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IBMRaialRglg J?HpH H8 «P&t[I pt °TU 0IU ?€* <1 s ?Si39B@ tm mS^I-PM ??wraSK ris RwMwJl WM YIm mmmi I .*53 nEss! mm wo HP m - i It 5*1 & *u*rF u%i *a*q + . _ ^-x9 0iv«q.'p3>i. \ j)9ynouaxB n°^ \ I S ? W llH PEGASUS ON A BEAT NEW YORK HAS SIX FEET OF POLICE­MAN POET. A nthony B. 3!clvernon Vlrrlte» Verse and K eeps H fs E x tra Stanzas In the Icebox— I t ’ s E asy, H e Says. From tlie New York Worltl. This will introduce Anthony B. Mc4 Kernan, policeman and poet. And, now that you have been warned, stand up; boldly or fly like a coward. Executioner, spring the drop: An officer o f the law and peace' W as Michael H oolah an ; A member o f New York’s police And every inch a man. From Munster’s rugged hills he came, He bore a truly Centic n a m e; In every verse you’ll find the same— Bould Michael Hoolahan. N ow Michael was a cunning rogue, He loved his pipe and grog, And carried on his tongue a brogue As thick as London fog. Yet notwithstanding, ne’ertheless, O f Irish wit and manliness, He had his share, I must confess— Bould Michael Houlahan. When Michael landed from the boat T w a s near the Battery W all, "B edad,” said he, “ Oi want me vote ; “ Plaze show me Tammany Hall. T hey naturalized him there, o f course, Then Michael cried, in accents coarse, "B r a v o ! Now put me on the force,” Said Michael Houlahan. He socked his “ green,” and soon, o f course, Bould Michael Houlahan Became a member of the force— A patrol po-l Ice-man. He saves his cush and minds his job, H e’s just the* cheeze— no lazy s lo b ; Begorra, bejabers,, bedad, begob— Bould Michael Houlahan. What is the verdict, men? All right, but a stay of execution must be granted until you learn more about him. He is 40 years old, was born in Ireland, came to this country in 18^8 and has been in the police department for fifteen years. He is married and has five children, and not one of them looks like a poet or a poetess. McKernan does, however, six full feet of him. He has curly hair and blue eyes, and that gives it all away. Our hero has been poeting for twenty years. As is readily apparent, he has| a batting average of .300 and can line! them out to deep center. Now and then] hr* rr-?TTs oTfnfbtfYf* ^p.ht liQiuw-nvtix oOJigsf Whenever he gets going he can’t possibly stop himself. On bis day off be hied himself to his home, mounts Pegasus and rides all around the flat. When a visitor went to his home yes­terday afternoon and asked Mr. MeKer-nan to confess, the latter promptly opened the door of the ice box and hauled forth two volumes of his favorite hemstitched verses. Some of them are signed withj the name Tyrone Benburb, which is the policeman’s nom-de-blink. 1 Car coming: i H&KySEgnyg m Woman’s Name W ISH IN G FOR RICHES. H ow vain is all the pampered, bold And haughty power o f surplus wealth. N ot all a Rockefeller’s gold Can purchase home and peace and health. N or all the treasures of the deep, Tile boundless wealth o f India’s shores, Can stay the hand of death, or keep The soul a moment longer here. : "<a Can priceless gems or countless gold Bring sweet content or peace of mind? The millionaire with wealth untold, Oft comfortless and sad we find. nstffl kEI *t®§| H u i Is i V h He knows no God but that of wealth, rlpwttr'he seldom gives one thought; Ah ; does he dream that life and health, Like luxuries, with gold are bought. Ills heart has no responsive chord, To Charity’s own sweet appeals. W ith all his wealth— a golden hoard-mm 1 1 1 For poverty he never feels. ’A favorite of a gilded ring, A pet o f luxury, sin and shame, A base, corrupted, worthless thing, A blot upon fair manhood’s name. And when his earthly lot is o ’er, And in the grave he shall recline, Between him and the humble poor There shall be no dividing line. Then here at least the poor and rich Shall on an equal basis stand. And God shall justice deal to each, W here gold no favors can command. So now. m y friend your longings cease** Let not such thoughts your mind em p loy; Home, loved ones, sweet content and peace. These are alone wealth’s dearest joy. • IK SxBMm ^ That was your own fault, bo don’t ex­pect any sympathy from this quarter. McKernan indignantly denies that he employs either his night stick or revol­ver in writing these masterpieces. And now avast, belay and hands up: ? When first I met gay Betty Bell, ’Twas down at Coney Isle. Mv heart she captured at one glance; She gave me just one smile. W e dined at Feltman’s— drank the best We danced at Luna Park. I thought I was her Candy Kid, But I was Easy Mark. w * . m m gas CHORUS. Cay Betty Bell, oh, she was swell; I loved her more than tongue could tell. I lost my heart— my roll as well To pretty, witty Betty Bell. 3 spent my roll like other jays, And then ’ twas plain to see When I was broke her love grew cold— She had no use for me. “ Young man,” said she, “since you burst, “Take my advice, skiddo; “ Your ma m ay want to see her boy— * “ I’ve got no use for you.” m are i CHORUS. Gay Betty Bell, oh. she was sw e ll: I loved her once, but mow farewell. When I was broke, she gave me— well. I’m through for good with Betty Bell. Poet McKernan also has on hand a full supply of spring and summer styles . and he can fit you out perfectly. Try this little child of passion on your gas jet: M y American Beauty rose, W here the Hudson R iver flo w s ; I loved you In life’s morning, fair and golden, And though wedded fifty years, W ith die sunshine, smiles and tears, I love you now eia in the Maytime olden. I m mmviter" Sometimes I Think It Is BUT Sometimes l Think It Isn’t S?&Hmg HII S t s * raffSI' - -i !;? ' By Velva G. Darling IS TH E R E anything more lovely than & beautiful frail woman! There is something about a frail man that is repulsive, somehow. Men were not intended to be frail, but a frail woman— with a skin like the petals of a fragrant moon-flower and deep dark eyes that ask only for kind- 111 1 I I IkI)ff im i R o b e r t B row n in g found his ideal in just such a frail worn tin— one w ho had been an invalid a i her life, and w h ose fa ce from b e ­neath lon g dark curls V; -