BROWSING through some early Canadian history not long ago we came across a book written by Alexander Ross, a literary fur trader. One story in it, a true story, goes approximately like this : During the winter of 1844-45 the Metis fur traders who lived on the lower Red River made an expedition to the Dakota plains for buffalo meat.
IN ONE WAY the split in the Western camp is not as wide as it looks. In other ways it’s even wider. Unfortunately the latter may prove the more serious. There was no serious disagreement, for instance, about the guilt of Red China in Korea. The long delay, the reluctance of many nations to back the U. S. resolution of condemnation, did not spring from any dispute about Chinese actions.
THE RADIO in my room in this excellent New York hotel is relating in appropriate musical terms the frustrated love of a young woman whose boy friend has momentarily, or perhaps permanently, forsaken her. The taxicabs are hooting their horns like puzzled hounds trying to pick up a scent, for it is theatre time and the traffic creeps as slowly as a mist coming up the Hudson.
A bright vision of peace in a tropical paradise led 1,700 members of a Canadian sect to Paraguay three years ago in a mass exodus from Manitoba farms. Here is one family’s story of life — and death — in the green hell where 900 still struggle to build a Vale of Happiness
W. O. MITCHELL
WITH THE VISION of a promised land to comfort them and a haven of peace in a war-torn world assured them, 1,700 Canadian-born Mennonites set out three years ago on a tragic trek to Paraguay in South America. On June 19, 1948, their train drew out from the little station at Letellier, Manitoba, to take them from the licorice-black loam of the Red River Valley to the steaming palm and bamboo and liana forests of a new and terrifying land.
Shaking a good-humored fist at the world of men, occasionally even crashing its stags and backrooms, Charlotte Whitton has become a modern symbol of the militant female. Now deputy-mayor of Ottawa she’s all set to prod some life into civic politics with her housewife’s needle
A COUPLE of weeks after Charlotte Whitton, one of the last militant suffragettes, was elected as the first woman on Ottawa’s Board of Control she heard about the annual dinner for the 1951 council and the retiring council. Charlotte called the City Hall.
Being a touching tribute and a fond farewell to the horse that hauls your bread and milk. Sure, he costs more to run than a truck, but whoever heard of a truck remembering to stop at the Browns’ house?
WHEN the first-grade school children of today grow up the only place they’ll he able to see a horse earning its own living will be on the race course, a sward jealously restricted to descendants of the Anglo-Arabian thoroughbred. By then specimens of the Percheron, Suffolk Punch, Clydesdale, Cleveland Bay, Justin Morgan and other purebred draft animals, perfected by man during a thousand years of equine eugenics, will doubtless be on show in zoos alongside their only known relatives, the zebra, the quagga and the ass.
When his father came back from the stars he smelled of fire and time
THE electrical fireflies were hovering above mother’s dark hair to light her path. She stood in her bedroom door looking out at me as I passed in the silent hall. “You will help me keep him here this time, won’t you?” she asked. “I guess so,” I said.
Science is proving that there's more in color than meets the eye. Just by showing you the right parts of the rainbow at the right time, designers can make you buy more, eat more, work harder or feel happier
A COLOR CHEMIST met a college pal he hadn’t seen for years. The friend confided gloomily that he was planning a divorce. “My wife is so jumpy and irritable I’ll go crazy if I have to live with her much longer,” he explained. The color expert went home with his friend for dinner.
The census-taker will knock at your door soon to ask what’s new and how things have been. He’s already learned a lot since his last call— for instance that husbands are easier to catch and that men will lie about their ages too
A COMPLETE stranger is going to walk up to Prime Minister St. Laurent’s house in Ottawa some day this June and ask him if he ever went to school. At the same time, other complete strangers will be asking other Canadians what they do for a living, how old they are and 27 other searching and often embarrassing questions designed to tell Canada almost all there is to know about itself.
Otello Ceroni sticks his pale face out of a hole in the Metropolitan Opera stage and tells the stars what to do and when to do it. He is unknown and unhonored hut Ezio Pinza calls him “the Toscanini of the prompters"
NIGHT after night, during the glittering season of New York’s Metropolitan Opera Company, a plump small grey-haired man does his evening’s work at the edge of the stage, right in front of the critical eyes of thousands of operalovers who never see him.
Television’s critics and boosters in the U. S. are still arguing whether it’s a good thing or not. But one thing seems certain: TV’s going to change your life when it comes to Canada
THERE’S no doubt that when television finally does come to Canada — the first station is due to open this fall—it is going to make changes in your way of life. Whether the changes will be swift and sweeping (as in the U. S.) or mild and moderate (as in Britain) depends largely on what kind of TV we get.
DIAL 1119: An occasionally interesting suspense yarn about a mad gunman who traps five carefully assorted persons in a bar and threatens to wipe them out unless the police let him see his psychiatrist. Not a bad little melodrama. HARVEY: Although less absorbing than the stage play in which Frank Fay was so wonderful, the movie starring James Stewart adds up to an evening of pleasant entertainment.
WE’VE always thought of Hay Bradbury as a veteran science fiction writer with a faraway look in iiis elderly eyes from peering into space in an effort to get a line on the Martians for stories like 1 he Rocket Man’ on page 14. Hes a veteran all right because his stories have been appearing in the pulps, and more recently in the slicks, for years; but, as we learned to our surprise the other day, he’s no greybeard.
WHILE we were staying in a hotel in England during World War I my brother and I — we were then 10 and 8 respectively decided to send birthday presents of small silk Union Jacks to the Prince of Wales and Lord Kitchener. We were autograph hounds and hoped to get their signatures from the acknowledging letters.
AMOR DE COSMOS, the publisher of the Victoria Colonist who became premier of British Columbia soon after Confederation, had his weird name to thank for losing his first election. It was in 1858, when he sought the assembly seat for Esquimalt from George Gordon.
When I was just a little guy I dreamed of growing big so I Could sail to islands overseas Where hostile aborigines Would stalk me while, supremely hold, I searched for buried pirate gold. However, in the house next door There lived a girl (one I’d ignore) Who dreamed of growing up to be The bride of someone just like me . . .
Politic Politics—Most intricate of all the political arts is criticism, as it has to stop an inch short of making it necessary to put forward an alternative program. — Victoria Colonist. Trav - Illogical — Today’s definition: Tourist a guy who travels thousands of miles to get a picture of himself standing by his car.
I’ve just been reading the editorial of Jan. 15 (“Let’s Stop the Fourth World War Too”) and I think it’s a great piece of writing and should go into every home on this continent. It’s all so true . . . we could easily take 100 million people here and not notice them— but not under our present system of finance.
AMOTORIST in Prince Edward Island thinks he has discovered how to impose a price ceiling on the rising cost of everything. He stopped at a service station recently and found two mechanics laughing while one of them read aloud from a sheet of laper.