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...yours was to sign a paper to the effect that I did not have any plans of upsetting the United States government," were his first words. "This prevents me right away from giving any of my really personal views on the subject of 'prohibition'. I don't feel a bit inclined to criticise your country anyhow. It isn't done, you know. I am a visitor, a guest. But I certainly can say that I would object to my own state dictating my diet. I really think it is rather a bad thing for a policeman to tell anyone what...
...doubtful whether this juggling with the supernatural in "One" has not gone just a bit too far. The daring treatment of the theme results here in a sacrifice of plausibility to uniqueness--for the plot is certainly unique if nothing else. The ordinary mortal has no difficulty in experiencing the definite thrills of such "spook" dramas as "The Ouija Board," but in comparison, "One" is a very ambitious attempt which is not so easy to understand. The convenient method of communication between the sisters does not seem quite in keeping with customary procedure in such matters, but the exigencies...
Judging Mr. Leacock's latest effort, one finds that although each individual bit of nonsense in the collection is essentially clever, some are more spontaneous, more appealing to one's sense of the comical, than others. "Winsome Winnie" deservedly finds first place in and supplies the title to the volume...
...poetry is tonic; to quote from Mr. McLane's admirable review of Masefield's "Enslaved," it is "piercing, clear poetry." F. W. MacVeagh's "Poem" is a brilliant bit of repression, phrased with that quiet, haunting conciseness which E. A. Robinson has celebrated. Mr. McLane's "Anniversary" is tender dedication to Fadeless Love and Beauty. In "A Symbol" Mr. La Farge sails the old glamorous seas to Xanader, quite as his swashbuckling Pirate does in "Santa Spirita Harbor." Merle Colby magically weaves the burthen and repetand of "Days Falling," or in "The Singer" takes up the old ballad...
...conception of the role of fussing child-wife was perhaps a trifle artificial, but Irene Fenwick played it to the last bit. She fussed, and petted, and talked, talked, talked until every male in the audience who had ever been told to put on his rubbers squirmed in sympathy. The Northcote family was the acme of incompatability...