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& m ■ b a TH 8 '"". Mnvmij PictuPE film, i The Camera Man Stands Near By as Engines Crash Together on a High Bridge. The Collision Lasts Only Four Minutes, Yet It Costs the Company $20,000. « I OTUIXG apparently seems too stu I \| pemlous to be undertaken by an euier / i prising moving picture manufacturer who is in the still hunt for a good picture. Towns are destroyed, fot^s blown up, bridges burned, trains wrecked, all to produce a good film. x In order to film the “ Siege of Petersburg,” a bridge longer than Loudon bridge was built across nil arm of the Mississippi and then destroyed by fire. The structure cost urtauy thousands of dollars and took many weeks to construct ; yet it was destroyed, for the purpose of the play, in a few minutes. The f<>rt that is mined and blown up in the same piece was built bv contract in less than one week, but then the contractor bad over 800 workmen employed at the job, day and night. Nearly a quarter of a ton of dynamite was used in the explosion which destroyed it. Fifteen hundred supers, of whom one thou sand were Indians, took part in the popular film, “ The Massacre,” and the company which produced it had to give each of the yodskins a horse apiece in order to retain their services during the long series of pre ■ ■ '«- »■ ii sr —" ■ ■■■■»* ' ■■ ... 111111 \m Htninary rehearsals. They thoroughly en joyed their work—so much so indeed that of those who were* t.olil off to “ die ’’ early in the play the majority preferred to stay “ alive ’’ and fire off their blank cartridges, so that the lirst rehearsal Only resulted in three “ fatal ities,*’ instead of about 300. In another film of the kind tlie principal scene was the destruction-of a settlement of whites by a band of Indian raiders, and that the sacking of the houses might lack nothiug in realism a small frontier town, containing some sixty dwellings of the usual western wooden frame type, was purchased and fired. In “War's Havoc,” another famous film, two locomotive engines meet in a spectacular collision on a high bridge, both being reduced to scrap iron. That one episode cost the company over $20,000, yet it occupies less than four minutes in the showing. Perhaps* however, the most realistic thing wnaaiii—wiiimi ever done in the way of battle s< enes was re cently undertaken on the spur <»r tlie moment by Wilbert Melville, managing director of one of the traveling organizations. This man was with bis company near El Paso, Tex., when a band of revolutionists, several hundred strong, suddenly hove in Towns Are Destroyed, Forts Blown Up, Bridges Burned, All to Produce Films* Hundreds of Persons Are Employed in the Making of a War Scene. sight cut the Mexican side of the Itio Grande. The opportunity was Ihotight too good to le missed. Mr. Melville hurried across the river ami bargained for a fight—a sham one- to take place then and there. ' The Mexican “army," nothing loath, promptly got to work, while the members ■ f the sto k company, who had been hurried the field of action, enacted the part of it fed eral patrol. Hitt the revolutionists, iti their excitement, started firing off Imll ammunition, and sev eral bullets fell among the spectators on the f'nited Stales side of the river. As a result the chief of police at El I'aso had the company arrested as soon as they recrossed the river, at the same time dis patching a messenger with explanations and 'apologies to tiic neighboring Mexican town of Juarez, where the authorities and the populace alike had been greatly perturbed by the heavy firing. 'The company was after ward arrested and fined $-.50 each and cost* — a cheap film. Mother** Love, Beauties and Sacrifice Told in Rhyme, Ah! mother love, in the fiercest ill Wlmt strength you give to a womans will! Wlmt heroism, what self-control, You bring to a trembling woman’s soul! What power in moments of deep despair! What wondrous burdens you help her heat! —Eugene J. Hall, ft ft Her pious love excelled to all she bore; New objects only multiplied it more, And as the chosen found the pearly grain As much as every vessel could contain. As in the blissful vision each shall share As much of glory ns his soul can hear, So did slit* love and so dispense her care. —Dryden. ft ft At Geneva, in company with a man of 75, I visited his mother, who was 03. Sb* colled him “little one,’* ami when he said “ mamma ” I knew well it was hi* childish heart that, spoke. The world offers nothing nobler than wlmt is behind such little s-eues. (’h aides Wagner. ft ft Remember while you live, And should you search the rounded cartti You*I! never find a friend more'faithful Than the one who gave you birth. ft ft A mother who shows to her children all the tenderness that, she has for them creates in them ingratitude, because ingratitude conics of the impossibility of paying one’s diga lions.—H. de Balzac. ft ft ' No joy in nature is so sublimely affecting as the joy of a mother at the good fortune of a child.—Jean Paul Richter. ft ft j Listen! Can you not'still hear How she taught you your first prayer? O, tlic voice Unit was so dear And Ihe hopes flint were so fair! Ask yourself what she would say If she guessed or if she knew— l.isteu! 1-istep! Through her tear* Still she calls across the years - Calls forgivingly to you. * * I thought a child was given to sanctify A woman*—set her in the sight of all The clear eyed heavens a chosen minister To do their business find lead spirits up 'I’lie difflotUf blue heights. A woman lives Not bettered, quickened toward the truth and good Through being a mother?—then 'lie’s none. —Eliza betli -Browning. * ♦ Not learned save in gracious household ways; Not perfect, tiny, hut full of tender wants; No angel, lint a dearer being, all dipt In angel instincts, breathing paradise. Who looked all native to her place, and yet (In tiptoe seemed to touch upon a sphere Too gross to tread, and all male minds per force Swayed to her from their orbits as they moved, And girdled her with music. Happy he With such a mother! Faith in womankind Heats with his blood. —Tennyson. ■i* v The tie which links mother and child is of smelt pure nnd immaculate strength ns to be never violated except by those whose feel ings are withered by vitiated society.—Wash ington Irving. * Us It Is only a dream; but the world grows wise, And a mighty truth in the dream seed lies - ( Bishops Cannot Be Arrested in England Save on King’s Order. MUCH water has flowed under London bridge since the British criminal couid defy the strong arm of the law by the single expedient of escaping to the nearest church or hospital and claiming the protection of the “sanctuary.” For down to the early Stuart days Great Britain had thousands of just such refuges for the criminal, from cathedrals and royal pal aces to scores of towns and cities, where the guilty of felony could laugh with im punity at the officers of law and justice for a period ranging up to forty days. If within t hat time he chose to g|> ^before the coroTicr, clothed in penitence and sackcloth, and con fess bis guilt, he was free to quit the realm .without any hand daring to stay him. 5*. Although no such asylum exists today for ' the criminal, the principle of the “ sanctu ary ” still manages to survive. This privi lege refers only to civil offenses and not to crimes as in the olden days, and yet the privi leges are of considerable value. No clergyman can be nrrested within the walls of liis church or while he is going to or returning from his duty. Bishops and archbishops are still more protected, for not one of them can be haled before a magis trate even though the cause is a crime, uuless tlie king especially commands it. Xor even up to tlm present time has any warrant an effect within the precincts of any of the king's palaces. One man in England possesses a house particularly fortunate in such respects. It is situated ou parts of two countries. If a constable from one country comes with a warrant all the owner needs to do is to move into the kitchen and he is absolutely safe there from all nrcest until another constable comes with a warrant from the other coun try. That shall gladden the earth in its time and place— We must better the mothers to better the race! —Ella Wheeler Wilcox. v My mother was a wholesome, serene crei tion, minted in the golden mood of sovereign artist.—Tennyson. * # •Vhswer me, true hearted mother (Many such, thank God', there lie), In your fairest, rosiest girlhood I'onder lovers did you see? Gave they deeper admiration. Choicer, tenderer, or more sweet, Than you now have from your children, Than your sons lay at your feet? —Mrs. S. E. Heusliaw. v * * A mother's love Is an undying feeling. Earth may chill And sever other sympathies, and prove How weak all human bonds are; it may kill Friendship and crush hearts with them— Jmt the thrill Of the maternal breast must ever move In blest communion with her child and fill Even heaven itself with prayers and hymns of love. —S. D. Patterson. * * One tear of a mother can blot out a thou sand complaints against her.—Alexander. * * Mother tongue, mother song! How dear, how full of charm thou art. —Schenkendorf. a ffl To our mothers we go through life sur rounded by the light that illumined oiw childish faces. They always see us through this early enchantment. If they could they would keep us eternally young.—Charles Wagner. * * The child taketh most of his nature from the mother, besides speech, manners, and inclinations which are agreeable to the con ditions of the mother.—Edmund Spencer. * # The mother through her virtuous way Implants the seed of honor true Within her child, if she but live As she would have her children do. Her life within must holy be, Unsullied by an evil thought; Her household knows such harmony As her own industry has wrought. * * O mother, laugh your merry note, Be gay and glad, but don't forget From baby's eyes looks out a soul That claims a home in Eden yet. # * God thought to give the sweetest thing In hfs almighty power To earth; and deeply pondering What it should be, one hour Iii fondest love and joy of heart Outweighing every other, He moved the gates of heaven apart And gave to earth—a mother! —G. Newel! Lovejoy. * *:< All I am or hope to he I owe to my angel mother.—Abraham IJiu*olu. >): Hundreds of dewdrops l<* greet the dawn; Hundreds of lambs* in the purple clover; Hundreds of butterflies out on the lawn. Hut only one mother the wide world over. —George Cooper. ❖ $ I have not wept these forty years; but now My mother comes afresh into my eyes. —Drydeu. * ❖ My mother! Manhood’s anxious brow And sterner cares have long been mine; Yet turn I to thee fondly now As when upon thy bosom's shrine My infant griefs were gently hushed to rest Ami thy low whispered prayers my slumbers blessed. —George \V. Betbune. * * The best monument that a child can raise tn his mother's memory is that of a clean, upright life such as she would have rejoiced to see her son live. * * There was a place in childhood that I re member well, And there a voice of sweetest tone bright fairy tales did tell. And gentle words iand fond embrace were given with joy to me, When I wag in that happy place upon my mother's knee. —Samuel Lover. * * The purest thing I know in all earth’s hold ing Is mother loTe, her precious child enfolding: Yet when the ipother’s footstep feeble grow eth, Aa sweet the child love then which round her floweth. —M. M. Tucker. * * Ah, hold her by tlie hand, As once her hand held mine; And though she may not understand Life's winding way, lead her in peace di vine. I cannot pay my debt For all the love that she has given; But thou. Lord, wilt not forget Her due reward—bless her in earth and heaven. —Henry Van Dyke. / A mother's lore—how sweet the name! What is a mother's love? A noble, pure, and teuder flame, Enkindled from above. To bless a heart of earthly mold: The warmest love that ran grow old This is a mother's love. -—,1. Montgomery. H« A mother i* a mother still, The holiest thing alive. -Coleridge. ❖ >> The only love which on this teeming earth Asks no return for passion's wayward birth. —Mrs. Norton. Hi Hi I >o you know that your soul is of my soul , l sucli part That you seem to be fiber and rote of my hen rt V None other can pain me ns you, dear, ran do; None other can please me or praise me is you. "ji ”|i I had not so mill'll of mail in mo But all my mother camp into mine eyes And gave me tip to tears. —Sliakspcare. # >!' My little bahy lies along my arm. And looking at her there, the glad tears press, A ml like n tidal ware of tenderness The years of love since I lay cradled so— Unfa thinned lore enfolding me from harm - Return and flood my life. Fof now T know! — Ann Dcroore. * * There is none In all this cold and hollow world, no fount Of deep, strong, deathless love, save that Within a mother’s heart! —Felicia Hemans. * * Mother! Most tender, endearing, and ex pressive of nil human nppelations! A tit'e employed/equally by 1 lie royal prince, the sage phillmopher, and tho untutored peasant by the savage and the civilized in /ill na tions and generations. Walter T. tiriftin. She had listened l" nothing, hut mothers hear certain things without listening. - Victor I In go. * * My mother! At that holy name Within ili.v bosom there’s a gus <>f feeling which no time <an Ian > . A feeling for which years* of fame 1 would not, could not crush. »*• <l" Bonaparte onee asked Mine, de Slack in "bill ninnucr lip could promote tlip happiness of France. She answered. “Instruct the mothers of the French people." * * I here is not n grand inspiring thought. Tiicre is not n truth by wisdom taught There is not a feeling pure and high, I lint may not be read in a mother’s eye. I here are teachings in earth and sky and air. The heavens the glory of God declare, But louder than voi‘p, beneath, above. He is heard to apeak through n mother’* lov*. — Emily Taylor. * * Absent many a year— Far o’er the sea, his sweetest dreams were still Of that dear voice that soothed his infancy. —Southey. * sh The mother in her office holds the key Of the soul; and she it ig who stamps the coin Of character. —Old [day. It Makes Us Better to Weep; Tragedy a Cure for Hysteria. OUR own emotions must have an out let, says Albert R. Chandler, a stu dent of psychology. It is really a question of whether a happy ending to a play makes 11s ns cheerful as a doleful one—whether it is really as healthful for us. For it is nn admitted fact that other peo ple's sorrows are a relief to our own emo tions. Monotonous daily life affords little or no outlet. In a good tragedy, however, our spirits rise. We live the life of the emotions for a few hours and a sense of relief and of action follows. The impulse of women who crowd to the theaters when plays of the highly emotional type are given, plays deal ing with the problems of life, is a highly scientific impulse. They live for a time the life of feeling and at the end they experience a sensation of rest. The tears shed at “ Madame X ’’ were an outlet for tired, pent up nerves. They did not tend to produce hysteria, hut allayed it. Nor does tragedy on the singe make people sad. The most light hearted nations are most fond of tragedy. The Greeks in the days of their great dramatists are a good example; also the English in the days of Shakspeare. Both nations were peculiarly gay, optimistic, spirited—and yet their drama was heavy tragedy. At the present time we might call atten tion to conditions in Germany. The greater freedom of the German stage in reflecting life as it is explains, perhaps, the cheerful temper of that nation. France, too, seems to keep light hearted in spite of the great abundance of terrible problem plays. So if you are suffering from hysteria go ro tragedies; weep and know that you are grow ing better each minute.