Newspapers / The Charlotte Observer (Charlotte, … / Feb. 2, 1908, edition 1 / Page 19
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CJTAIiLOTTE D AIL y! OBSERVE!?, FEBRUARY 2, 1903. o J y : Margaret ' Kf Jhro y Copyright, 110$. by The New York Herald Co. All Rights, Reserved.) His whole knowledge of life was that of paint and tinsel, of files and data, of mimic kings and tin clad warriors. ' His whole ambition waa to be "a- thoroughbred," because- ms father had taught him that thla was the greatest aim in life. And for a Jong time he waa getting old, being , -at the ripe age of seven lie had tried with alt hla little mlgM to reach alwaya to that great standard . v.. Things were often, hard to under- V stand; it waa ao hard to draw the line eharply to believe that the "heave man,'1 who waa ao kind, was really much worse than the electrician, who '. alwaya scolded. Sometimes his faith In his own judgment was shaken, and standards went hard tn establish. - He '.almost broke friendship with his father when the latter played lago and che wild audience h used. Jerry was quite sure, too, that they were right in hissing. Again, for two days. he didn't talk much when his father played Casslus. But he always loved him as Romeo, It brought dreams to him. He wished that he had a mother who - could be as tender as this Juliet. It had seemed funny to Vllm a 4 Via vsafk hail inma as 1 run T a( t,saw J uJ m tinu v V - aav-.- that he should be the only boy in the world the big world of . railway ' trains and "hotels who had no moth er. Sometimes, out of the dim sub consciousness of the years, a dream came to Jerry and he remembered a '. mother, fair and sweet and winsome and loving even as Juliet. But the remembrance was very dim. and when he spoke to his father about (his dream he was sharply silenced. Jerry- hadn't, much experience of churn vnrHa cnt frftm thrt elec trician, who scowled forbiddingly at ihlm and scolded him ; whenever ha .drew near the switchboard; and since .ills father had told him that playing with the switchboard was dangerous and naughty, a thing that, might end In dreadful Area and terrible acci dents, Jerry had come to believe that sharp words were Intimately connect ed with wrongdoing. This time Jer ry hadn't meant to do wrong; but per haps his father dreamt of that dream mother,, too, and felt as badly about It as did Jerry himself. And he knew that when he wasn't Just In the mood he hated to think of the mother he hadn't got, and would be as angry as his sunny little soul knew how to be, if something; happened to remind him of her. It wasn't nice to think - that he might have hurt his father '. that way, and. after due considera tion. Jerry decided that he had better apologise. His father bad told him that a thoroughbred waa never afraid to apologize when he was in the wrong. . That father of his was still looking very sad and stern, and jerry clam bered onto his knees wondering; how xhe should proceed. There was no response of a caress or cheery word, as waa usual, and Jerry's heart began to feel several size too blsr for, his chest . "I'm sorry I said anything about - the dream, father," he raid earnestly. "I didn't know you'd mind. Of course it isn't your fault that we haven't got a mother! I fink I have made you sorry; so I pologlze!" . Masslngwell kissed hla son. and told him It was "All right little chap;" but his race grew no brighter, and Jerry felt grieved. "Wasn't It right my pology?" he inquired anxiously. In Jerry's mind, a -poiogy- was one magic charm that ought to make everything happy at once. Masslngwell looked at his boy for quite a -long- time, and at last said' that he would tell him a story. Jerry settled himself in ihls father's srms and smiled contentedly. His father's stories were his greatest treats. ' This story was a long one, and Jer ry didn't understand it all. What he did manage to understand, was some thing like this: There ' was a world, somewhere, that wasn't like his world where peo. pie painted their faces every night, and changed ao wonderfully from week to week, doing first brave and then cruel things, until Jerrys poor Drain was tired out trying to make jit laeais ci inings and people nt into their proper places. In the oth er world proper didn't travel in rail- way trains all the time, hurrying from one hotel to another, where the rooms were always dingy, and so very much alike a brown bed, a Morris chair that was either purple Or crreen. a rorkino- rhalr that wouldn't rock, and shutters that wouldn't open if they were shut, or woulln't shut if they were open. In this queer other world people had comfortable houses the whole of a .house to themselves not only a bed room and public restaurant. They traveled only in summer time. -wHm, their work was done. That seemed funny to Jerry. His father traveled nearly always when he was working, and if he got a holiday loved to stay quite still in some quiet place. Ih. elded ly this other world was a topsy-l turvy land something .like Ai!ce-m-Wonderland, perhaps, Jerry thought , The funniest thing about these peo ple he was hearing about was that though they loved to come and see father and all che others art in the theatres, they never came behind the - big curtain and the proscenium arch. Jerry's biggest treats were to be al lowed in front of these. They didn't know that the Tower of London grew ho quickly while the band was play ing, because Tim Murphy knew Just how to make the "hands" brace the flat In proper, order; nor that when 1h5 setting sun looked so beautiful at the back of Bosworth Camp it was because Jake Cohen was handling the creaked down the heavy "dimming levers," and dirked Hp four of those fascinating little handles at the right hand top corner of the switchboard. And they didn't even want to see or hear about all these wonderful things -the miracles of Jerry's dally life. In fact, these strangers didn't like the people Jerry's people, who knew how to do these things. They only liked to sit. in Orchculn rhalr ami laugh or cry or be angry, as the case might be, but not for the world would It hey be friends with the people who Jiad been making them laugh, or cry, or be angry. Jerry'a blue eyes got bigger than ever as he made t Items discoveries; but greater wonders Were to follow. It seemed that Jerry had a mother; yes. a real living, mother, and ten 'times sweeter and prettier and dearer than Jerry had ever pictured ber. But she belonged to these people-who-don't-llke-the-stage. When she hail married father her mother and father had been very, very angry. They wouldn't speak to her or to father, and she had been unhappy, and then father' had had a bad season. Jerry knew so well whaf that meant. Its of thine made bad si-as-ons. Thing that happened in a place railed "Wall Street" made bad seas- would have been big theatre fires in the city, and -'- , afraid to come to the show. Then again, there was what father called "genrul-nnan-shul-depreshun'' that made bad seas ons; arid finally, there, was what Tim Murphy called "the lievll's own. luck." and that made the . worst seon of all. ' Ho father had bad season, and this sweet sad mother "of his had been ill; he, Jerry, had been ill, too it was when he had been quite a lit tle boy, so. that was Why his dream mother had been so vague and fath er had no money to pay for doctors of anything. : A - Then mother's-people-who-didn't-II ke-t he-stage had taken her away and given her a lovely time. Jerry didn't know quite why they hadn't given his father a lovely time, too. 'There were a lot of things about the wind-up of the story that he didn't understand. His father hurried up the end of the tale, and all 'Jerry could gather was that his mother waa still with her people-who-didn't-llke-the-stage, and had never come back. He wondered if ahe was so very mucn afraid of the coming of another bad season. Then another Idea came o him. . "Father." he said a little pitifully, "I suppose she doesn't care at all to see me, then? ' r Masslngwell had tried 'so hard to tell the tele so that Jerry should not blame' his mother, 'but "this was the one thing he had found it very hard to forgive. He did, not, could not know how his wife's parents had bols tered up their - original arguments against stage, folk with false but plausible tales of his own lire until an impassable barrier had been erected between the wife and her aotor-hus- band. Jerry's hurt eyes cut him to the heart, but he replied resolutely: "You mustn't say that old man. There are a lot of things you can't under stand; but well, a thoroughbred nev er goes back on his mother!" Against that argument there was no appeal, and Jerry was silent. But there was fresh matter for his dreams nowadays. His dream mother had be- come a reality, and Jerry was quite sure that one day some one would persuade her what a wonderful world there waa behind the big curtains, te be seem at Its best after Tim . Murphy had called "Ha'f 1 an hourr, please!" up and down the dingy corridors. There , was misunderstanding, of course; every, play had its misunder standing, to 'be unraveled in the last act And Jerfy couldn't conceive world entirely divorced from dramatic ru It tigs. (In the meantime, and pending hla mother's return, the only really Im portant thing was to find out more and more of how a thoroughbred ought to act, In all sorts of different situa tions. He set about his quest manful ly. It became a Joke in the company, causing laughs that 'had a catch be hind them as often as not, for every one loved the little fellow. And be- business! , ', ' " '' " ".; .' Jerry was seldom so aggTooslve; his nature was as sunny as his simile, and J.hat If Tim Murphy was to be believ ed, Mwud coax a' Tammany boss ter bay honest an make Ivery angll in rlor-r-y glad they've got etur-r-nlty ter laff in! - - The Thoroughbred's life was simple enough as a rule. Wonderful things didn't often happen, but then every thing was wonderful to him, and he never knew what ' it meamt to be bored. But once in a while the ordi nary run, of things would be broken by something vivid perhaps tragic and ' such happenings made a great Impression on Jerry. They came in some sort of problem shape to . his mind. He was one of the people who always "wanted to know. One night he was standing in the wlr.gs during the third act of "Rich ard III," waiting for his father as the Duke of Buckingham to make the cit izens proclaim Richard king. It was one of the parts that made Jerry feel bad, anyway; but this- night things were worse 'than ever before. The flourish of trumpets was still sounding, though the mayor and citi zens had trooped into the Crosby Pat ace chamber, when jerry heard a commotion above him. r There was a stifled scream and something ihurtltng from the flies, whatever it was caught at the backing behind the open fire place, which stood up like the cover of an open book, and not being braced In position It came crashing down on the ends of the fire logs. And then, on top of the wreck, Jerry saw a hud dled form lie, misshapen and still. It was Jake Coben, the flyman, who had often been warned of the danger of falling asleep in his perch up aloft and had done it once, too often. . Jerry saw his father quitf near the fallen man. He could easily have stepped Into the huge fireplace and lifted Jake from the wreckage. . But he didn't. Some of, the "citizens" bolted-"off through a "wing" exit; U there was a stir on the stage, a flut ter In the front or the house, and Massingwell took his stand In front of the fireplace and began his scheming harangue to the citizens. r Jerry couldn't understand how he could.be so cruel. What did it matter if the' Duke of Gloucester got the crown; Jerry wished he wouldn't and hated to have his father help him. And now his father went on talking and gave no help to a man who needr ed it! The property man and some others lifted Jake and carried him in to a dressing room, and the act went smoothly, on endlessly, Jerry thought f. ' There was something tight round the back of Jerry's head, and things swam In front of him. It wasn't only Jake's accident that was so heart breaking, it was hisather, sneering and arguing on the stage, that made things so bitter to his little heart At last the curtain rang down and The Thoroughbred knew all about panics. "His father had always taught him, what fire drills were for. and in everjr theatre - they visltcdtwent through a little private drill for tho boy, telling: him that people were gen erally killed: because they lost their heads. , And Jerry was to remember that a thoroughbred doesn't lose his head and by keeping cool can often help others. ; - - There was some.'talk that evening at supper of Jake's accident of care lessness behind the scenes In 'general, and ' from that on to theatre fires. Massingwell hid been reading of a pe culiarly deadly fire in a theatre out West and was -deploring the loss of life. , , . " "It was ma darned unnecessary," he said. . "They got Jammed in the exits and trampled in tho panic. Those that stopped in their places got out easily afterward." "Could d'you fink If there had been a real funrobred there he could have done anything; at all?" asked ferry's small voice eagerly. "Shouldn't wonder, old man. Why some fellow might have gone down to the footlights and cracked some sil ly wheeze about it's being all right so long as he was there. Fellow I knew once did that. Or he coulj ha' aung anything would have helped. Jerry put thla away In the corner of his mind where be kept all the rest of his knowledge about the great sub Ject And he didn't forget Jake Cohen got slowly better. -2s ot better so that he -could go back to work they-didn't think he would ever do that but so much better that he was soon to leave the hospital and go to the home that his wife had come all the way from Buffalo to prepare fofThlm, since the doctors said he must not think of traveling for a long while yet. The company "my company, Jer ry called, It proudly was making a three months' stay in a big city, and thus Jerry had been able to go to see Jake in the hospital from time to time and tell him the news. One day Jerry's news concerned Jake. "We're g-oin' to act a Denent," jerry announced. "It's a society that looks after sick people, an' we've told them all about vou, an' they're go in' to put aside a lot of money for you an Airs. Cohen. An' the best ting is that we're goin' to act a new play, an' I've got a part!" . Once or twice before he had taken some small part in the proceedings vi una piays, generally ueiug leu un by the leading woman's hand and wept or laughed over for a few min utes; but tie was as proud of these appearances as if he had been the star. In this hew play Jerry's wild-, est hopes . were realized. He had "lines to say!" In the first act he said, "I shall alwaya. always love you, mother dearest," and In the fourth act he was to declare, "Don't be frighten ed, mother; I will take care of you!" He went about asking all the actors if they thought he "read his lines" properly; and he took all the advice ihey showered upon him about his expression and the grestures he should use very arravely indeed. When ha passed strange boys in the street he pitied them', and wanted to tell them that he was at last a. real actor, like, his father. - At least he hoped they would be lucky enough to come and see him act. JERET ETTLED WTttELF IN H13 FATHERS AJSTld .au-tw m and talked about until the moment of his first great opportunity, when this childish treble piped out bravely with Its "I shall alwaya, always love you. mother dearest!" The situation had been made for him and ha got his applause more, waa made to take a curtain call, still holding Miss Roby's hand, after which he. was so tumultously excited that time went a little faster until tils next appearance. His stage mother had been weeping, and was belnir bullied by the villain. Jerry knew Just how the audience ought to feel when he appeared and blared his Indignation at the "heavy, man." He himself felt a man and a herq as he put his arms around his "mother'a" neck and de claimed his great second speech: "Don't be frightened, mother; I will take care of you!" Out In front of course Jerry cMdn't know this seat a woman whose heart throbbed at each movement of the lit tle fellow in white sailor clothes. His mother was sitting there the real mother of his dreams and the pro gramme that hrty told her that both her husband and her-son were In. the cast had left her sitting with hungry eyes, and pale, anxious face, 'until one of the dear ones secretly so dear in spite of all she had been told came before her, .taking their parts In the drama. But Jerry's two short ap- . 4s .:h'f lmt S-m'J!sa " ill MP t 0 . i, V'"1; ' S'.'KlJt f ' hi ''-' - ' 'Vn- "JUMP, JERET, JUMP I " . . .J? cause of his. quert they nicknamed him the Thoroughbred! - They were a mixed crowd, Ameri cans from many States, Psul Mal herbe, the one Frenchman. Britishers arid Irish, taken, too, from many st rat as of society. But each was care ful to show whatever he had In him of good to Jerry. 1 The stage hands, as rough a lot aa could well be found, would have been as loath as Masnlng well himself to let the boy's question ing eyes see anything that might cloud their Innocent happiness. He heard rough language at times, and some times his childish chatter was trarnlsh ed with a swear wnrd or two, that didn't seem very bad when Jerry brought it out with the utmost urav ity. and because he had hfard it used by his friend In some similar circum stance. Generally, too, the expression would be wrongly remembered. Certainly Massing ell only shouted With laughter when told by his son that whether he, Jerry, pent bli pocket money on chewing rum or ons sometimes; other timvs there I candy was none of his father's damp Massingwell cam" off the stage. J.r ry didn't speak to Uni. He wasn't at all sure that his .father had acted like a thoroughbred.' It was a dreadful thing to think, and Jerry" was rnlwr able. Then he heard tho stage man ager come up to MasslngwelU . "Bad Job poor Jake. How much did they notice In front?" "They heard tho riol.ic and saw the fireplace wrecked, of course worst place fot a wreck for frightening an audience. Three of those fool 'supers' bolted oft then, and I heard some one out front muttering 'Fire!' " 'Thank goodness ynu kept coot," said the stage manager. "Too didn't turn a hair! It dldift tcke hardly a thing to start a panic, and they're the devil. Oh. they say there Is Just a chance, a good working chance, of Jake living." Jerry's heart bounded. His father hadn't been cruel! He had done more V.y his-ekeming indifference than he could have done any other -ay at all. Jake was probably going to live, and Jerry's father had prevented a panic! The wonderful day came at last. To J-rr.v tht day had len "In a fort night." presently "In a week." Lt er "the day after the day after thp day after to-morrow" (that sounded so much more real than Jnft "In four days") Then It had been ."thf day aftr to-morrow." and flmiH th great day really did arrive. Jerry was dresed and "made up" before Tim Murphy had railed "Ha'f an hourr please!" Then It s-cmd an 4iour before the grurt Irish voice was heard declaring. "Quarter uv an hourr, ple-ese!" Ami Jerry was quite sure the whole afternoon must have elapsed before the welcome call. "Ov erture an' beaiiMier. ple-e-e!" J r ry wasn't a ' "brinner." but he was down on the staite peering out under the prompter's arms whn the curtain went np, and he danced back an i forth to the door where he to make his entrance a down times be fore it wa time f..r ht cu. Kven that came at laAt. and Jrry was d Into the blaze of the footlights, hold ing Miss Moby's band and was petted pearances meant more to her than all the rest. It ws over for Jerry attain very quickly, but he flt happily certain that the play couldn't have gone on without him. He ntond In th wings watching the emd of the act. In which his father would shortly Join. Mas singwell was upstairs, changing his clothes, btrt he had promised to look out from the dressing room gallery and watch Jerry on the stage, and now the little fellow wamxt to hear whether his father would say that he had don well. - All at once the dreaded, pungent smell of smk eanie strongly te his nostrils; and as he noticed It he no ticed, too, that th stage marutger and shifters were rushing and scurrying over on the left of the sta-e. where was the trsp door through which big pieces of furniture were hoisted from the property room below. Fmoke ws belching up from the trap; and then it all happened so dreadfully quick a thin tongue of flame licked up through the smoke, waa caught In draught and ate hungrily into the thin wood and canvass of a flat. And at that moment a terror stricken voice in the audience shouted "Fire!" The fire was In the scenery UseTfr maklnr It Impossible to go on playing, and tha shrill whistle gave the order to lower the asbestos curtain. Down It creaked to within about two feet of the stage, and stuck. Through th aperture a volume of smoke poured out Into the audience; and then abov the crackle of the flames and th spurt of the emergency hose sounded the horrible swelling note of panic out in front. The audience was ris Ing en masse to fight ita way to the exitsl 'The Thoroughbred was in his corner at the extreme right of the stage. HI heart waa thumping so that he felt half suffocated; but while every one rushed and not a few screamed the little fellow remembered that he mustn't be afraid and ho mustn't lose his head! He heard orders shouted to the or chestra tn go on playing; but below the gap In the lire curtain he could seo that the musicians ihad already forsaken their places and were well out through the orchestra exit. Then his great idea came to him. What had his father told him about a fire and stopping a panic? Hinging it was yes, singing out In front of the cur tain. Perhaps it wasn't dangerous, slrre the band had been told to keep their places. But, arfyway, a thor oughbred hadn't got to think about danger. Down on his hands and knees he got and unobserved by the rushing po pie near him crawled Under the fire curtain and out by the footlights. There, this tumult! Helpless wo men being trampled beneath the feet of wIM-eyed men. Children forgotten by the mothers that bore them. Girls screaming and men fighting. A tu mult of arms waving above the sea of white faces, hero was no mercy. An old woman slipped backward across her seat and immediately the mob surged over her. breaking her back and crushing her out of all semblance of humanity. iKverywhere the wick ed yellow flames lapped greedily on ward. Where the ever-thlckenlng smoke veiled the scene groans and shrieks told ,of the tragedy that was being enacted. Jerry saw it all, and the horror of It brought ihlm stiffly erect, his hands clenching till his nails hurt his palms and his little heart thumping away up In his throat. But he hadn't got to be afraid ho hadn't got to bo he hadn't! Once he had been to wonderful kindergarten. He remem bered that now becauae he had to sing, and they had sung at the kin dergarten. One of hts choicest blta camo to 'his mind now: "Cp In the sky where the little birds Up where they fly,' so high eo-o iilgh!" ilia childish treble, penetrating and sweet, rang across the actis of panic nnd shrilled out above the tumult. Men stopped anil women gasped. They could not tight like demons while that courageous little fljrure shamed th-m with the slmplo heroism of that sons, so grotesquely Inappropriate but all tho more appealing for that reason Men ceased to be brute beaut. The madness of panic died away and re spect for human life again resumed Its sway. To war,! the exits they still hurried, but In orderly press. The Thoroughbrvd had stopped that' first deadly rush. In the cvntre alxle there was a teni porary block. A woman whs1 fighting her way buck towurd tho stage. Many voices aVused her ns a madwoman. but perhaps onn or two made may for her, for there was a whole heart's agony In hfr cry, "-If my boy my Utile, ilttlo son!" Jerry couldn't sing any more. Gusts of smoke were sweeping by him. The frames had Uken hold on the left hand boxes. Everything crackled and scorched.' The curtain .behind him waa hot; behind that again there seemed to be a raging furnace. There n nothing In the world but fire, and at lat he was terribly afraid. Then he saw the woman burst from the flying audience toward him. 'Jump. Jerry! Jump to mother, Jer ry boy!" if wss Jerry's dream moth erhe knew that he remembered her, yet he could not obey. The fear he luid fourht down for so long now con quered him wholly, paralyzing him. The hot curtain surged hearer htm in a gust of flame. The Thoroughbred shrank from It, and then -his overtax ed strength gave way and he crumpl ed up helplessly an the floor. Through the flame and smoke of the wrecked curtain burst Massing well. his forehead cut and bleeding, his eyes frantic. It was but the work of a moment to snatch up Jerry and leap with him Into the orchestra, where the poor mother was clambering over the musicians fallen seats , to reach the child. There was no tim for any greeting. Only If they were very quick could they still escape through the orchestra exit, which might at any moment be Mocked by falling masonry. ' Already a wall of flame had licked out who the draught from the. wrecked fire cur tain and separated them from the flying populace. With Jerry- on the one arm ami hW left hand gripping his wife Maasia-- well ducked into the smoky "paar-( leading1 under the boxs on the right Out into the court Gasping, thy stumbled forward-through the dark ness. Then came an ominous crarK In the wall showing a gleam of tlr near them. anl they were enveloped in stifling smoke, through which they fought on blindly for their lives. It was the last trial. The merciful day light met their eyes then and the cool, clean winter air came to greet them. Ai few more steps and they were out ia the court, where the engines were fighting. the fire. Water swished ev erywhere, hissing furiously as it mt the venomous names. Scantly clad figures tried to avoid the streams of water a huddbsd desolately together showing how suddenly the fire had surprised some In the dressing rooms. t-'houts and orders echoed .back and forth, but amid all thla confusion the Thoroughbred presently came out of his faint to find the lace or his dream mother very near him and to hear his father'a voice say huskily: "and you won't leave us again? Jerry and I want a mother. And I guess this son Is north having; he's been a thoroughbred to-day, all right!" And the papers next day said ao too. BIG POLICYHOLDERS. PrerdtSrat Joins Hanks of Those Hold ing? Enormous Insurance. (New York Correspondent Chicago Record-Herald.) President Roosevelt has Insured his life for $85,000, according to informa tion received toy the Spectator Com pany of this city, which is about to publish for the Information of insur ance officials a list of over S.G00 per sons who carry policies on their lives ranging from $50,000 to M. 000,000. It Is the first time that such a list has been compiled from official sour ces for several years, and ,many in teresting things about the way' In which business men gamble on their lives have been developed in tha search am onn: the archives. Rodman Wanamaker. of Philadel phia, son of John Wanamaker, U now- worth mors to the Insurance com panies than any other man. He car ries policies aggregating 14.000,000. Ills father is insuretd for 31,500.000. Following are the big risks nt S500 000 or more carried by Chleagoans: . A. J. Graham '$"IIJ.no C. H. Hulburd . H. H. Kohlsaat i,ww.ipw H. C. Lytton WO.OW 8. W. McMunn -.Ti.iyw F. W. Poek D.i J. M. Hmlth .TV-.(VjO C. A. Htevens w l"w W. Wrlgley. Jr. IMisw The Insurance companies have staked $500,000 or over on the Uvea of tXew Yorkers as follows: August Belmont $flfUoi .:. Colgate i,aio, Aaron llerht iAC&t O. Marconi . TW.ftO J. K. O'Hourke i.fliw Hnrv Sleitel K. It. Thomas J.CKflfMI (i. W. Vsnoerhllt 1 , T. H. WstklnS CHrtVI J. O. White , . 70u U. F. Yoakum U.MXt Some of tho best knotf n Js'ew York ers have gambled In but a small way on their lives. Among them are: Henry Clews Stuyvcsnnt Fish H. ltarrlmun J. If. Hyde W. M. Ivlus R. A. McCurdy ... 1). ItiHkefellcr M. H. Koaers ... F. kvmi 11. HchlrT Jnnies Hllllman ... Nathan Btrauss . 8. I'ntertuyer .... T. U Woodruff , Mrs. Charles $.v.f00 , .. .I0.P , I Hl.llA ln-noO M.OW , IfM.O o ,. tnifo im tio ".oo.Oio SO.ft'O frev ., CAOO ,.. K,-ei ketcher, of1 Chicago, with a $500,000 policy on her Mf. heads the risks among American wo men. Among those or her sex insur ed for $100,000 or over are: Mrs. A. White. Gardiner. Me... $17S,(W) Mrs. M. Ia. Akers. loulsvllle, Ky. , If!), Mrs. J. 8. Cnrr. Durham. N. C... ' ",0ort Mrs. U. N. Duke, iuliuin, N. It jrtf.OUO Mary H. Williamson. Kloa Col lege, jv. c HV.WSJ Mis. T. M. Mordecal, Charleston M. C 100.0W Mrs. F. J. Carolan, Kan Fran- Cisco lzzam Mrs. J. J. Brown. Denver. Cot. 2f.n.rttf Mrs. A. J. CJranam. Chicago .... "5.UO Paulino H. Lyon. Chicago Joe.n Kllzabeth A. Matter. Cannon. O. !40.flM Mrs. C. H. Heine, Cincinnati. .. WW Mrs. C It Holmes, Cincinnati.. 9.ik Mrs. K 8. Tsylor. Cincinnati. 4-. SW.OfW Mrs. Nellie Httmxon, Seattle .... lOVO Mrs. 11. W. Trest. Seattle loo.nno Johanna T. Oadskl. New York.. 1W,0W Mme.. Bchumann-He4n&, isew York jno.oon Mrs. Uao K. Tarbell, New York lOO.OuO Among the Western men carrying $500,000 Insurance or more are: ' C. A. Bmlth-JMlnneapoils ... A. Lung.lanstis City ... v. K. Blxby, 8t. Iul .... O. Pahat Milwaukee .... Kchllsslnger. MJlwauuM A. L'hrlg. Milwaukee ... J;w,i 60U.( 67,0UQ KESIGXATIOX. 0 Ood. whose thunder shakes the sky, Whose eves lhi .ttnni g:oD4 aarvnys. Tr Thee, my Only rock. I fly. Thy mercy in Tny jusucs praise. !"h mystic mazes t.f Thy will. r The HhailuKS of ri'Icatllll llcht Are t 111" powers v( human skill; tut wnar. me internal aria is ngiii. : t.-n.h me In tho trying hour. When iiiw.n'! hwoIIs Uie dewy tuar. io still ny sorri-w, e-vn Tli f'Owrr. my Kooimss love, iny jui'iice icr. If ir. this bosom nuirlit but Th. Km rwclilns; smiirht u ioiin.iies ssruy. OmnlJcl'-HO ouM lli dangr st-e. An lucrcy l-vtic the rsue away. , Thn why. my soul, dnst thou compliiln? Why ilrcping v)k tho lrk retvss? PheU-f ' ff the iwUn.-holv rhsin. lr;r Ooa ci.il.ii all tu ,tU-s. t nh n-y hmist Is Innnn still: Th' rlslnif sinh. I he. falllnif tear. . ' My litrisuii ttslt' feebl- rill. The sU knjKS of my soul declare. Cut yet. wwh f"'tltuilti relp't I th.ii.k the Inflation oftit M,y, Korhhl Oie lai. romposa tf nlnd . Nor let th i g-iish of misery flow. The eloomy mntl. of the nfght. l.h-h on my lnklnr nrlrlt steau. Will Vhiitxh at the iioriun .lent Which UM niv Kant, mv Sun. reo-i!s. HI'.'AIAS C HArrr.r iRTON. friLEEP. O gentle Sleep. Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee. That thou no more wiit weigh my eye- no s aown. And steeo my -senses In forget fulness? my rather, Mp, ly st thou In smoky crib. non uneasy pallets stretchlntr thee. And hush with buszing jiisjht-flies t thv slumber; " Than In the perfumed chambers of th great. htr tiie canopies of costly state. And lull'd with sounds of sweetest mel ody! Oh thou d ill rod, why ly'at thou with. tn vile la loathsome beds, and leartwt the king ly cv urn wMrh-cane. or a eommoa la rum-bell? Wilt thou, upon the hish and sridiiy mst. Baal un the ship-boy's eyes, aiii rock lu nrams. n erwain of the ruds Imnerloivs surge: ml In the vlsltstkin or th wina. ho take the ruffian billows by ths t"t. Curling- their monstrous hetwds, ana banging them With denfning clamors In the 'sllpi'r- hrooria, ' That, with the hurley. Death lis.!? ftSHkM? - Canst thou. O partial sleep, give thy T POM To the wet see-bor In an hour r '-'? n1. In the esimest and toe niet r . Ith all appnao'-'es ana meiiis to t eny t to a kingr n
The Charlotte Observer (Charlotte, N.C.)
Standardized title groups preceding, succeeding, and alternate titles together.
Feb. 2, 1908, edition 1
19
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