IN THE DAYS of the almost forgotten silent movies, in order to assist a star to arrange her features so that they would register soulfulness, directors would sometimes order a violinist to do some melancholy scraping during the shooting.
THE THING above all others that men and women desire is security. Security of their jobs, their homes, their family life, their children’s future. Individual security depends upon security of the State. Security of the State depends upon its credit at home and in the countries with which it deals.
A PROMINENT CLERGYMAN, Rev. Dr. J. B. Paulin, recently returned to a Toronto church after years of service elsewhere. Tucked away in the newspaper reports of the welcome accorded him, was this paragraph: “He was born at Arthur, Ontario, and is a graduate of a school which, out of a roll of 75 students, has produced more clergymen, doctors, teachers and lawyers, than any other of its size in Canada.”
DARLING, I won’t be home to dinner tonight,” Bab remarked sociably. Sitting cross-legged on the foot of Dick’s bed, she went on daintily but thoroughly consuming coffee and toast and marmalade from a tray. She balanced the tray with dexterity on the daffodil silk of her pyjama knees.
IF MR. R. B. BENNETT were a Rousseau or a St. Augustine or a H. G. Wells and sat down to write his autobiography or his “confessions,” what would he tell? What would he reveal of the motives or processes which, almost overnight, seemingly have transformed him from orthodox conservatism into a crusading radical?
A Canadian author tells of his experience as technical director of a famous film
WHEN THE R.K.O. studios of Hollywood telephoned me one morning to ask if I would become technical director of Sir James M. Barrie's “The Little Minister,” which they were shortly to film, I felt honored and at the same time a little timid—honored because I had long been an admirer of James Barrie’s works and he had befriended me many years ago at the beginning of my career as a writer; timid because I was afraid it might turn out that what I did not know about Scottish history, backgrounds, characteristics and literature would be greater than what I knew, although I was born and educated in the “Land o’ Cakes” and had been a lifelong student of Scottish history and literature.
I’D BEEN out of town all day, delivering down the cheese factory road, so it was near quitting time when I headed the old truck down First Avenue toward the warehouse. And the farther downtown I got, the plainer I could see that the citizens of sleepy old Mapleton had come to life with a bang.
THE DIFFERENCE between a salesman and a trader is about a hundred years in experience. Nowhere is this difference more manifest than in the record of United States private investments in foreign countries during the eleven years between the Armistice and the Wall Street débâcle of 1929.
HARVEY JACKSON, one of the most effective and certainly the most sensational hockey player of the present day, was born in Toronto in 1911 and—fortunately for himself, the Maple Leafs and hockey followers in general—he grew up within a backhand shot of a hockey arena.
AS MISS PHYLLIS PINCKNEY came out of her hotel on Piccadilly, she saw with a relief truly Canadian that this at least was not to be a rainy day. London had dripped the night before when at the inconvenient hour of eleven the boat train had deposited her, her aunt, eleven trunks, a Pekingese dog and a sleepy maid in the dreary vastness of Waterloo Station.
IF THERE’S an international accord on anything, it’s found in the observation of meal time. True, there are national, local and even individual interpretations of the rite of eating. And there are, of course, diets. But a diet is something different again.
LONDON journalism was in a bewildered condition. Lord Northcliffe strode the scene like a colossus. His Daily Mail had emerged from the war with a huge circulation and immense prestige. Northcliffe had attacked Kitchener in the war and had exposed the scandal of the shell shortage.
The characters and incidents in this story are purely fictitious.
JAMES MACARTHUR, director of the Parson Line at Havana, flicked the ashes from his cigar and frowned uneasily. “Don’t take it out on me, Britten. The Atlantic Corporation has taken over the line and Morton’s the man who does the talking. Morton’s the man you'll have to convince, Britten, and I don’t mind telling you he’s a tough baby when he gets an idea in that head of his.”
AYE,” FLOOD REPLIED, "and your bodyguard encountered me also. It’s sorry I am I had to deal with this fellow so roughly.” He indicated the still unconscious man at his feet. “My bodyguard?” she exclaimed. "I think you’re mistaken, Captain Flood.”
FROM ITS content you would scarcely believe that “Lives of a Bengal Lancer,” a tale of British rule in India, is an American picture; except that it is doubtful if an English company would have ventured to out-Kiple Kipling as enthusiastically as Paramount has done in this film.
Bright Eyes—Tearful tale of an orphan child, with some fine junior dramatics by Miss Shirley Temple. For all Temple admirers. The Mighty Barnum—Wallace Beery as the First American Showman. Very good, Beery, but not very believable Barnum.
LITERATURE of every kind is made available to the blind by the invention of a talking book. Two of the records, one sixteenth-inch thick, will record the reading of a novel of average length. Crowding this surprising amount of speech into one of the records is accomplished with the aid of a new speed control device that is used in both recording and reproducing the sound.
IN A few weeks I will be celebrating my 77th birthday and when I say “celebrating” I mean just that, for birthdays have no terror for me. I rather welcome them because each year that I live without getting older is further proof that my science of living is right.
Re Major Strange’s article on the drought situation, I agree with him in general, but the last few paragraphs attracted my attention the most, and the following thought came to my mind: Let the Dominion Government levy onetwentieth of the wheat crop of all farmers now in the recognized dried-out areas, say for a period of from five to seven years when they have normal crops.
A FEW COATS of paint do the same thing for a house as a new hat does for a woman—raises the spirits, gives a fresh interest in life and makes the world seem not such a bad place after all. No need to remind the ladies that it’s time for a spring chapeau, but let me say a word for the silent sufferer in the doldrums.
SO MUCH emphasis has been placed on the “freshness” of coffee by ingenious advertising schemes, that the chemist has evolved a new kink that seems to cap the climax. Purchasers, confused by conflicting claims of freshness, need no longer wonder whether or not they are getting “fresh” roasted coffee, for chemistry is going to tell them as soon as they open the can.
The lady-lecturer exclaimed, In accents quite impassioned, That husbands always were ashamed Of wives grown too full-fashioned. I would not cause my husband pain, So was most conscientious My figure trying to restrain From being too pretentious.
A Screen Scream—A film has been made of a baby’s life for the first nine months. It should be a perfect scream.—The Passing Show. Help, Help!—The secret of getting help when your need is great is to call on those who haven’t got anything.—Toronto Star.
Proof of the Party—Johnny had been the guest of honor at a party the day before, and his friend was regarding him enviously. “How was it? Have a good time?” he asked. “Did I?’ was the emphatic answer. ‘I ain’t hungry yet!”—American Boy. Merely a Detail—One night a man in a car was run down at the level crossing.
THE ONTARIO GOVERNMENT has removed from the list of King’s Counsellors the names of lawyers who failed to pay the $100 fee involved in acceptance of the silk. Newspapers report that among those deprived of their K.C. is Hon. G. Howard Ferguson, Canadian High Commissioner in the United Kingdom and former Premier of Ontario.