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fOp.Tripht. 1913, International Newg S«rrlct) The Death of the Panther Tomorrow: The Approach of Krazy Kat ' WHERE POET LOSES TIME • How long does Fennison apend on one of his poems?" "He told mc he spent six weeks on the last one he wrote." "Yes; it took him 10 minutes to \ . it, and the balance oi the time tv was trying to persuade somebody to buy it," .. j The Dingbat Family Polly and Her Pals Us Boys Chinese Dreams .fY ITAIPB, the poet, has fallen a I victim to the moon!" J*-* When the mandarin had pronounced these strange words he rested his chin in his hand. A victim of the moon? In India, I have heard, moonstrokes are con sidered worse than sunstrokes and that when you walk in the garden in the evening you always carry a moonshade. Was this what the man darin meant? I was waiting to hear. Eftol my august friend, the manda rin, began to sway back and forth rhythmically while he sang these vere* s: "The moon ascends to the heart of the nocturnal sky and rests there filled with love. Across the shining sea guides the soft evening breeze and kisses the delighted waves. "Oh, what beautiful harmonies arise from the meeting of elements created to unite! "But the things created to unite so very seldom do unite." How? Has not the music of poetry been forgotten in China? Has not the lyre of the Chinese Orpheus been broken? Alas! It is only too true. Even in China nobody dreams any more. The bacchantes of progress rush by una disturb (he careless THE SAN FRANCISCO CALL, FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 26, 1913. dreamer who looks behind him in the moonlight. "There is a way of reaching even the moon," he murmured. "Who ever reached there?" THE LEGEND A wizard, or rather a saint, had long been dwelling at court. One beautiful summer night, when the full moon was bathing the landscape ln its silvery light, the emperor, who was walking with the saintly man, admired the bewitching light which fell on the leaves flittering with the diamonds of the dew and on the rush ing river and the foaming cascades. Then he looked up at the twinkling stars and sighed because they were so far away, so beautiful and still so unattainable. His companion, who gues&ed ills thoughts, said to him: "Do you want to rise me to the moon?" The emperor looked at him for a moment in surprise and then said: "I understand what you want to say. Your intellect, which is superior to my common mind, is able to fly ahead of me on the paths of thought, but to lengthen the fetters is not the same as to set the prisoner free, and we shall not get very far." "Oh, Lord, you do not understand me at all!" the wizard exclaimed; "I mean tha* we are to fly up to the Beflatartd United State* Patent Offlca moon fully conscious - of everything that we meet and see." ' I will not permit even a saint to mock me." said the Son of Heaven. But the saint slowly opened his fan. threw it up into the air and said: "Look that way." The fan remained suspended in the air and the creases of the paper formed a stairway which reached all the way up to the moon. The em peror threw up his hands in amaze ment. THE ASCENT "Have you the courage to accom pany me now? A ruler must be de void of fear, and, besides, the stairs are broad and comfortable. The saint had already climbed over the railings of the pavilion; he held out his hand to the Son of Heaven, who followed him. without any effort they began to ascend. Soon they had passed the palace walis, the three glittering streams, the eight branches of the river which sur rounded the walls of the city. Shortly afterward the city disappeared in the distance. More and more indistinct mountains, plains and cities passed by the wanderers, who kept on ascending bathed in light. "What part of the country is under neath ua now 7" asked the emperor. No Pardon Came Too Late CopjTlffcr, 1013, International Newa Swrric*. Quite a Nice Little Surprise Copyright, 1913, International News Service. A Shadow Falls on Shrimp Flynn Today's Complete Story looking down. ' We are passing the frontier of Tientschl." said the saint, "the mountains of the west are dis appearing, and now we are above another province." "I know very well that I am dreaming," said the emperor, "and still it seems to me that I am awake. What I see is only a dream picture, but tomorrow you will try to per suade me it was real and that I did not dream at all. But how will you prove it to me?" "Have you anything with you, oh, Lord, the like of which nobody else possesses?" "In my belt I have two gold coins; they were coined at the mint this morning, and there are no others like them in the world." "Now I know exactly above which part of your empire we are. We will throw the two gold coins down the stairs' and we will surely find them again." The next morning when the em peror awoke in his palace "What! Does the story end thus? What about his arrival in the moon and the wonderful things he saw?" THE COINS "Alas. I did not accompany them on the voyage," said the mandarin. "All I can tell Is that the gold coins were found more than 100 Chinese miles from the city, but I am told that ln the moon all the dreams of the poets have been realized and that their beauty surpasses' all ■under standing." "But can not you tell at least how Litaipe was destroyed by the moon?" "Oh, everybody knows that. One evening the poet ate his evening meal on the river. The air was un usually clear and the water so trans parent that you could not see it at all. Far down in jts depths the moon was glistening just above the sky and ih'ere were as many stars below as above. Litaipe leaned over the edge of the boat and stared long ingly down into the depth. 'In the unkonwn,' he said, 'there is neither height nor depth. The moon is call ing me and tells me that when I reach it, it does not matter whether I go up or down." At this moment a wonderful harmony filled the air, a breeze floated across the river and two young gods carrying silken ban ners stood before the poet. They had been sent from the ruler of the Heaven to conduct him to his place ln the heavenly region. A dolphin came swimming up to the boat and Litaipe mounted its back and, pre ceded by the diving youths, he slowly vanished in the deep." "Perhaps your great poet was sim ply intoxicated and fell into the river." The august mandarin shook his bead as if he did not hear, and a THE GRIND WILLIAM F. KIRK IT is not the patient labor of the man that tills the soil, Though his muscles slowly stiffen after years of steady toil. . He must creep away to slumber ere darkness shrouds the earth; He must start anew his plodding when the birds first trill their mirth; But no blight is cast upon him at the moment of his birth. It is not the rough endeavor of the men that sail the seas, Though great Neptune's home is latticed with the bones of such as these. God can blow them with his bellows from a long expected coast Out to meet the Flying Dutchman, captained by a gibbering ghost. But they are not doomed to failure, even they who suffer most. No. The grind is in the city, where too many beings strive. Where the weak, all unconsidered, drop like dead bees from a hive. There the grind is grim and ghastly; there the herd must squirm and shove, J Trampling on the weaker mortals God intended they should love. Yet the strongest swimmers linger, glad to keep their heads above. furrow of sorrow came upon his fore head. The airy foam of the cham pagne had vanished, and with it the Images of a beautiful past. A cloud passed across the moon. Will it open? Will the fan of the wizard once more form a broad stair way to the luminous disc? The moon which science now brings within a few meters distance ig no longer the moon of the poets* the dreams ol imagination fly before the dissecting knife of the scientist. And with Li taipe we must in the depths of the river look for all the beautiful image* which found their tomb there witb the youth of the world.