Iron County register., 1900-02-22

footlights, to look into the kind, cage
faces Of my friends as l carry then
away, far away, into the realms o
fancy.
''But. alas, alas. for me it is finish
ed. Poor Salvador must find another
jockey. Never one that will love hin
as did, though.
''Life is matter of feeling, Of sen
sations, not of years. l would fal
rather die in March and see all, every
one, of my dear friends in the mean
time than live forever and never set
them again. There is one friend-the
Do you think God will send him tc
me? Yes, have had my romance.
haven't seen him for two, three years
Ah, feel so young to haye no more
love in my life. wish he would come,
because want to say goodby and end
all thing peacefully, say au revoir till
| heaven, for my most comforting belief
is that we shall meet there sooner or
| later.
You want to know how l felt when
the doctors told me that there was no
hope-that the utmost limit of my days
! was three months?
For a while it was awful. Never
had | thought for a moment I had any
thing serious or chronic the matter
with me. For while / thought: Il
can Ut, will not, die. I'm so young
yet. Why. I'm only learning what it
all means-what life is and how to
live it. / can't, l won't give it up.
My work, my success, my mother, my
brothers, my life, my love-every-
thing But the doctor said to me: 1t
is too late, poor little girl. Nothing
can aid you. Four, five months ago
there might have been time. To-day
you would die on the operating table.
Be brave, that's good child, and en-
joy the little of life's sunlight that yet
shines for you"
The advice was unnecessary. Never
in art, fiction or nature has woman
faced and awaited death more cour-
ageously, more patiently, than does
Jennie O'Neill Potter in her little
white cot at St. Luke's hospital.
Yes" she continued. 1.-The shock
was awful, but l am happy. Yes,
really happy. God Is so good to me.
sending all my friends TO comfort me.
And everyone here, doctors and nurses,
are SO kind to me. No, fear | shall
never get out of my cot. I'm be a
great pity if l never wear those little
pink slippers, though. won't it?
.'And then l do so long to recite
once more to a great, large audience
at the Waldorf-Astoria or some other
great big place. You know what
should like to recite? Ah, no, not
Salvador nor The Volunteer Organist'
nor Swinging in the Grape Vine
Swing nor yet .Flirts and Matrons. ;
l want to tell the public and my friends
just how felt when the doctors told
me l must die.
"Yes, l always was dramatic and
emotional, and shall die game. How
would do it? fear would not have
strength enough to stand up and do it,
so l would give it lying down on a
couch. and l should like to wear a
pink silk negligee gown. 1t would be
pretty, wouldn't it? l always adored
dainty, lovely things. Did you ever
see me give 'Flirts and Matrons?'
Weren't the changes stunningP They
cost 1900.
That reminds me. a man broke in
to my fat the other day. He stole one
of those dresses. 1t cost 5000. He
pawned it for 81 and sent me the ticket.
always said there was something
good In everybody.
"What was good about him? The
ticket, of course. He might have torn
1t up. As it was it cost him cents to
mail it,"
On December last Miss Potter ap-
peared for the last time on the plat
form, and it was in a good cause. She
got up an entertainment at which she
appeared no less than twenty-four
times herself in aid of the poor child
ren belonging to the parish of st.
Thomas church. The funds she netted
brought them their Christmas tree:
many a poor child is wearing to-day
shoes and stockings and dresses the
fruits of poor Jennie O'Neill Potter's
last effort In the field where she has
reaped so many and such brilliant sue
cess.
Now she awaits the inevitable end,
for deadly cancer is guawiug at her
and will reach vital spot, according
to the doctor. early in March, and yet
the nurses at the hospital say that the
brave little western girl is really hap
py.
She sings to herself all day long. and
as the evening falls over the big build
ing up on the hill not far from Grants
tomb from Jennie O'Neill Potter's
room comes the sound of hymn. As
she softly croons doctors and nurses