Motion Picture Story Magazine (Feb 1914 - Sep 1916 (assorted issues))

100 MOTION PICTURE MAGAZINE past empty huts of the bygone redman; by the fallen sills of the cabin where his mother had sprung to meet his shambling footfall ; on to the hamlet where lived his desired one. And when she arose from her high-humming spinning-wheel to take his hand slackly, two pink spots, like arbutus, the woodflower, shone from her white cheeks. Then he wrapped her shawl about her and led her toward the path by the river bank, where was soft young grass fit for her to tread upon. Seeing them pass by, the wainwright, the blacksmith, the schoolmaster did not shout out, but turned their heads and blew their noses lustily, for spring was in the air, and, with it, the true love of a man they loved. Lincoln led Ann down to the river, which was smiling back at the warm sun, and she gazed across it, drinking deep of its sound, and its shape, and its bottomless soul. ' ' They say, ' ' he said, breaking in on her silence, "that New Salem is passing away — that each spring finds her settlers pushing farther into the setting sun. For you, and for me, her birth each year is imperishable, a loved child come back." "Oh, Abe, have I been dreaming? You see only beauty and godliness in everything." Her thin voice trailed off over the waters, and she shivered as he drew her shawl close. "Give me your hand, Abe, it is growing so cold." As he led her back to her room in the tavern on the hill, her doglike eyes fastened upon his, trustfully, knowing that he would not fail her at the end. He sat by her all day, holding her burning hand. Nor would he leave her for a moment, nor eat anything. Just at elf -light, when the new moon hung fairy-like and bright over the western hills, and New Salem lay hushed in the cradle of days primeval ; when the call of the highholder to his mate across the valley gave place to the recessional note of the whippoorwill ; when the strong man capable of such enduring love could only kneel at her side, Ann Rutledge, with a long, sad look into the eyes of Abraham Lincoln, passed into the spiritual world. The Moving Picture Show By AUGUSTA BELDING FLEMING this age of great inventions Marvels often common grow ; There is one we're all enjoying, 'Tis the Moving Picture show. All the fairy lore of childhood Did not tell us half we see, When the pictures flash before us In their great variety. All the grandeur of the mountains. All the romance of the West : Foaming rivers, lovely sunsets. Who can say which one is best? Ev'ry thing that we can think of, Many things we did not know, We can learn by close attention At the Moving Picture show. Lo ! the camels cross the desert. And the airship skims the skies. And the long dead men of hist'ry March before our wondering eyes. Scenes of carnage, scenes of battle, Some enacted long ago, Pass before our startled vision At the Moving Picture show. Nature's closely guarded secrets Are unfolded to our gaze ; Many things we scarce had noticed Now will win our earnest praise. Pictures tragic, pictures funny. Some will make us sadder grow. As we sit and watch the canvas At the Moving Picture show. Nature in all moods depicted ; Other lands we now behold Only by this picture magic — Can its wonders e'er grow old? If the ev'ning's long and dreary. And the time is passing slow. Don your hat and hasten townward To the Moving Picture show.