THERE is bound to come, some day, a great struggle between things socialistic and things individualistic, in Canada. I am using the word socialistic in a very wide sense. Sir James Whitney, the Premier of Ontario, and the farmers of the western plains, are the “Socialistics” of Canada.
What Canada’s attitude will be on the various questions of Empire to be discussed by the Six Premiers in London
Harry W. Anderson
IN a dingy, comparatively small, manytimes-historic room in the Colonial Office on Downing Street, there met on May 22nd, a “Parliament” representing the entire British Empire. It is unique in world history; it is the latest development of monarchical democracy.
IT was twelve o’clock at night, but the Manager’s Wife, the Bookkeeper’s Wife, the Doctor’s Wife, and the Wife of the Night Foreman were still playing euchre in the shanty of Mrs. Harney, the Doctor’s Wife, in the camp of the Cuban Construction Company; while the Wife of the Walking Boss was sitting on the lounge, nursing a very wideawake baby.
I saw a rich man buried yesterday And all the breathless street stood whispering. What time he passed from sunlight to a tomb. Rank upon rank, a curious populace Computed his possessions, tearless, cold; Till durance spake with grim insistency, Drave them reluctant to the counting-house, The market place, the engine and the forge; Some to austere pain-ridden hospitals, Some to the wrinkled river with its ships; Till the black cortege was a memory And the dull roar of commerce throbbed again.
"I'LL not be at the office after 2.45. The—er, I mean I have a most important engagement at—oh, well, never mind the rest.” Thus Mr. George Dalhousie, a junior partner of the great brokerage firm of Dalhousie Brothers and Company, to his confidential clerk.
I idly set myself to sing An idyl of an idle King. An idyl is an idle song That’s sung to please the idle throng. I found his ancient idol, Jing, Was twice as idle as the King— There I’ve begun my idyl wrong, I find that idol’s name was Jong. This idol, Jong (or was it Jing?)
A ROBIN appeared in a Montreal back-yard one day, and throwingout his chest, announced to all and sundry, but particularly to a lady of his acquaintance, that he had secured a suitable telephone pole from which to discourse to the earth beneath upon the delicacy of spring worms.
ON a bright June morning, the big liner New York, held in leash at her pier, was trembling and palpitating, the mighty heart of her engines beating fiercely, ready for the word to begin her quick dash across the Atlantic. Up in the chart-room, Captain Inness sat at the table with Roger Fosbrooke, a keen-eyed, well-set-up man who was one of the lawyers for the company, and Dixon, an extraordinarily dull-looking fellow, shabbily dressed, yet who was one of the most capable men in the detective service of the New York.
BETWEEN Winnipeg and Port Arthur, coming down on the railway which George Ham of the C. P. R. says was built by “Two (K) nights and a Night Mare"—but, of course, Mr. Ham only said that for fun—you fly past one of the hundred lost trails of Canada without so much as knowing what you are passing.
WE made McCrimmon comfortable. We kept no whiskey in the cabin, but we gave him some hot coffee, which he drank with great satisfaction. Then he twisted a cigarette, lit it, and looked at us keenly. On his brown flattish face were remarkable the impassivity of the Indian and the astuteness of the Scot.
ONE of the last acts of Earl Grey as Governor-General was to warn the Canadian people against the ravages of the fly. Not the black fly, or the deer fly, although Lord Grey probably had some personal experience of what these blood-suckers can do, when he was on his fifteen hundred mile canoe trip through the Hudson Bay County last year.
THE fare is nine-pence from Slough and a shilling from Windsor. The stage-coach, or as they call it in England—the Brake, runs three times a day. Or if you do not wish to spend the time bowling along the Buckinghamshire roads behind horses, you may travel by train to and from Windsor for the very moderate rate of three shillings return.
I REMEMBER seeing it—the sweet-grass basket—thirty years ago, when first, a little lad, I visited Rose Lady in company with my Mother. And just yesterday I saw it again. Only this time I understood, while on that earlier day my childish heart could only wonder.
AMONG the numerous amusing pictures dealing with the subject of motoring, one of the most ludicrous ever published is the one depicting the last remains of a car lying at the edge of a ditch, with the few remaining drops of gasolene in its tank burning out.
NIGHT had fallen on that great and beautiful city known as Bagdad-on-the-Subway. And with the night came the enchanted glamor that belongs not to Arabia alone. In different masquerade the streets, bazaars and walled houses of the occidental city of romance were filled with the same kind of folk that so much interested our interesting old friend, the late Mr. H. A. Rashid.
AWAY back in the rugged interior of Northern Ontario and Quebec, and down through the no less wild and hilly regions of eastern Quebec and New Brunswick, the bridge builders of the National Transcontinental are at work erecting the two hundred and forty permanent steel structures that will carry the road through from Moncton to Winnipeg.
A MAN by the name of Burns has been making himself famous in the United States, and in fact, all over the world, as the man who claims to have captured the dynamitards who wrecked the Los Angeles Times Building. The labor unions claim that Burns is an enemy of organized labor, and that his case against the McNamara brothers is “faked.”
TO defend angling against the views of a non-angler is about as satisfactory, says Edwin L. Sabine, writing in Recreation, as recommending marriage to a confirmed bachelor. He sees only the outside. You can’t lend sentiment. There are men who see in a stream only something wet, purling and dashing poetically, or else persistenly blocking the way when one wishes to pass; others will step into that stream at sunrise, pipe in mouth, inhale a puff as they make the first cast and remember to exhale it only when they step out at sunset.
CANADA has been stirred by the allegations made by a London woman against the morality of public school children. The resultant discussion has made it apparent that there are these evils, to which the London woman referred, among a terrifyingly large percentage of Canadian school children.
WHEN you see a man loitering around premises which do not belong to him; when, furthermore, you detect him looking through the windows, trying their fastenings and those of the door, it is safe to assume that it bodes no good to the owners of the property, says J. H. Manners Howe in London.
WHEN the average man buys a single typewriter he feels as though he has made a big purchase, and the average typewriter salesman must find one such every day he is on the job if he expects to retain the respect of the head office. There are hundreds of men selling typewriters whose average is better than a machine a day, but when a man, single-handed, against the most fierce competition, bags an order for 475 machines all at one time, capturing a sale representing in money $42,750, he has accomplished something that makes his competitors take cognizance of his existence.
THE Wide World Magazine contains an account of a remarkable matrimonial Mecca in Tennessee, whither eloping copies from all parts of the States come to be united by Mr. Burroughs, the “Marrying Parson,” who has a record of over three thousand marriages to his credit.
BELOW we re-print a delightful editorial which appears under Temple Scott’s name in the Forum. Making a living is not living; making a living is only a means to living. We have not thought of this, of course. We are so tasked in the work that we have not the time in which to recover ourselves for reflection.
THIS thousand-year-old observation by England’s wisest ruler recognizes the fact that fine weather induces good tempers, and therefore amply justifies the proverb that shrewdly bids one “Do business with men when the wind is in the northwest.”
SOUTH and west section of house on the corner of St. George Street and Bernard Avenue. Toronto, built for Mrs. H. C. Hammond. The material is red brick and grey stone, with stone mullioned windows. The two windows each side of the entrance are on the north side of those of the dining-room and on the south of those of the drawing-room.
“Hook y’ up? Yas’m, Ah shuah will,” said Jim, of the Toronto-Sarnia run, to a solitary matron in the sleeper’s dressingroom, who had struggled to reach around her right shoulder-blade until she was in despair. “One o’ them side-winders, ain’t it?” he went on, skilfully closing hook and eye.