¶ WHEN, after nine years, a trial is still provoking front page headlines and editorial comment it becomes more than a matter of provincial interest. In recent months renewed efforts on the part of a number of prominent men to secure for Aemilius Jarvis a re-trial have been followed with interest not only by the people of Ontario, but by many in other parts of the Dominion.
You Canadians, like your British progenitors, are noted for your sense of fair play. I am, therefore, appealing to this instinct to see that this letter receives publication in your next available issue. I note in your issue of June 15, 1933, that Lieutenant-Colonel George A. Drew has made certain comments regarding my article “Can Our West Coast Be Invaded?” which appeared in the May 6 issue of Liberty.
I WOULDN’T do that, Braybone, if I were you.” As he said this, James Graunt ceased drawing with his charcoal pencil and eyed Clive Braybone, his head half turned so that his quick, dark eyes could take in every detail of the man he was sketching.
yOU’VE GOT to have an incentive for successful exercise. In school and college it’s fame, love of “dear old—” or the privilege of wearing a letter on your chest. That famous schoolmaster, Ichabod Crane, had another sort of incentive when he forced his attenuated shanks to do a mile in about “nothing flat” after the Headless Horseman of Sleepy Hollow had rudely hurled his gleaming head at the poor man.
A MILE or so south of Aurora and twenty-odd miles north of Toronto, a rough farm lane leads to an unpretentious white-plastered farmhouse. Its surroundings are plain and simple, but a certain carefulness of upkeep, generally impossible on the ordinary farm, marks the place as the home of someone not actively engaged in the business of farming.
PELEG FILLER was washing his breakfast dishes, and he disliked the task. The water was too hot for his fingers and he was awkward. It was Sunday morning though, and he wanted to have things clean when Mary, his wife, came home. Crash! A blue platter slipped from his grasp and was shattered on the floor.
A HUNDRED years ago, when a farmer’s hogs died of the cholera, instead of hiring a veterinary he looked around for a witch to burn. We laugh at this now, but human beings have a seemingly incurable habit of ascribing to some malign outside influence the evils which are brought upon them by their own ignorance.
THE RAISING of beef cattle always has been, and always will be, a very important industry in the Canadian Northwest. As the population of the Dominion increases, the more important will this industry become. Beef-cattle raising was the pioneer business of the plains and foothill country of the Canadian Northwest before grain and mixed farming commenced.
MADAME! MADAME!” cried old Stepan, panting up the slope. “M'sieu Claude est arrivé!" The tall, dauntless woman superintending the laying out of a young orchard turned sharply, and an unexpected eagerness softened her weather-scarred face.
IT’S A solid city.” The politician who made this observation about Saint John, New Brunswick, wasn’t angling for votes. He was a British politician and, being blunt, he said it because he meant it. He stood on the crest of old Fort Howe and looked out over the panorama.
SOON THEY put me in the library. I don’t know why. Possibly it was because I had published one book. Whatever the reason I soon found myself ensconced as librarian—the first librarian of that institution. Five hundred books, all new and inviting in their gay jackets, were laid out on a table in the storeroom, and my first duty was to catalogue and number them.
JIMMY MEADOWS, contract jockey for the Tremayne stable, was driving back to his hotel in downtown Toronto from an all-night poker session. As he turned out of Moorlands Park, where he had ridden three winners on the previous afternoon, the lamps of his coupé flashed upon a big car drawn up outside the gate reserved for the admission of owners and employees.
MURRAY BISHOP climbed thoughtfully into his car, stopping forty seconds later at the Diodoro. Miss Butterworth was on the balcony outside her room, and thither with all the insouciance of youth he penetrated at once. "How did you get here?” she said severely.
It is our policy to notify all subscribers well in advance of the expiration of their subscriptions. The ever-increasing demand for Maclean’s means that most issues are practically sold out before the printing is completed; and that copies are seldom available for mailing to subscribers who are even one issue in arrears.
MOST DINING ROOMS are uninteresting. Even at meal times the room lacks vitality. The family consumes the dinner as hastily as possible and then goes to some more congenial environment. It is customary in many homes to find the family congregated in the kitchen after the meal and while the dishes are being washed, discussing some topic of mutual interest while, in the dining room and while the meal was being served, a constrained silence prevailed.
TOO many people, having labored and planned during a lifetime to build up an estate, fail to make proper provision for the distribution of their estate in the event of death. It is not out of place, therefore, in these columns devoted to investment problems, to consider some of the primary advantages and requisites of a properly drawn will.
Question—As there appears to be an improvement in demand for newsprint at present, would it not be a good time to buy Abitibi common stock? Has it not a better chance than most of the other Canadian companies? What are the pros and cons for recovery of value to this stock?—G. A. R., Edmonton, Alta.
Hazardous—An artist saw an Old Countryman who, he thought, would make a good model. So he sent his maid to bring in the man to paint him. The old fellow hesitated. “Will he pay me well?" “Oh, yes; he’ll probably give you a pound." Still the old man hesitated.
The Boss—A married man can put his foot down in his own home provided there is no mud on it.—Brandon Sun. Always a Drawback—Being postmaster is not all joy. If the office is big enough to pay an adequate salary it is too big for the postmaster to read the post cards.