The foremost Impersonator of America, who will make a limited tour in the South next season. ] [Illustration: KATHERINE RIDGEWAY, Who, assisted by her splendid company of artists, will be a strong feature on many of the leading courses of the South, the coming season. She has for several years been the most popular lady entertainer in the North and East. ] [Illustration: CAPT. JACK CRAWFORD. The Poet-Scout. ] Capt. Jack Crawford, who has long been prominent as soldier, poet and entertainer, has achieved a new success in his article in the _Munsey Magazine_ of February, entitled “The Last of the Indian Chiefs.” This article is intensely interesting and discloses some astonishing facts with reference to certain supposedly great Indian warriors, who were in reality the creations of sensationalists and dime novel writers. It is so seldom we meet a man with courage enough to deliver facts which turn a hero into a fake, that we are refreshed with the very presence of such a man. We are glad to have the privilege to present to our readers this tender and beautiful little poem from the pen of the Poet-Scout. WAITING IN THE ANTE-ROOM. I saw her face in the pansy, I caught her breath in the rose, And my heart went out on a fine love scout To the land where the daisy grows. In the brook I heard her laughter Like an anthem from afar, Or the echoing where the angels sing And the gates are just ajar. Then I closed my eyes in dreamland And joined my heart on the scout; And I wandered away to a mound of clay Where she sleeps since the light went out. And there in the Southwest sun land I knelt by my darling’s tomb, And I whispered low: “My dear child, you know, I am here in the ante-room.” —_Capt. Jack Crawford._ [Illustration: FRED EMERSON BROOKS. ] Fred Emerson Brooks, the poet-humorist of the West, who loves the South and is one of the favorites of Southern people. No more beautiful tribute has ever been paid to the valor of the Southern soldier than is paid in Mr. Brooks’ great poem, “Pickett’s Charge.” UP AND KISSED HER. Cupid knew a maiden fair— Flying round about he met her— Told her of a youth’s despair, Who was dying just to get her. Every time the youth would pass By some strange mischance he missed her Till at length he met the lass, Then he straightway up and kissed her. Kissed her Missed her Then he straightway up and kissed her!