl prayed to him in her distress, he thought of his sister, and his mother, and ho drew from his pocket a lettqr from the former, in which she admonished him to deal with others as he! would have her dealt with. A revolution was instantly wrought in his nature. His true manhood asserted itself. He had done more than the conquerors of armies might beast. He had conquered Self. Then he led the] sorrow-su-icken girl back on her way to her friends, and she, seeing the triumph of his better nature, loved him for it; it was the start toward a greater love. The absence of the girl brought the cowpunchers, led by her father, to the trail. They had found her hat and revolver where the struggle first ,occurred, and so they suddenly came upon them in|a rocky glen as they made their way, and the enraged father shot the kidnaper of his child before she could explain. It now fell to the girl's lot to nurse the now thor- oughly repentant cowboy back to life and health. She then crowned him with the mantle of happiness, for she gave herself to is the end which you and I would not ordinary foresee in the beginning. him in wedlock. This i * -tt 3 * k f * |

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THK UK'KKT * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * it * * * * * + * * * * * * The Locket Western Drama i American i I lierause hp loved the widow of his old classmate, tlcorge Hughes man- aged to give* h*r a house. Hut because he was a gambler, a follower of the goddpss of chance, she leaped to accept his kindly advances. One .day while ai lu-r cottage 1 1 allies is attracted, by a loeKet attached to a chain around lier sons neck. He offers to buy it from the boy. knowing thai the locket contained a p. dure of bis mother, but the lad refused to part.with it. When he returns to his own house be writes a proposal to the widow, and in her reply refusing bis offer be learns that "she fears his influence on her boy in regard to gambling. She leaver (lie cottage and goes out of his life. Crushed by disap- pointment the gambler loses bis grip >i n c 1 steadily goes downward until at tb" end of I'vrri years be is a derelict without home or friends. One morning he awakens in a Western town. Pushing back the door of tin- freight car that had brought him into the town, be shambles up the st reel to leg :> drink of the first friendly band, lie meets rebuff until a manly young fellow comes along and offers him a couple of coins. In extracting: the money from his pocket lie drops the locket. The derelict picks it up and recognizes the son of bis old sw eel heart grown to manhood, lint ihe latl had fallen in with evil companions and was a frequent visitor of the saloon in the company of another ranch foreman who, as bis unsuc- cessful rival in love, wished to encompass his ruin. Knowing the lad is desirous of obtaining more money in order to wed the girl, he tells him of a system in playing poker ihai is sine to win. Knowing that he has the * -K t z *

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t | THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE ^. A-***-*-**-***' *"A'*-^rA-*r^'>!r* kick +'A ■k'kkr-kii; i * * * * * * * * *- % i 1 * * pay check l"or the ranch hands, he waits until the la<^ cashes it and then steers him against a brace game. He loses the entire amount- and disgrace and ruin stare him in Hie 1'ace. Me hurries to his home and the mother realizes that the fate she feared has overtaken her hoy. . His sweetheart assists the mother with the house and the distracted boy rushes out into the night. The old derelict, who had watched the game, determines to try to win it hack for the son of his old sweetheart. With the coins given him by the boy he enters the game, and puts skill against skill, trick against trick, bluff against bluff, until lie has recovered mori than the hoy lost. •When h* cashes in the evil foreman has to be restrained from assault upon the old man and his own Mexican partner. Learning from the assembled cowboys where the with the money, hut he finds him before the home is i lad lives, he hurries eached. Stunned by liia loss the boy is about to take his own- life. Slowly the gun leaves the holster and is turned toward his temple. Then the grasps the weapon and the boy's hand is stayed. The old man offers the recovered gold, asking in return the locket that he beg The joyful son returns to his mother and sweethear joyful news, and outside the window an old man looks face of 'the woman he loves and then pr.sses out of her life forever. hand of the derelict ed ten years before, and tells them the once more upon the ■ The Two Browi (Champion) The story is of the West, the breath of the plains sweeping: over the various scenes with unmistakable surety. There arejtwo Browns. One is John W, — the other Joe W. John is from New York City, .Toe is to the man- ner born. These two worthies fall desperately in love with Virginia Dare, daughter of their ranch boss. Virginia favors the suit of John, the New Yorker, and this arouses the jealousy of Joe, who, falling into a bad mood, resolves to gain his ends by foul methods. This is what he did. He had a friend in New York write a letter to John, making it appear as from John's wife. When John receives it, he regards it as a mistake or a practical joke, and laughingly hands it, to Joe. This is what the latter expected, and once in his hands, he saw that it fell into Virginia's hands. That settled it. She spurned John from that time forth, giving him no chance to defend himself, nor the slightest hint of what she had learned, which she, of course, believed. Then Joe found favor with her. more to spite Jolijn than for aught else. Thus did nnhappiness come to Virginia &nd John because of Joe's rascality. Then came the workings of fate. Joe's pal in New York, who had sent the unfortunate letter, wrote to Joe about it. But he addressed it to J. W. Brown, and so it happened that the letter fell into John'.s hands and was opened by him. You'll remember that his'initials were also J. w. He thereat learned of Joe's trickery. It may well be imagined how Virginia felt when she discovered how wrongly John bad-been dealt with, so she made amends to him all in her power, showering her gifts of affection upon him in abundance. But w< anticipating a little. Let us go back before the discovery of Joe's perfidy. The parson was just about to tie the knot between Virginia and Joe, when in burst John with the timely evidence, and upset th|? plans which Joe bad so nicely laid: • ' ■ Joe retired under the scornful and scorching glanqes of everyone present. No one had a particle of sympathy for him, and John Matious from the guests, which otherwise would have ( received the congratu- been the other's. ft 1 ■K * * * I I * t ■it * I I 1 + -K t k-k k •k k-k k k ~k k-k-k ~k •k'kkr-k

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26 JUSTICE OF THK SAGE The Justice of the Sage , (American) . * * •4 Jack "Wilson loved his employer's daughter, Bessie, as did also Bill Garvin, the sheriff. But the girl played one against the other in a spirit of coquetry, .lack tells her of his love and is laughed at. Losing control of himself, he seizes her. and, despite her struggles, kisses her. She is very angry. Sorry for what he has done, Jack decides to leave the ranch. Ife writes a note to his employer. "Dear Sir: I've got to qnit your ranch. I did not mean any harm to your daughter. 1 love her and I couldn't help it." He inserts it behind tin.' bulletin hoard and rides away. The memory of that kiss remains with Bess, and she awakens to tiie fact that she Loves * i * *■ i * Jack \Ytlson, At the same Ume that Jack told his love to Bess, Bill Garvin asked the old ranchman for his daughter's hand, and when he is refused, becomes angry. In the quarrel that follows Bill strikes the old man with a wrench, and, believing he has killed him, hurries away. He arrives at the barn and sees Jack leading his horse away. He discovers the note, and, reading it, finds a way to place the blame of the murder on Jack. He returns to the orchard and places the note in his victim's hand. Then he notifies the ranch hands of the murder. They hurry to where the old man

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> ■ J- )■ >■ l )■ * * •>■ >• >• s ■ J ■ PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE is lying, and, finding the letter, believe that Jack has committed the crime. Taking the old man to the ranchhouse they hurry to the saloon, and, finding Jack there, they accuse him. A hasty court is hjeld with the sheriff presiding as judge. Bess cannot believe that her dear father is dead. She remains beside him, and at last her patience is rewarded and he moves and speaks. She summons her mother and the two womejn soon restore the stricken man to consciousness. Then she learns of the sheriff's treacherous blow and hurries to the courtroom with her news. Sentence has just been pronounced when Bess rushes in, and the sheriff attempts to escape by way of the open window. He is fired upon and killed by the enraged cow- boys. Later the old man sanctions the engagement and marriage of his daughter to Jack Wilson. S£ N«? Mother Goose (Champion) People who are looking for striking and original things in the photo stories will have something to sit up and think about when they see screened "Mother Goose." Think of seeing once again, not in. faicy, merely pictured in a child's story book, but right before us in living characters, the familiar figures so dear to our childhood days. "Rock-a-bye baby on the tree-top" c^nd lo! and behold! there is the tree, and high in its branches is the cradle and the baby, gently swaying in the wind. And there, too, do we see Mother Goose herself, and not only she, but her big, fat goose, also. , And there she sits smiling at us benignly, the author of all our delight. "When the bough breaks the cradle will fall," and sure enough, the bougji breaks and down conies cradle^ baby and all. But the best part about this Mother Goose series is its appeal to the grown-up children. And here is where the Champion's originality that we first spoke about shines forth — that is to say, in the manner of its [presentation. We are introduced to a modern scene, everything qozy and comfortable. There sits the old grandfather in his easy chair. There recline the younger married folk by the brightly burning hearth-fire. In tumble the youngsters, and the parents and the old grandfather are soon smoihered in their child- ish embraces. Now the crossed legs of Papa and Grandad are brought into play as horses. The gray-whiskered and gray-haired old Grandfather is once more a child. His face lights up with childish enthusiasm as his voice rings out "Ride a cock horse to Banbury Cross, to see a young woman ride a white horse; rings on her fingers, bells on her toes, we shall have music wherever she goes." His joyous enthusiasm becomes infectious as he dashes the little one up and down on his "horse-leg." Soon all the other grown- ups are beating time, and not one in all that room tut "as a child" once more. What is going on in their minds? Look there in the background and see for yourself. There is the sweet, smiling countenance of Mother Goose. There she sits with her' fat goose under her arm. She waves her wand, and from our view dissolves the materia! world of thosE who a moment ago we had been observing; and before our delighted vision tronp forth splendidly caparisoned steeds, ridden by bold-looking knights, and there in front of them, bedecked and beribboned, is the white horse and the beautiful young maiden on its back, whose bells and rings were always a joy and delight Jo our childhood's fancy. And so it goes, on through the series, which includes, of course, Jack and Jill, who went bp the hillj and later on tumbled down with all the water, they hid drawn a pail of, tumbling on top of them. ¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥»»*¥¥¥¥¥¥¥*¥»»*★★★★★★★★★★★★ ★★*★★*■*■★★★★★★★★ *********** -K * * ■K 5 * f * * *

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I.OVK AND AVIATION i » I i * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * t * * * * * * * * * * * * * * t * * * Love and Aviation tThe Feature and Educational Film Co. 1 Mr. Warren, a reporter, whose' duty ii is to attend soc ial functions, is enjoying n icie-n-teie with his charming and handsome wife, when lie received i Informal ion from his chief that Ftnriuii. a French aviator, will try to ily over the town iliat day. .Mrs. Warren li, elated at the prospect of meeting Flarion. whom faun- lias made the lion of the hour. Mrs. Warren prevails upon her husband to allow her to accompany him to the aeroOome. Soon the pair are sten at the flying grounds, and are quickly In conversation with Flarion. It is easy to see that Flarion is unable to withstand the coquettish ways of so beautiful a divinity, and it is in fact a case of fascination al first sight. ," Flarion gives flit' journalist tin aWtOgrkplietl photo and some particulars concerning M* llights. Mrs. Warren, to further her ends, induces her hus- band to entertain Flarion at dinner at her home, and in the course of the meal the aviator cuts his linger. Although such an accident in the ordinary course of events would he a mailer of -small importance, it is destined in our story to brins about the wife's undoin In the garden, while Flarion engages + I 5- the husband's attention, explaining to him the construction and mechanism of bis machine, giving him ihe diagram. Mrs. Warren is concocting a billet

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* 30 ' LOVE AND AVIATION * * i i * i * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * doux, urging the aviator to return at an early date, as she longs to see him. Flarion, in return, incites his host's wire to meet him at the aviation grounds the next day, ■ During a temporary absence of Mr. Warren the pair indulge in a mild flirtation and embrace, in t!\e course of which Mrs. Warren's blouse is stained by the blood from the cut finger. Anon, Flarion takes his departure. Mrs. Warren's fascination has blossomed into something deeper, and her husband surprises her admiring Flarion's portrait and stealing an im- aginary kiss. Thus the fire of jealousy is aroused, only to be fanned into flame when on retiring Mr. Warren finds the blood stains upon his wife's blouse. Mr. Warren concosts a plan hy which to circumvent his wife's treachery, lie sends himself a telegram, in tlie name of his editor, requesting him to £ I get reports. of the opening of an exhibition many miles away, and, bidding adieu to his wife, departs, ostensibly on his journey. This is Mrs. Warren s opportunity, and. decking herself in all her splen- dor, she visits the aerodome, and is soon in the embrace of her lover. Seated in tin' rear oi Flarion's hangar, locked in each other's arms, they are observed by the husband, who has followed his wife with felonious intent. His idea at first is to slay the wrecker of his happiness. But he bethinks himself ot" a means by which, with less risk to himself, he can secure revenge. Accordingly he. enters the hangar, and aided hy Flarion's diagram, proceeds to damage the machine in a vital part, knowing that any flight by his victim must terminate fatally. lie almost succeeds in his purpose, when Flarion hears a rasping of a file, and cautiously walks into the hangar, pistol in hand, ready to fire, but * * * I

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Y***»^MMIMHt¥¥-¥»¥-¥¥^¥-¥^»¥^¥-^^ * PHOTOPLAY M Afr¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥ »wy|tyy4»)|^»^»»»^¥»¥»»»¥»»»»»V»»»»^¥»¥^¥¥»¥¥¥¥»^ * * * * ) 1 ■ * upon seeing who was tampering with his machine, silently retreats to the rear of the hangar, and sends away the journalist's wife, the damaged stay with a new He then replaces The extremes to which Warren wpuld have resorted have awakened Flarion to the wrong he was committing, shows him the love that Warren bore his wife; made him determine to gratify Mrs. Warren's desire to take a flight with him, and to open her eyes to the wrong she was doing. Warren returns to his home and his wife departs for The husband is racked with remorse at the wrong he has to aerodrome, only to be informed that Flarion has jus the aviation field, done, and phones taken flight,' and fears Mrs. Warren hae accompanied him. The fact that he responsible for the d£ath of his wife as well as the airman, he is about to kill himself when he is told over the has landed without mishap. Then he collapses. phone that he will be crazes him and that the biplane Upon landing after flight, Fiarion gives Mrs. Warren a note, stating that her husband loves her dearly and to be true. Mr. Warren, after recov- ering from the swoon, receives a note and the broken stay, stating that the lesson was a rather severe one for a kiss. The wife quietly walks into the room as husband breaks the stay, falls to her knees, and husband forgives her. They are nestled in each other's arms, embarking on life's journey, each benefited with experience of a few days. * * + * * *

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* i I ' $2 & TRAINING A HUSHAND * * ? » } * 5 I t * * Charles Bender committed the unpardonable offense. When his wife, at the end of a wordy war, dismissed Bridget, their quarrelsome but excellent it rook, Charles kicked; and to add insult to injury openly laughed at his little wife's boast that she could do the cooking very well herself. He at last reduced her to tears by openly scorning her best efforts in the way at his morning eggs and coffee. He after took recourse in the century-old complaint, "Why didn't you learn to cook like my mother," whereup his wife forsook tradition and told him that she would, get his mother to come at once and do the cooking, whereat Charles laughed in glee and intimated that there was now a chance that he would once more eat. Mr. Bender stormed into his oflice after his unsatisfactory breakfast to find his chief clerk and stenographer waiting to tell him the news of their engagement and impending marriage. More in sorrow than in wrath he ■varned the young man to beware of the wife that cannot cook and was met with the assurance that the lady's ability as a stenographer1 was far Inferior to her ability in the. culinary art. In the meantime his wife was sobbing out her troubles to her mother- in-law. who promptly took cause against the offender and declared that she would" prepare a luncheon for her son that would open his ejtes and possibly shock his palate. Mr. Bender is summoned home by the glad assurance that his mother is now in charge of his kitchen, and with vivid anticipation of a delightful lunch, he repairs to the dining room. But at the first mouthful of an omelet,' upon which- his mother has done her worst, he throws up -his hands in horror, Mother, pretending indignation, assures him that he has last all sense of taste and that she will take his wife to the matinee, and that he can go ahead and prepare the dinner. The women folk go out. and, with sleeves rolled up, Charles attacks the kitchen. One hour later the *»nee well-ordered place is a wreck. Charles faces defeat. An inspiration strikes him. He hurries to the phone and tells his stenographer to come at once to his residence, admonishing her to say nothing to anybody of her errand. So, without satisfying the curiosity of her fiance, Mr. Bender's chief clerk, she goes to the house and is bribed by her employer to prepare the dinner before his wife and her mother-in-law return. ■> * * * * ■K * * * I * * I * -K

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PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 33 She does so beautifully, and when Hie women return Hubby sits them down to a most excellent meal and grins :lt them In triumph. He has dis- missed the stenographer and the success of his little plot seems assured. The stenographer's fiance, suspicious and jealous, has followed her to the house; and, still worse, the girl has returned to the kitchen for her um- brella and is caught by the mother and wife when they go out to get the after-dinner coffee. Not knowing her, *hey think they have a thief on their hands, and it is up to her to tell the truth to explain her presence. She is then induced by mother to stay in the house and tell Hubby that, having * j ■ )■ J- * rooked for him once, she has fallen a victim to his masculine charms and thereby afford an opportunity lor his wile to give him a very bad fifteen minutes. The scheme succeeds very well, but, unfortunately, 'the girl's fiance, peeking through the window, has not been tok! of the plot, and when he sees his girl making violent love to his employer, and later being upbraided by the seemingly indignant wife and mother-in-law, he breaks into the hotise with a mad desire to take his employer's life with any weapon handy. The complications are finally straightened out and the once proud Charles reduced to his normal position ol a humble and admiring husband.

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:u THE CRUDE .Miss PRUDE * * The Crude Miss » * Prude (Comet » * Priscilla Prude, iin old maid, decides that it is time for her to seek a better hall'. So she hies herself to an employment agency and engages as chaperone. The hrst person selected is Pansy Hlossom, a pretty and win- some young girl, Jlullie Uaxter tails on Priscilla. and when lie sees Pansy his heart goes out lo her immediately. Their feelings are mutual, with the result that they elope. Nothing daunted, Priscilla hires Miss Ltookstorm. Unlike Pansy, Miss Pookstoriu is just the opposite in looks. Professor Hudley comes to see Miss Prude, hut is attracted to Miss Pookstonn, It seems that they are fitted to each other. She is a very learned woman and a lover of hooks. Miss Prude is bored by their conversation and falls asieep. While in this condition" the Professor and the new chaperone make love, and when dis- covered by the old maid are forthwith dismissed. Mrs. Mclnscare is the last chaperone to be engaged. She is anything but attractive. In fact, Ifer features are repulsive, and when Mr. Popaway, one of Miss Prude's many beaux, visits Iter, the sight of Mrs. Mclnscare disturbs iiis peace of mind and he decs. Lett alone to her own thoughts and without any chaperone. Priscilla concludes 10 try her hand at the camera herself. Maybe she might get a husband that way. Site goes to the same employment agency where she has been so unsuccessful and gets a position as companion to May Jones. Johnny Wilson calls on May. Htf greets her by kissing her hand. Miss Prude regards this as a breach of the rules of propriety and May is immediately sent to her room. Then Priscilla elects to entrench herself in the affections of Johnny. She warns hint that all young men-should beware of young girls. If he wants -a wile, why not take her? Johnny is caught in the net, proposes to Priscilla, and the latter winds up by getting Johnny for her husband. f * + * * ■it *

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1 , | i . I THE CRUDE MISS PRUDE

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3ti A TRAITOR ON THE STAFF * * i * * f ■i t •t ■t ■< A Traitor on the Staff Lieut. Gorman was passionately fond of Alice Rambeau, the daughter of his General. Walter Cranston, however, the handsome young subaltern of the same regiment, had already won that deep favor in the eyes of the sweet- faced Alice, and which favor we denominate — Love, Gorman saw the grow- ing intimacy, and looked on with eyes asmnt and eurvings of the lips that boded no good to his subordinate. It came about that the General had decided to promote Cranston for bravery on the field of battle, Gorman was against this — the only officer on the staff to oppose the selection. Shortly after this, while the General and daughter were in deep conversation with Cranston, Gorman managed to secrete a valuable document in the hat-band of his rival. This document was missed shortly after, and the General instituted a rigorous search. Everything was knocked topsy-turvy, but to no avail. Then it was that Lieut. Gorman threw suspicion on young Cranston, and when the subaltern appeared, Gorman knocked oft" his hat and thus disclosed" the missing paper. But Alice had been in a position to observe the actions of Gorman, unperceived by him. A large mirror in the room had been so situated as to give her this unlooked-for opportunity. Alice then and there denounced Gorman, and he, having been taken to task by the General, and latterly by Alice herself, acknowledged his guilt and was led away in dis- grace, while the young Lieutenant, restored to place and ^honor, found recompense in the warm embrace of the woman he loved. From the start to the finish, the actions of the participants in this Photoplay are full of that vitalizing principle which is the result of the greatest mainspring of human action— jealousy. The Misadventures of a Claim Agent ) (American) When young Jack Xeivell found the evidence of pay dirt while pros- pecting, he decided at once to purchase the claim lease from the owner. If the mine paid as well as the samples he would soon be in a position to ask a certain question of the only girl. He called at the office of the landman, and by turning over his savings, obtained the leases from the owner, who was much pleased to -surrender what he considered a useless property. Jack pitched his camp on his claim and started work. He soon made a respectable showing as far as hard work was concerned, but Dame For- tune was elusive. It happened that ifed Curtis, the land owner, was also enamoured of Tess Williams, and he called to pay his respects and urge her to become Mrs. Curtis, on the morning that .Tack struck a pay streak. In his excite- ment Jack hurried to Tess's home to tell her of his success and incidentally hers if she so willed. Tess so willed, and poor old Dad returned home to cook a scheme to neutralize Jack's success. He paid a visit to Jack's camp and secured the lease that the young prospector had carelessly left, and employed a bunch of squatters to work the claim for him. When Jack returned from his successful wooing he was ordered off his claim by the squatters unless he could show his lease, and as that document was resting in the inside pocket of Dad Curtis, poor Jack was compelled to return to Tess empty handed. Tess did some rapid thinking and then some rapid work. She called on Dad Curtis, not conventionally but through the window in cog, and requested the return of the lease at the point of a gun. She notified the sheriff, and by her efforts the claim was promptly restored to Jack, and Tess then agreed to fight his battle for him for the rest of his life. A bright, breezy comedy with the snap and go. ■I ■ < *

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THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 37 , ii ■ . , i - i i i . ■ , i ii i i i i i i i i i r kkkkkkkk kkkkici The Winner of La Mesa The little cowtdwn of Ba Mesa was controlled by the gambler saloon- keeper. Aided by his faithful gunman, the cowpunchers coming in off the range were fleeced of their earnings, and those that voiced their, objections to the methods of the house were dealt with by the notorious gunman. To add to the attractiveness of his place, the gambler employed Peggy, the waif of La Mesa, to act as barmaid, and the boys flocked to his place to exchange greetings with the girl. Her winsome personality was a magnet thaf held them until fleeced of their wages. Then they were kicked out by the gunman. In the course of time both Tex Garvin, the gambler, and Bill .lones, the gunman, were in love with Peggy, and jealousy bade fair to break the business relations between them. Matters were in this state when a young minister, with his mother and sister, took up their abode in the town. The minister's sister -was a reve- lation to the negelcted barmaid, and she secretly resolved to become more like her, and when the minister's sister was insulted in front of the saloon Peggy put up a fight to protect her. The gunman turned his unwelcome attentions to Peggy, amid the shouts and jeers of the assembled cowboys. The minister hearing the commotion hurried to the spot, and, being a believer in physical as well as moral strength, promptly knocked her assail- ant down and took away his gun. Later, when Peggy visited his sister, he asked her if she would like to make her home with them, and the happy girl accepted the offer with eager- ness. Returning to the saloon she gathered her few belongings and made her announcement. The cowboys all cheer her and accompany her to the minister's home, where they give three cheers for him and agree to join his church. Left in the saloon alone, the gambler sees the beginning of the end of his supremacy in La Mesa. Peggy, the magnet of his place, in the church would have the same drawing power over the men, who liked the happy-go- lucky lass. When his gunman enters the saloon the old gambler announces that one of them must make away with the man who has won the girl and all the boys from the gambling hell. They cut cards to see who shall do the deed, and it falls on old Tex Garvin himself. Bill taunts him and he flies into a rage. When he attempts to draw his gun Bill fires and kills the old man. He nerves himself with liquor and rushes to the minister's home. He finds Peggy in the yard and she hurries in to warn the minister of his danger. Regardless of her pleading, the minister determines to face the drunken, dangerous man. Peggy, who knows Bill's desperate character, picks up the gun that the minister had wrested from him in- the previous encounter and follows. When Bill attempts to carry out his murderous intentions Peggy fires and saves the minister who had befriended her. The Caddy's Dream (Majestic) Mr. Browntop and Miss Kelsomine go out to play golf. They engage Andrew McTavish, a long, lean Scotchman as caddie. After teeing the ball, Browntop hoists it with a tremendous drive into the atmosphere. ,They search and search hut still, no ball. At length, wearied with the quest they Ue down in a haystack to sleep. They wake twenty years later, aged an/1 forlorn, but still pursue the search through all sorts of places. The caddy, feeling the need of a wee drap has sneaked off under a tree and fallen asleep. Mr. Browntop indignantly awakens him, telling him that he has searched half an hour and found no ball. The iaddv wakes up, looks around wonderingly, and, as he understands the circumstances, chuckles to himself, saying: "Hon, but it- was a funny dream." kki i I i . ■ . i . ■ ( < t f. * * *

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31 WILL YOU MAliliY ME? * * * * i * i i * iV * After a Ions and attentive courtship George has at last succeeded in t,ersnading Mabel to name the day and accept, the engagement ring, which he places upon her linger, ., > He leaves her for a few moments and rushes to the nearest florist to obtain a bunch of her favorite chrysanthemums before they depart for the football game of the year. While he is busily engaged with tlie florist, Mabel's cook on her after- noon out, coquettes with her friend policeman outside the florist's door and carelessly drops her long white gloves on the sidewalk and departs for a walk in the park. George comes out loaded with ehysantheinttms and a very attractive lady passes him evidently on her way to the flower store. George sees the gloves upon the sidewalk, and, ever gallant, picks them up, assuming that tiie lady has dropped them. She has her gloves on, however, and thinks George is trying to flirt wjth her, and calls a policeman and threatens to have him arrested. She leaves the policeman with George and indignantly sails away. George manages to square things with the officer and hastens back to Mabel, who receives the flowers with proper appreciation. A friend is announced, and to George's dismay it is none other than the lady who had accused him of attempting to flirt with her. She is intro- duced by Mabel to her fiance, and at once recognizes George and denounces him. George is ushered out the front door by the officious butler, and in dismay sends, a note to Mabel asking her to let him explain and threatens that if she does not he will take a solemn vow to marry the first girl who accepts him. Urged off- by her friend, Mabel writes upon the note to go as far as he likes; that she is done with him. George, being no quitter, is bent on fulfilling hi^ rash vow. He sallies forth and proposes right and left, creating trouble and dismay wherever he goes, but he is everywhere refused, lie at last meets one lady of ample proportions, who, while startled by his sudden suit, coyly accepts him and tells him that she will return at once in proper finery to go with him to the church. It is Mabel's cook. She returns to her -mistress and promptly shows the engagement ring. Mabel at once recognizes it and explanations ensue, & which bring out the fact that the gloves which caused the trouble belong to the cook and that George's story about finding them was evidently true. Mabel realizes that she has forced George to his rash action and resolves that their young lives shall not be blighted, and by a mirth-provoking device pnables George to not only keep his vow but marry the right girl— and they lived happily ever afterward— maybe. * t -K

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It*****.**.*.***..*.****.*.! I " T ' t l T " "T " ^ W 1 1 L> HOTO PL A Y M AC AZI>T E T7ie Lady /rom the Sea CThanhouser) * * i. * * )■ »■ !■ «! >■ >' >■ >■ If * J- J- )■ )■ J' In Ibsen's play of "The Lady From the Sea," hej* tells a powerful story of how a young and imaginative gij-l can be strongly affected by a really . meaningless ceremony. ( Elida was the (laughter of a lighthouse keeper, and spent many hours near the water's edge,, dreaming of the great ships she could see daily sailing by her home. While "she was still scarcely more than a child, one of these ships put in for repairs at a fishing village near the lighthouse, and its second olficer, while on a day's outing to kill time, visited the lighthouse. He there met Elida, whose youth and beauty he admired. His stories of the sea and "the great beyond" won the Immediate interest of Elida. He paid fre- quent-visits to the lonely lighthouse, and the girl's interest in him soon ■developed into a fascination which almost amounted to a spell, which he cast upon her when he was in her presence. While his ship was still undergoing repairs, the second officer quarreled with his captain, and a fight ensued in which the Captain was killed. The guilty man escaped from the ship, and, making his way to the lighthouse, forced Elida to assist in his flight. Before going he compelled her to plight her troth to him, inventing a strange ceremony to impress her, by fastening a ring which she wore to one of his, and casting them both into the sea. As soon as he had gone, Elida realized that to engage herself to this fierce, dominant man was sheer madness. And she wrote as soon as she could obtain his address, telling him that she would not consider the engagement binding, and that she would expect him to release and forget her, as she intended to release and forget him. The sailor paid no attention to her letter, and simply wrote that some day he would return to claim her and that she must wait for him. Being left alone by the death of her father, Elida finally consented to become the wife of Dr. Wangel, a friend of her father's, who had long admired her. The doctor was a widower with two grown daughters, and Elida found herself a stranger in her own home, and spent much of her time alone. Her loneliness naturally led to a mental depression, and as- the years passed an awful dread grew in her mind of what her fate should be if her sailor lover ever returned to claim her. Her imaginings had so strongly worked upon her that when the sailor did finally return from the sea, she entreated her Imsband to allow her to go to him, although she feared, and bad grown to hate the strange man. Dr. Wangel tried to show her that her duty and happiness lay with her husband and her home, but feeling that she would never be perfectly con- tent with any fear darkening her life, he decided to tell her that she was absolutely free; he would not hold her to her marriage vows. When Elida found that she was free to choose between the sailor and her husband she realized that this man who bad been a fearful mystery, whose very existence she concealed from everyone, including her husband, was simply a man whom she disliked, and whom she could freely marry or dismiss at her pleasure. Of her own free will she ordered the sailor to leave her, telling him that he no longer bad power to intimidate or mystify her. With perfect trust and no secrets between them. Dr. Wangel and his Elida started life anew, with no bar to their complete love and understanding.

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4(1 ' . * THE STORY OF SHK Ml"-** L T~ TT^ ' T ' ' ' " * * " ' T ' ■ TT T" * > 1 ' TT * *""*tTTTTTTTTTTTTtTTTTTTTJ The Story of She * * * * * * In Egypt; 2,000 years ago, there resided a woman who had cl scovered the secret at eternal youth and eontinual life. The result was that her beauty never faded. She lived in a cave and was happy until love entered her life. The priestesses in the old Egyptian temples were not permitted to marry, hut one of them listened to the pleadings of her admirer and eloped with him. For a year or so they lived happily together in the desert, then, with their child, decided to travel to some city. Unfortunately for them, they were spied by SHE, who saw them in her magic curtain, another gift of hers that would be appreciated even in these up-to-date days. SHE, by her magic, lured the couple to her cave, because she had fallen violently in love with the. man. But he was deaf to her demands that be leave his wife for her. Finding her love spurned, SHE, in a frenzy of rage, stabbed and killed her stubborn sweetheart. The wife, who witnessed t lie tragedy, was powerless ?o aid, and, to save the life of her baby, fled. } She finally Beached England, and there her son grew up, and in the course of time hip descendants became one of England's respected families. There was a secret handed down from father to son, the secret o\ SHE, and the death of the ancestor many centuries ago. Each head of the house swore his successor to hunt for SHE, and if he found her, put her to death. For the legend explained that SHE was like kind words in one respect, SHE could never die. The last of the family to receiv4 the message was Leo, who, although he did not know it, bore a striking resemblance to the far-away ancestor who was assassinated. Leo knew^ that many of his predecessors had met death in the quest, but this did riot deter him, and he set out for Egypt, accompanied by his faithful friend, Holly. There was a mutiny on their ship, and the two friends >were set adrift in an open boat. By good luck they landed in the country oyer which SHE held domain. There they were promptly captured by cannibals and were in danger of death, but were saved by SHE, who saw them in her magic curtain, and ordered that they be brought before her. SHE, with all her faults, had at least one good quality, constancy. Despite the lapse of 4000 years, she still mourned for the husband of the Egyptian priestess, and believed that some day he would come back to her. And when she saw Leo she was convinced that he was a reincarnation of that old sweetheart of hers. She explained to Leo that she retained her youth and beauty by baths in a magic fire, and planned to give him the same treatment, thereby insuring them the long distance wedding record. She bathed in the fire, while Leo looked on apprehensively. Then she asked him to try it, but he objected. To show him how easy -it was, SHE immediately took a second bath, and that, was her undoing. For it coiinteracfed, so to speak, and immediately SHE became her real age, about 3if)23 years old. Whereupon she shriveled up and died. And Leo returned to his home, having fulfilled the family vendetta, although hardly in the manner that he had contemplated. i * * { ************************** ***^ fcr** **********

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PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINK 41 * j Deacon Debbs (Tlianhouser) A young New Yorker has "expectations," the same being a wealthy uncle who lives in the country and who has signified his intentions of making the young man his heir. The nephew is naturally anxious to keep in the graces of the elder man, and does so, at long distance. While he and his wife are entertaining some frjends at a bridge party in their 'home one evening, they are shocked on receiving a telegram from a friend in the country informing them that Uncle is on his way to town, intending to visit the young man and find how he is withstanding the tempta- tions of a great city. The nephew is a well-behaved young man, but he realizes that his law-abiding speed might look like a criminal spurt to a man fresh from the simple life of the qountry. He sees that something must be done at once, and having little time at his disposal, hastily adjourns the bridge party and organizes his laughing friends into a literary society, so as to make "a front" with Uncle. The elder man arrives and is thoroughly impressed with the fact that his nephew is a serious minded youth, possessed of all the virtues we about. As the days pass this conviction becomes deeper, for the and his wife take the Uncle on a round of sightseeing, seeing the most solemn things and hearing the most high-browed of high-brow lectures. Uncle does not know what they are suffering for his sake, for they hide their feelings. Finally, when they go to a particularly deep discourse, they get away by a ruse, leaving Uncle alone to enjoy the lecture while they run off to have a real "city time" by themselves. Having spent a jolly afternoon, they return and take Uncle home, again pleased with the thought that he had not been neglected. Then, with -renewed energy, they plunge into the work of entertaining Uncle. He is kept busy with a perfect round of books and edifying conver- sation. It palls on them but they do not show it. One evenjng after Uncle has gone to bed, carrying an encyclopedia to read if he should awake during the night, the young couple steal into the sitting room. From its hiding place behind a row of books, the Nephew produces a deeanter and a box of cigars. Chatting gaily with his wife, he pre- pares for a drink and a smoke. Suddenly there is an interruption. Like an avenging angel, his uncle stands' glaring behind him. He takes the glass of strong liquor from the young man's trembling right hand,. the cigar from iiis left. The young man tries to explain, the elder with a nod indicates a note on the table. It is from the uncle to his would-be heir, and contains the information that he, Uncle, has had the most dreary time in the world. He. had come to the city for a good time, but all that came his way were lectures no person could or would want to understand. And he wound up by telling his nephew that he was a mutt, and was disinherited. The Uncle watched the young folks while they read this letter. Then he winked and drank the liquor prepared for the nephew. He next lighted thp cigar and, finding it good, forgave the culprits. Then they took Uncle out to "see the town,"

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Y Y ♦I* f ? t Y f Y Y t s 1 Y Y ? Y t Y 1 I I Photoplay Stars AYARREX KERRIGAN* ( American) pvruxE nrsH (American) v HARRY BENHAM I Thanhouser) GEO. PERIOI.OT (American ) Jt^Jk* A. Jk. Jk. A, ^fc. A ..ft. aft... A A MARGUERITE SNOW iThanhouserl Y f 1 ♦I* t f Y t Y i Y T Y f t Y f X Y Y Y Y ♦I*

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i I ¥ T ~ ~ ~ T I TTT T I 1 » » r T' T ~ ▼ T T T TTT T T T'TTT'TTTTTn PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE 43 * but lier has * NO TES OF THE PL A YERS * IIARIU EHITE S\0\V Marguerite Snow, or "Peggy," as she Is familiarly called around the Tlianhouser studio, is the leading woman in the Tlianhouser stock com- pany. Miss Snow tomes from Savannah and is the daughter of Billie Snow, the well-known minstrel. Although she played many parts while still a ehild, her real stage career did not begin until she was sixteen years old. Her first engagement was with .lames O'Neill. Since she has played in "The College Widow," "Mrs. Temple's Telegram," in "The Devil," with Stevens, witli Thomas Jefferson, and at the Bijou Theater, Wheeling, where as leading lady of the stock company she played ten different parts. Miss Snow believes that motion pietrres offer splendid opportunities and is the best. training an actress could desire. She said: "I always have been enthusiastic about pictures. Although the exactions of pantomime are greater than the regular stage, 1 love playing before the camera better. After every picture for which 1 have posed, I always make it a point to see the pictures on the screen. In this way I can not only see myself as others see me, but can correct many objectionable mannerisms. I always feel that I can do better next time after I see myself in the pictures." Miss Snow is not only a very handsome and attractive young woman, as a winsome personality. Her popularity with the people who see is unbounded. She has a natural talent for pantomime expression, and won pronounced success in the silent characters she interpreted. She has played with success in "The Moth," "The Romance, of Lonely Island," "'Back to Nature,"' "Count Ivan and the Waitress" "The Buddhist Priestess," "Young Lochinvar," "Tempter and Dan Cupid," "The Missing Heir," "Iloneyinooners," "Five Kose Sisters," "Burglar and Bride," "The Tomboy," "She," and "The Lady From the Sea." HARRY BENHAM Harry Beiiham is a recent addition to the Tlianhouser Stock Company and is piaying leading roles. When the "Gay Musician" made its great success on Broadway several years ago, people began to ask who was that handsome, magnetic and talented young man playing the title role? The answer came back, Harry Ben ham. Harry Benham comes from Indiana. During the ten years of his theatrical experience he has been in some of the leading Broadway produc- tions. He began in Chicago with Henry W. Savage's production of "Peggy froni Paris," and since has played in the "Sultan of Sulu," "In Woodland," "Madame Sherry," and with Marie Cahill. Immediately after Mr, Benham joined the Tlianhouser forces he became very popular. He is suave and clean-cut. His gentlemanly demeanor makes him an agreeable person to look at. Mr. Benham is a believer in the future of motion pictures, "I expect," says he, "that in the future the leading actors of the country will be attracted to the motion picture studio. This may sound rather broad, but it is really what is going to happen. "When I first stepped into the motion picture studio I was somewhat surprised to find myself surrounded by such a competent array of talent. I had always received my information about motion pictures from the news- papers. I got the impression that it would be a come-down for a good actor to pose for pictures. But what u mistaken idea I had! "I find that it requires more talent and intelligence to pose for pictures legitimate stage." played with success in the Tlianhouser production of "The Satyr and the Lady," "Thiir Burglar," "Missing Heir," and "David Copperfield." He is a man of unusual intelligence and gives the parts he interprets a subconscious strength and scene. than it does to go through a part on the Mr. Benham has played with success * * » * I * t * * *

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NOTES OF Til E FLAYERS * * * * * * * * 1 1 * * • i ■dfE?*1"'' 1~ 0 EDWARD F. MclNTYRE Mr. Mclniyre. Director of the Associated Motion Picture Segals, is aa au- thority upon all matters pertaining to the literary and artistic side of the photoplay and tfce production of motion picture dramas. * * t * J EDWARD F. MclNTYRE £ * * + Mr. Mclatyre, Director of the Associatied Motion Picture Schools, is an au- * * * * * * * * + ■t

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THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE i * * m | The Story of the Motion Picture An Account of the Discovery and Development of Ani- mated Photography. How Governor Stanford Won Hia Bet and Was the Cauee of the Development of a New Art. By Edward Francis Mclntyre. If you had been standing near Leland Stanford's private race track in California about forty years ago watching a photographer making pict- ures of the millionaire's running horse, you might have witnessed the birth of the motion picture idea. You might not have realized this fact, for even the photographer, Edward Muy bridge, did not realize it. Nevertheless, it was the beginning of a series of experiments that have not ended yet, and which will continue until the absolutely perfect motion picture, in all its natural colors, is thrown upon the screen, with the accompanying "natural" sounds artificially reproduced. Leland Stanford, once governor of California, and the founder of the university which bears his name, had a bet with a friend that a horse, while running, never has all of his feet off the ground at one time. "Where Stan- ford conceived the idea history does not state, but everyone knows that all artists, up to that time, had drawn running horses with all feet in the air at once. The question was how to settle the bet. Stanford, with all his millions, was a sport and was willing to spend any sum to prove that he was. right. There was a photographer named Muy bridge, an Englishman, who had been doing wonderful things in instantaneous photography, an art at that time (1872) in its infancy. Stanford sent for Muybridge. He told the photographer of his bet and directed him to go ahead and make all the pictures necessary to prove his contention. It was an order that would have delighted the heart of any scientific experimenter. Muybridge rigged up about twenty-five cameras, each set a certain distance apart, and stretched silk threads so that the horse, when runnning past each camera, would break the thread and open the shutter of the lens at the exact moment that the animal was in the field of vision Each time the horse ran past the string of cameras lie made 25 photographs of- himself. The old style wet plates were used and the labor of making the photographs was immense, yet it is said that Muybridge and his assistants made nearly half a million photographs, proving incidentally, that a running horse never has all four feet off the ground at once. One day Muybridge Was talking to the governor. He held in his hand a series of unmounted photographs of the horse, arranged in the order in which they had been taken. As Muybridge chatted he mechanically ruffled the edges of the pictures between the thumb and forefinger of his right hand while he held the opposite edge rigidly between the thumb and index finger of the left hand — just as one "thumbs" over the pages of a book. To Muybridge's astonishment the horse appeared to be running. , Each step t

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* * * * * * * * * * * * * | * i 4(> * T T f ' 1 1 I T J ¥ T 1 I 1 THK STORY OF THK .MOTION" I'lCTUUK MM LM.X.M. r i i 1 in the gallop could be seen plainly. He ruffled the iiietitres again and again — the horse appeared to move his legs and feet in tlie regular order. Aston- ished, he failed Stanford's attention to the illusion. Stanford pronounced it very interesting. Muybridge went back to his studio to experiment further. He wanted to find a way by which he could exhibit this illusion to an au- dience in a hall. He had already a series of lectures on animal locomotion to be.illusuated by stcreopticon views of subjects that he himself had made. It took Muybridge eight years to make the next step — the projection of this illusion on a screen. To San Francisco belongs the distinction of having sen this first motion picture. .Muybridge selected from his half million plates a series which represent- ed every change of position in the horse's feet and legs during one "stride." Glass positives or lantern slides were made of these and they were mount- ed on a wheel about 4i> feet in circumference. By means- of a magic lan- tern or sxereopticon these pictures were projected upon a screen. The re- sult was the effect of a running or galloping horse. This was the first and undoubtedly the most expensive motion picture ever made by photography. .Muybridge called his machine a "zoopraxicope." It was based upon the principle of the /.net rope, a popular toy in the first half of the nineteenth century. In 1SS0 Muybridge exhibited his zoopraxicope in San Francisco. In 1SS1 he repeated the lecture and the exhibition in Paris. There he met J, Marey of the Institute of France. In New York in 1SS3 he met and conferred with Thomas A. Kdison, From these two meetings grew the motion picture as known today. .Mnrey. the scientist, invented the continuous strip of celluloid, — the film — while Fdison, the American, perfected the film by the invention" of the perforations and the pin sprocket wheel so that each picture would register exactly over the one that had preceded it, thus eliminating the "flicker.' These were the three basic ideas, which, improving upon the toy /.oetropo, gave us the motion picture camera by which we take the pictures ami the projecting machine by which we exhibit the picture. Meanwhile other inventors had not been idle. Lumiere was working upon the cinematograph and t'astler upon the biograph and the mutoscope. Nearly all of these machines and othei similar ones were "perfected" at about the same twue by different persons working independently of each other In widely separated localities. It was in I89r> that the public first saw the motion picture as we know it today. It was a crude, blinding affair, flickering and jumping about, but wonderful withal. + * * * + * + Kirk******** * * ■c * ■ c I ■ ( ■ i ■ t ■ t ■ t *

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*. * ' > ****************************** PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE The Recoil ( Apologies to B. L. T. (Chicago Tribune) I met a friend of lofty brow, As lofty as the laws allow; 1 said to him, "You'll know, I'm sure, What's doing now in litrychoor." Said he, "I hate the very name — I'm weary of the bloomin game. 1 read whenever I have time Something by Phillips Oppenheini." i "Cheer up," said I; "what's new in art? You drift around the picture mart; What do you think of Mr. Blum? Some say he's great, some say he's hum." "I'm strong for Blum," my friend replied; "His pictures are so queer and pied. I wouldn't change them if I could; I'd rather have things queer than good." I spoke of this, 1 spoke of that, But every tiling was stale and flat; Said 1, "iou cnce adored the chaste; -. You used to have such perfect taste." "Good taste," he wailed, ' brings but distress; 'Tis an affliction, nothing less; While those whose taste is punk and vile Are happy all the blessed while." "Oh, take a brace, old man!" said I'; "Let me prescribe a nip of rye; And then we'll go to see a play — I've two for Barry more today." "No, no," be groaned; " 'twould be a bore, With all respect to Barrymore." Said I, "Then whither shall we go?" Said he, "A moving picture show." Said I, "My friend, I'm surely there. Let's to the motion pictures fare, And see cowboys romping, riding gay, And see, I hope, a dashing play. Or, perchance, bravely making love, As bashful as a turtle dove. It's cowboy films for me, my friend- On that you surely can depend." My friend of lofty brow and I To an Independent show did hie. And there a picture we did see. "Why, this is marvelous," quoth he, "A production that, e'en though it's canned, Denotes the touch of a master hand; Perfect action, theme that's mete- Independent pictures are sure a treat." * * t * *

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| 48 HANDS ACROSS THE SEA * * * (ffl Hands Across the Sea ^jF>? A Romaniic Story of the War of 1776 <*J£) (Eclair) The smoke had hardly cleared away from Bunker Hill, when, on the 3d of July, 1775, standing beneath a- large elm tree at Cambridge, Washing- ton took command of the Continental Army. Following this. Franklin was fliSpatchefl to France for aid. Silas Deane, with his wife and daughter, were already on the ground. Deane and Franklin found enthusiastic allies in Count de Rochambeau and the young Marquise de Lafayette. Through their good influence, Vergennes, the Minister of Foreign Affairs, was interested. The greatest drawback in the Franch Court was Montraville, English rep- resentative. He and Rochambeau were rivals for Grace Deane's hand, so this spurred Rochambeau and his bosom friend, Lafayette, to further efforts in behalf of the Americans. At an audience with King Louis XVI., when assistance was refused, Lafayette and Rochambeau voluntar- ily offered their services in the cause of American liberty. Ships were equipped and soldiers armed at their own expense, and the expedition start- ed out to the new world. Shortly afterward, Franklin and Deane re- turned to their own country. Montraville, disappointed at Grace Deane's departure with her father, went back to England, resigned his oflice and secured a commission in the Army. When on the point of sailing, he met Charlotte Temple, and per- suaded her to run away from the con- vent, where" site was studying, and elope with him. With his poorly equipped raw re- cruits, Washington won several no- ttable battles against the English and hired Hessians. He welcomed the ar- rival of Lafayette and Rochambeau with open arms. They were treated with highest honors and given impor- tant commands, A strange contrast was offered by Washington's poorly clad but brave, hardy patriots and the pampered well drilled Englishmen and hired Hes- sians under Clinton and Cornwallis. Rochambeau and Lafayette found time even in the exactions, of a busy campaign to visit Grace Deane. Their visit was most timely, as she and her mother were alone and defenseless, and their home was about to be searched for a secret messenger < ip whom they had concealed there. Mon- traville was in charge of the searching _ 1 J 1 4 | 1 I J I 1 1 1 I

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>■ >■ \> >> )■ >■ >■ >■' > ■ i- )■ >• »• »• i( PHOTOPLAY MAUAZINK (MM - I' * -l!l *************** f*********^ 1 * so he neglected She formed a * !• »! J J ■ li J ■ ) >■ * > ■ % ■ > ■ > ■ party. Lafayette and Rochambeaunot only succeeded in protecting Miss Deane, but outwitted Montraville andsent the messenger sale on liis way. Montravjlle's old love for Grace Deane was rearoused, Charlotte Temple, who had confided ter all to his keeping, pathetic figure waiting patiently* in her poor lodgings for his infrequent visits. The ait; was portentous' with rumors of war. There was hurrying and scurrying oh all sides. The colonists Mocked to the side of Washington. The field was left unfilled, the tree lay where it fell, the builder rropped his hammer to take tip tlie sword. Lafayette and Rocharobeau experi- enced the greatest feeling of brcthcrly appreciation on a.11 sides. When La- fayette's men were struggling with a heavy cannon on a steep road. Farmer Brown, in a nearby field, un- hitched his oxen from the plow and rushed to their assistance, Washington decided to attack Sir Henry Clinton at Monmouth, Wayne and Lafayette were given command, Lee refused, but afterward changed his mind and headed an important force. Lee timidly ordered a retreat, but. was met and publicly reprimanded by "Washington. Afterward he re- deemed himself in the field. Sup- ported by Lafayette, Washington led the attack en Clinton at Monmouth. Clinton gallantly returned the charge. He makes theXgtmners and field pieces his special point of attack. Mollie ' Pitcher, a herok- woman, while carry- ing water to the parched soldiers, sees her husband shot dead beside the field piece he was operating. She throws aside the water bucket and takes his place. Lee, in his anxiety to redeem his honor, advances too far into the- ene- my's lines. A hand-to-hand combat takes place in which he is wounded and about to be captured,, when res- cued by Lafayette. Washington se- cures a glorious victory over Clinton at Monmouth. The general rtrjoieing is suddenly checked by the news of Benedict Ar- nold's treason at West Point. Major Andre is caught as a spy within the American lines and is found concealed is hanged as a spy, capes. In the midst of all this turmoil no am* has time to think of poor Char- lotte Temple. Grace Dean finds her in a pitiable state. A child is born to her' and she is in the extremest pov- erty. Miss Deane takes her home and cares for her. When she is convalesc- ing, fate sends Montraville their way. "He comes to renew his suit with Miss Deane and is confronted by the girl whom he has -wronged. M;s* ^cnne spurns him, but the shock of his meeting and his perfidy was too much for Kllian Allen HocliaiiibL'iui a secret message in his boot. He while Arnold es- * * ■¥ ! * ************************ ****** **************************

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50 HANDS ACROSS THE SKA J I I * Lon) t'ornwidlb 1 t'te youthful moilier, and she died. So they buried ii">ol' CWnrlUttR TfrliJiJlS in Trinity churchyard, where her gpav^ is yet tfj> be seen, and a mysterious stranger, thought hy some to be Iter granddaughter, regularly visits the graved places her wreath of (lowers, offers up a prayer, and sheds a tear for the %iH'ortunaie victim of an unhappy love. This all served to bring Grace Deane and Ro.ehainbeau closer together. He vowed, if chance threw Itini in his way, to punish Montraville as lie deserved. That winter was severe on tiie small army of patriots at Valley Forge. Ill fed and poorly clad, they slept by their camp tires on the bare ground. Often in the cold nights their commander, forgetful of bis own rest and comfort, could be seen walking among the sleepers, drawing the blanke; or coat more closely over this one and that to protect them from the chill winds and watching over them all like a father. Cornwallis, on the other hand, was in the midst of luxury. The soldier* were well quart ere 1 atr.l spsnt their time in drinking and eaiaifg. Tin; Hessians were bravest of the brav-' m the tap-room, while in battle they were often found where the bullets we: e 'the thickest— under the amimmiiicti wagon. Lafayette was stationed near York- town, where he caused no end of 'rou- ble to Cornwallis, who occupied the town. Washington, reinforced by Rocham- beau. made a quick maneuver, out- witted Clinton at New York, and wits well on Ins way for a concerted ac'.io:i at Yorktown before the enemy realized his intention. Earthworks and block- houses were constructed. Frequent attacks were made under Lafayette. „Tho outer works to Yorktown were 'taken. Cornwallis was in a state o? fj siege. He made a gallant charge against Washington in the open, but $M was met with too forceful a. resist- ance. While the battle was raging, llochambeau espied Montraville. A sharp encounter took place. These two, forgetful of the roar of battle, engaged in hand-to-hand combat. Ro- chambeau finally conquered. Lafayette, wounded, retires to a block-house for protection. It is heavily attacked by the English., The block-bouse takes. fire and he and his com- rades are in danger of a horrible death. Knowing that be is the prize the English are after, lie gathers bis men around him and says, "Place a musket, in my hands and place me before the door. They will all fire on me, and while their guns are empty dash through them and away." Reluctantly Uiey obey, lie falls at the first shot; his comrades dash out to freedom. He is just about to be captured, when Wasuington's victorious troop dashes up and rescues' hi ni. The victory is complete. Cornwallis realizes the futility of further resistance ^ind surrenders to Washington, Honors are showered on Lafayette and Rochambeati. Washington's return to the North is a tri- umphal march. And America stretches out her hand in love and gratitude to France, the friendly nation across the sea. . . _j i . . i . i i i_ _i i i i . i . i i . _j i ^ . ^ i , Hrncilict A rn.ihl * * * * * + i * * + * i

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PHOTOPLAY M AC AZIXK 51 A Censored Censor tBy R. D. Armstrong) * I read about a reformer who called all films Indecent; "They should be censored," was his cry in publications recent. He would not say a word of praise for any firm's production — His mind was groping in a have to fin-3 some way to knock 'em. Whenever anyone would state that pictures save them pleasure, He;d open up as sure as fate about some brand new measure He'd introduce before too late into the legislature To stop the awful wave of crime that to his mind was certain Arose front viewing picture firms upon a whitened curtain. He'd never lose a chance to go to view a Photoplay, And then discourse an hour or so on how pictures led astray The boys and girls in public school, and any little .wrong Became the crime of "picture fools," according to his song. He was the leader in bis State, and when he was selected To run for governor, it was his fate that lie should be elected. Clothed in the power to name their fate, he started on his way To stop forever in his State the dangerous photoplay. He chanced upon a picture show, the lights were all ablaze, And read in the electric glow, we "feature picture plays." He marcned into the darkened rootii- ami saw upon the screen A vision of his boyhood days, with cowboys in the scene — A picture play of the early AYest\ to his enraptured gaze Recalled life to him at its best, in a show of Photoplays, And after sessions, dragging slow, and debating most protracted, To regulate the picture show he had a law enacted: "Xo patron of a picture show may occupy a seat, Unless they first remove their hats, to not obstruct the sheet."

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TE.M PKIIA.MKNTS Temperaments (Cbuitfct ) I i i * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Hans Haljfer la a musical coxcomb, and after traveling all over town in search of rooms, finally finds suitable quarters in a modest bouse in the. itjjpev part ot" the city. The first one to greet him is .Martha, a pretty little maid. Hans' only companion is his violin, and in the seclusion of his abode finds considerable recreation playing on it. The strains of his melodies attract Mrs, Halm, a rich widow, who lives next door with her blind daugh- ter, Gretchen. Mrs. llahn seeks an introduction, and after the meeting tells her daughter about it. Mrs, Malm, as well as Gretehen, fall desperately in love with the musician. Gretchen, keeping her feelings from her mother, asks what he looks like. She is told that he is ugly, uncouth and unworthy. Martha also is in love with Hans, but dare not tell him. However, her heart pines to reveal her-secret when she sees the widow and her idol talking in the garden in the back of the house. Gretr-hen is having tier eyes treated, and, after an operation, her sight is restored. When sbe sees Hans for the first time and realizes that he is not ugly but good-looking, she gleans the truth from |ier mother. Then there is a struggle between the women to capture the heart of the coxcomb. The}' throw I heir arms around his neck, kiss him and make 'i;s life miserable. Finally he releases himself and tells them that he ii ting away; that neither interest him and that be is wedded to ''his, art. Then, adding insult to injury, he reveals the fact that he Is going to marry Martha, the maid, to whom he has proposed and been rapturously accepted. * * + ■¥ * ■ft i I < * * * ^ 5 s ********************************************

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SI.ML'LK LIVKS X- * i i * * » X- I * X- X- X- X- * i * i * X- * X- i I I Simple Lives i Comet I .i.-wt-i Mason likrs to t'c;i<] novels, .mi! in this way sii- establishes a code of ideals. At any rate, she decides that if they really exist they must be found In the bis; city. She has lived in the country nil her life, and when she elects to so to New York she is dissuaded by her parents and lief sweet- heart, Raymond Wheeler. Jewel is a willful girl and eventually has her way. Raymond has ambitions to become a' Maimer, and also, unknown -to Jewel, comes to town. He visits various artists with samples of his work tucked under his arm, but receives little encouragement. Finally, he meets Wil- liam Carleton. a young and well-known artist, and the pair become well actiuainled. . Jewel secures a position as waitress in a lunch room. Her ilrst customer is Carleton, When he asks her to give up her job and pose for him she is only too willing to accept. Carleton makes love to her and tries to kiss her, and she learns to despise him. She makes up her mind to quit him, and goes behind a screen to dress herself for the street. While she is putiing on her cloak Raymond enters, lie shows Carleton a picture which he has just finished. Carleton, after looking at it in a perfunctory .-:ort of wayli tells him that it is worthless and that he should not waste any of his time trying to become an artist. The heartlessness of bis remarfls fires Jewel and she tomes from behind the screen and denounces Carleton then and there. Then she points out to her sweetheart the futility of remain- ing in the city, and they agree to both return to the country, fully convinced thai it is the only place where they can lind real happiness. + v I ******* * ★^★★★★^^★★★★★★★★★★★^★^★★^ * k k******t-

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J*********************** ¥*+****★* *****★***★★*★*******★★***★★★★★ * + If * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * i * * * * * * Si? £1 Zigomar Thrilling detective story Feature and Educational Film Co. Paulin Hroquet, the great detective, examines a number or papers in his oflrce. referring to the robberies that have been committed at the Grand Hotel, the Panloff hank, and a necklace stolen from an actress. A special note from the police officials of Paris states that numerous robberies are being committed by a band that is using the letter "Z" as their signature. The detective prepares tor the struggle, with the 'Z-' gang, and leaves his ollice for a few moments, only to return and find that his portfolio, with all his papers, has disappeared, and in its place finds a very insolent note signed "Z." The detective takes up the challenge, and swears to get hold of the leader of this mysterious band and bring him to justice. Fate seems to favor the detective in his search for the criminal, when he rescues a working girl, who is being bothered by the attentions of a strange man, and. roughly pushing him aside, causes him to drop a card. The detective picks it tip, and its contents give him a valuable hint as to t lie meeting place of this mysterious "Z" gang. As a clever detective, fie at once goes to the place, examines the locality and prepares his plan of attack. lit tilfl mean! ime, Zigomar does not lose any time, hut gives his men orders to curry away the girl from the workshop, drug her, put her in i trunk and carry her away to the robbers' den, where she can be used as a plaything for their master. At midnight the whole "Z" gang, obeying the orders of their chief, go to St. Magliore Church — down into the crypt and remove a tombstone. While at work they are being watched by the detective, who pretends to lie a statue. He finds out the secret ot the hiding place, follows the "Z" hand, in order to learn their secrets, when suddenly he finds himself im- prisoned in an iron cage. He is then put in a box and carried away by a number of strong men. They lake him in the open country, place him in a van, and in their haste to get away collide with another van, which brings a number of Officials on the scene. One of the officers thinks the case suspicious and orders it to be opened. The detective appears in it. to the surprise of the police, and he borrows a horse from one of them to go in chase of Zigomar. who had taken advantage to make his escape. After a wild chase across the country he overtakes his man, but to his great surprise it is not Zigomar, but one who gives him some valuable information. He arrests his man, and finds out that Zigomar, disguised as a gypsy, goes every morning to the Abbey Res- taurant. The detective* also goes there, and disguised as a bandsman — hav- ing made all preparation for the chiefs arrest— takes his place as leader of the hand. The "Z" band have spies everywhere. The detective is recognized and Zigomar is warned of his presence, and succeeds in making his escape by a series of rapid transformations. He is nearly captured as he is jumping on a train, but turns 'and strikes the detective a vigorous blow, which sends him back half stunned, and the train goes off at full speed. The criminal do**s not lose any time on the train, holding up all the * * * * *

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P m >TO PL A Y M AG AZI X K passengers, threatening them with his revolver, and then jumps off the train while going at full speed. The scene of the excitement of the passengers in the train after the robber lias left, forms one of the most striking scenes in the film, as also is the lean of Zigomar from the train while going at full speed. 1 The detective is now furious at his faalure in his second attempt to catch the criminal, and don't know how to discover his lost trail, but while reading the newspapers discovers a note which reads that the Hotels in the Alps have been robbed by the famous "Z" gang, and he at once sets off for that place. The detective arrives in town, sets off for the hotel, and informs the manager who he is. At night, the detective on watch, sees the light of a rk lantern carried by Zigortfar, who, with a black hood over his head, es down the stairs and tries to force a door. The detective starts for- d and is about to capture his man, but with a quick move Zigomar blows ut the lantern, and in the darkness once more makes his escape. The detective is not discouraged. The strange actions of a rich traveler has aroused his suspicions, and as he is going to make a trip into the mountains, the detective joins the party as a guide. The party is now climbing the snowy mountain peaks of Switzerland, and Zigomar, identified by the detective, is captured on the brink of a preci- pice, but a few minutes later he takes advantage of a narrow pass, throws his enemy into the abyss, and escapes by leaping over the glaciers. The detective slips from ledge to ledge, and- slops on the edge of a precipice. He is found there senseless, but is saved by heroic efforts. The last effort of Zigomar is to obtain a necklace, valued at $100,000, from a dancer, known as Esmee, and the detective, disguised as a Marquis, goes to protect the dancer, but the "Z" gang spy him and lock him in a ing room. 57 The festivities .at the ball begin by having Esmee lead the procession, wearing all her jewels, and who is about to please the public with her will- o'-the-wisp dance. In the darkness we see tiny flames light up, and Esmee appears in her fascinating dance, going faster and faster every" turn, until she falls to the floor, exhausted.^ Zigom^ir takes advantage of everybody's eyes being on the exhausted dancer, and sets fire to the hangings, so as to be able to steal what he can in the ensuing disorder. This is a terrible spectacle. The once gay scene ends in (lame and terror, with all the people rushing to the doors In the red. light of tire, while Zigomar and his band stoop over those falling unconscious in the smoke and rob them of their jewels. The detective is half stifled by the smoke in the narrow room into which he lias been locked. He guesses what has happened and succeeds in burst- ing the door open. Entering the ball room with the police, just in time, he catches Zigomar leaning over the corpse of the dancer and removing the necklace. This time he is captured — flight is impossible. Zigomar lays a trap for the detective, who bites, by offering to take him where the shop girl is held captive, and says he will release the girl and restore her to her fiance. He leads the police to the crypt of the Church of St. Magliore, and frees the girl, who throws herself into the arms of her fiance and her deliverer, the detective. Taking advantage of this moment Zigomar escapes from his guards, turns a stone; a secret he alone knows, and escapes. The detective follows to the crypt, where Zigomar takes a dynamite cartridge from a hole and blows up the ^p'pt. •t -< ■t < t * ■t t ■< + * i I ■K * * 1

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* 58 A STORY f.*.¥]f¥¥.¥. e¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥ ¥¥¥¥¥ »¥¥¥¥¥¥y ¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥j A Story of the Great Desert of Sahara (By R. \V. Keenan) I was lounging one afternoon in the eastern part of Tripoli, a city in northern Africa and on the Mediterranean, looking at the ancient castle of the Bashaws, when 1 was startled to see the wall of a corner bastian of the fortress open where it joined the ground and a figure emerge and come running toward rue. On he came, staggering under tile weight of heavy~*iron shackles, till he reached a point within a few yards of me, when he sank down, evidently not knowing which way to turn, lie was blinking his eyes as if blinded by the light of the sun. Then I saw a puff of smoke on the ramparts of the castle, heard a report and saw evidences of a stirring in and about the stronghold. It was evident that a prisoner had escaped. The man was a skeleton, and the agony on his face at knowing that he tnjist be taken was distressing. Darting toward him, I began to heap sand over him, and, having some knowledge of his language, told him that I was trying to conceal him. lie suffered me to do sn, and 1 partly covered him with sand, partly with an overcoat I wore, for a chilly sea wind was blowing. Then I sat. down on him, lighted a pipe and began to puff, looking out with feigned interest on the Mediterranean. I never knew win) gave the alarm, but it must either have been the. fugi- tive's jailer, who had noticed his dungeon vacant, or someone on the out- side, who ran in to communicate what he had seen, At any rate, whoever told of the escape must have lost sight of the fleeing man. for when a party ran out from the fortress to follow him they scattered in all directions, evidently none of them knowing which direction to take. Most of them ran toward the shore, doubtless thinking be would naturally go there in hope of escaping bv boat. He certainly couldn't swim out to any of the ships, loaded as he was with irons. Several persona came near where T was. but they were too excited by the chase to pay much attention to me. for I was in European dress and evi- dently not the man they sought. One fellow was heading for me when I pointed, vociferating wildly at the same time to a pearl diver's boat lying near the shore. This probably saved the man 1 was hiding, for it was likely that had 1 permitted the searcher to come nearer he would have noticed that t lie sand had been disturbed. For half an hour Y^sat on my man, and while I sat I thought. My act had been the result of an impulse. 1 had interfered with the law and if detected would probably occupy a dungeon such as the fugitive had left. From the moment I realized my position I shivered whenever 1 saw any one coming in my direction. The sun was sinking in the west, and I grayer earnestly that it might set and leave darkness behind it. Gradually the searchers thinned out, not supposing that the fugitive could be near at hand, and finally the search was given up in my immediate vicinity. When it grew dark enough to warrant my uncovering the man I did so. His eyesight was ndw far better than mine, for, as I had supposed, he had become used to what little light might make its way into a dungeon. I told him to go where he liked, but he pleaded with me so eagerlv to help feim get rid of his chains that I could not refuse him. Besides, I considered him in a sense as Robinson Crusoe looked upon the man he had saved from * -It N JMMM^^»»»*¥»*»»»»»»*»¥*» ¥ jml¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥»¥¥ ****** *************

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r**¥*¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥**¥******* TIIK PHOTOPLAY MA(i AZ1XK 5!» i **¥**^¥¥**¥*¥¥*¥*¥*¥¥¥¥*¥¥*****¥*¥¥¥************^ I * * * 1 * * * i I * * the cannibals, his own man Friday. So 1 covered him again, went up into the town, bought a coarse tile, and. returning, cut off his shackles, which 1 buried in the sand. Then, giving him what money I had in my pockets, I told him to go his way. I could not see his features, but 1 could feel his gratitude in the pressure of his hand and hear what he said. Translated into English, it is this: "Allah is great. When you are in trouble he will send me to help you." With that lie disappeared in the darkness. The next day [ walked past, the point in the wall from Which he had made his escape. 1 saw a hole jujst large enough for a lean body such as his to pass through. He had doubtless managed to secure some sharp implement, with which lie had dug his way out through crumbling places. Indeed, 1 visited his prison and was shown the cell in which he had lived for twenty years and the passage he had dug. But, conscious of the part 1 had taken in his escape, 1 did not linger longer than to satisfy my curiosity! Indeed, whenever a Turkish official looked at me I felt that 1 was suspected. Xot feeling sure that I might not, after all, come to be known as having hidden the prisoner, I went to the United States consul and told him that I feared arrest for an infringement of Turkish law and asked him to send every day to my lodgings to ask if 1 were still there. What 1 feared was being, spirited away and put in a dungeon without any of my countrymen knowing what had happened. 1 was planning for a trip down into the desert, but I had my outfit to purchase and my attendants to hire. So it was impos- sible for me to get away for some time. I confess I felt relief when one morning, with three camels and half a dozen men, including my servant. Hadji who had attended me while in Tripoli, 1 started on my journey. I had tried in vain to secure the services of some trustworthy IJedouin who knew the desert and "would make a safe guide. But whenever I found a man who knew the country I was warned that he would probably murder me and possess himself of my effects, and when I found a man with a reputation for morality he knew nothing about the desert. 1 finally started with no one but myself to rely on, and 1 had occasion to bitterly rue my temerity. My journey was one continued effort to protect myself against thieves and robbers. It was useless to put my men on guard at night, for they did not seem to care whether what I had was stolen or not. One night while I was watching I 'noticed a large dog prowling near my camp. Pres- ently 1 discerned a desert thief directing the animal, who had been taught to steal. But this was a mere bagatelle compared with a sandstorm that overtook us, and the sandstorm was not so dangerous as a man I hired for a guide from one oasis to another, who tried to pilot me into an ambush where a band of robbers were waiting to kill me. Xot being satisfied with hiring guides, I determined to go through to the next oasis without one. The distance was tjjree days' travel, but at the end of the third day I looked in vain on the horizon for that bunch of fauna which indicated an oasis. I camped, and the next day we traveled in the burning sun without seeing any sign of a point for refreshments, nor did we meet a caravan. The sandstorm had obliterated any tracks of the great route between Tripoli and the Sudan on which we had started. All about us was an unmarked wilderness of sand. The desert is so immense that when one loses his position there is no hope of finding it again. One on that boundless sea without knowing what direction to take can only go on, day after day, hoping to strike an oasis. That is what we were compelled to do. The sensation of being lost in a wilderness of sand was frightful enough in itself, but to see the stock of provisions day by day growing smaller, the skin pouches holding the water growing thinner, with the hot sun pouring down on one's brain, is maddening.) So we toiled on, hoping each dajj for some end to this frightful journey. Either a distant caravan, an oasis,' or even a band of robbers would have f * * i * * * * * * ************* ************************************* ****** ********

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* * HO * A STORY OK THE (J RE AT DKSKUT OF SAHARA * * * x- * * * i if * * i boon welcome. A nil now the humps on the camels' backs became shrunken. We had no water to give them, for we were using ourselves what remained in one of the pouches.^'We killed one of the camels for the water in its hump. Then we killed another. One of my men died, then another and another, most of them mad, till about all were dead and 1 was left alone, a human being, with a camel. Alas, I must sacrifice my only companion for what water was left in him. I killed him anil was alone on the great desert of Sahara. I fell asleep thai evening praying that I might never awaken. But I was awakened by a touch. There, by the light of a full moon that had arisen perhaps an hour before. I saw a skeleton of a man in Bedouin costume bend- ing over nie. ' Allah has sent me," he said. lie took me up in his arms and carried me away, 1 knew not where, for to me there was no north, south, east or west. Most of the time I was uncon- scious. When I was not i was looking up into the dome of the heavens, whose stars seemed to be glaring at me. Then suddenly I thought 1 was in a boat in a choppy sea, but soon recognized the motion of a camel. '1 put out my hand and felt hair. Straps were about me so that 1 could not fall. I felt a cup of water placed to my tips and saw the face of the man 1 had saved at Tripoli holding it while 1 drank. Then 1 slept. In the morning I found myself lying on green grass in an oasis. I have told my story. I shall not attempt to explain it. Xor am I going to ask anyone to bolieve-it. 1 certainly do not expect persona to believe what I would not believe myself had it been told me instead of having happened to me. One thing occurred to me the moment I was conscious of having been saved. 1 was seized with a desire to know whether I had been saved by the quick or the dead. 1 joined a caravan passing through the oasis northward of Tripoli. On reaching there, after rest and having satisfied myself that the escaped pris- oner I had hidden no longer occupied either the popular or official mind* 1 went to the castle for any information I might pick up. I interviewed those in charge as to what had become of the man who had escaped and found that his jailers felt considerable superstition as to his disappearance, claim- ing that in his chains and hunted by so many persons he could not have escaped without the interposition of Allah. 1 asked them who he was, but was told that he had been in prison so long that his identity had been forgdtten, I was greatly disappointed at this, for it precluded the possibility of my ever hunting up the man through hii rela- tives and discovering whether he was living or had died. So I reluctantly sailed away from Tripoli, feeling that I must wait for an explanation until I had entered that existence where all things will be made plain, I * t

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Features IN THE PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE WILL BE BY THE BEST WRITERS OF MOTION PICTURE STORIES Picture Stories of Intense Interest CARTOONS BY FAMOUS ARTISTS Be sure to get a copy oj the March Number and note the improvements

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: — ■ © — ^ j ■ Subscribe for the Photoplay Magazine * And be sure tha*t you get it. The demand * for the Photoplay Magazine has been so J great that we decided to publish it. J Subscribe Now then you will be sure | , to receive it every month. I NOW to Subscribe: Turn in your J ' subscription to your Newsdealer. Any Mo- lt don ..Picture Theatre selling the Photo- i play Magazine, or send it direct to us. J Begin your subscription with the March I number. * Subscription Price, SI per pear. * ■ t The Photoplay Magazine | Suite 1208, 105 W. Monroe Street CHICAGO, ILL. * GEORGE J. HOEFT, Circulation Manager J Tliis HagaxiMC is published for the puliltr ami is strietly ;i hiirh-cliiss * niiisru/.iih'. It i> not ii rade jiii|irr iiinl will lie miprined witli every issue. * Those Mihseriliiinr mm will note the iiiipnneineufc THE l'HOTOI'LAY HAOA/INK SnHe l-Jlls, 1(15 W. Monroe SU (hieatm, 111. J Gentlemen: J Enclosed lind $1,00:, lor whirl: please send me THE l'HOTOI'LAY J MAGAZINE for one year, beginning with the issue, 1912. * Xame ■ Street J Town and State I J

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* INDEPENDENT FILM SERVICE DON'T COMPARE THESE PRICES WITH THOSE FOR JUNK SERVICE Songs and Lithographs Free We pay return express 200O Feet 6 Times a Week 2000 " 7 3000 " 6 3000 " 7 ,x6 Soft Cored Carbons $21.00 per 1,000 SUPPLY COMPANY 107 DEARB0RN STREET' $ 14.00 15.00 - 18.00 20.00 J When in Chicago Heights Take * Meals at * * * * * ■K. SHEEHAN'S (DEPOT COURT LUNCH ROOM) Just Around the Corner from Grand Theater PARTLY PAID-FOR TYPEWRITERS A few of tin' model No. 23 Fox Visible Typewriters rtfturneil to us sifter pii.vmenisof to Jfj had been made Tlu> list price ol' the No 211 is f mil and we oiler these few machines for- the unpaid balance. i.V> to «5. On terms of *:> a month. ' These machines are all of Ihe late model, equipped with labor suvinti devices which have made the l'"ox Visible Typewriter the world's standard - two-color ribbon device, tabulator, automatic ribbon reverse, au- tomatic lino loci;, ball lieanmr carriage, speed escape- ment and a very light action, w hich is an exclusive Fox feature. Our guarantee is the same as if you pity the full |irit'e. Lei us send one of these t.vpewriters to your office for live days' free trial. S'o obligation or expense incurred. We will lake your olu machine in trade- There are only a few. and if you are interested we would surest quid; action. Telephone, call or write Hiirr- T1.W Amo- til wis. nidfolonv Hid*;. 415 So. Dearborn St. FOX TYPEWRITER CO. m t I * $ HOUSEWIVES, ATTENTION! * * * «« "SWEEPINE" i« * DUSTLESS SWEEPING. * Thrte poundt 10 cenH. * 2756 W. Chicago Ave. For sale at all (roctrs. Or WATERLOO MFC. CO., tup r 7 ci mr make them I n L L - It Ct L I V L YOURSELF CLEAR AS GLASS WILL OUTLAST GLASS You can write or print on them as easily as on a sheet of writing paper Asl; your Him exchiiriire for them or BATTERSHALL iToLESON 39cSdJIsst t * * * * * * * * * * FAMILY THE AT R at F t? ^M-l^J^ Gk- >** ykmJk A c Th«m r«jnl and answer nils, the Wttw m torn iiuike this kkk-kkkkk-kkk > ' i r r x r t- *t

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H. & H. Film Service Co. "The Systematic Service" 357-358-359-360-361-362-363 Monadnock Building Jackson Boulevard Address All Communications to the Company1 Telephones Harrison 7345, Harrison 436 Renters of Independent Films Handling th& output of the Independent Manufacturers. If you are interested in a Consistent* Film Service, which will bring you hand- some profits and satisfied customers, let us make you a proposition to serve , you Call or write to us Now . ! m ^ ' J}} TIip more j«mi mul ami answer these ads tin* liettpr we Clin make this mairazhie

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r CHICAGO LOUISVILLF SIOUX FALLS 111 D g .-: • { N T 66 THAT WORD— SERVICE" IMPLIES THE ABILITY TO SUPPLY THE EXHIBITORS WITH THEIR NEEDS The method of " SERVING" is just as impor- tant as the "QUALITY" of the goods served. That's where "WE SHINE"— in our methods. EVERY DETAIL of our service is carefully watched by experts who are trained to their particular task, and the whole scheme works into a FILM SERVICE we are proud to boast about. A trial will convince you. STANDAiii) Film ISxciianc ;h JOSEPH HOPP. PRESIDENT lfiM-ITS W«*tf \V.isiiiN<iTi,s y-i: < 1IIC ACO, II J. BRANCH OFFICES 2 T\ «. , Jr..i N D N STREET, LOUISVILLE SIOUX FALLS GET A CHEAT RFPUTATION FOR YOUR THFATRF RY- USING OUR FILM RFNTAl SERVICE fnmnlat a Tina of Motion Pict«re Machines, Machine Parts and IsUlIipiCie XiIIlC Suppijes Always on Hand J