W

HEN the last forest is felled, the last mountain crowned with a chaplet of empty cans, the last vistas blotted out with billboards, and when the last trout has risen to the last fly, there will still remain the unchanging and challenging sea. And men who hunger to cross swords with the elementals, and men joying in primitive conflict with the gods their fathers knew, will still be faring forth on the wine-dark seas of Homer in search of that eternal goal that is forever lost in the attaining.

Freight your argosies, if you will, with all the paraphernalia of a mechanistic age, give over sails for Diesels and your

helms to Metal Mikes and let radio make vocal even the silent heavens-yet much

upon the sea will still endure. While the earth curves under the sky that mystic circle that can never be crossed by any prow will still stand as the symbol of the great search that has made mankind a worthy foeman of the gods.

By HAROLD T. PULSIFER

his heart there will always remain a hunger for open water and a flaming memory that cannot be quenched.

The growing fleets that dot our lakes, our sounds and bays, are proof that Americans are coming to a realization that the waters are, after all, the greatest recreation ground of mankind. And when I speak of "recreation" I divide it into two divisions, so that the first means "again" and the second refers to the subject of the early chapters of Genesis.

HE

of the old wonder of the way of a ship hopeful thing in the present drift towards the waters is that yachting is becoming less and less a matter of social prestige and more and more a fundamental satisfaction. In some of its forms it can be enjoyed by any one with enough of this world's goods to possess even the humblest of cars. Those with longer purses are yearly manifesting an awakening desire to understand the intricacies, the traditions, and the art of the sport to which they give their allegiance. There are amateur designers of yachts who can give the best of professionals something to think about. Millionaires capable of navigating their own vessels around the world and a growing

The lure of great waters exists even in the microcosm of a duck pond. Give a boy a punt and a pole and let him voyage forth among the rustling cattails, and you will see in his eyes something of that wonder and delight in high adventure, something of that spirit that guided Columbus across the uncharted Atlantic. Give him a skiff to sail in the protected reaches of a sheltered harbor, and you will have launched a new Magellan. And when at last, with a sensitive hand upon the helm, with glances ranging from truck to horizon to catch the intentions of the wind, he feels the first lift of the sea under his prow as the headland is cleared, you will know that you have endowed his spirit with a power that is enduring and a joy that will last while there is breath in his body and blood in his veins. Transport him then, if you will, to the wide-spreading prairies

or the lofty peaks of great mountains.

In

Ewing Galloway, New York

host of younger men capable of commanding a schooner in an ocean race or of piloting a cruiser along the coast of Labrador are to be found in increasing numbers upon the roster of American yachtsmen. The names of those wh can handle without professional help the smaller racing yachts is already legion.

The growth in yachting and in the number of its devotees is sure proof that Americans have not wholly given themselves over to standardized living. For even if standardization is bringing the possession of crafts of various kinds to a widening group of men and women, the lure of the waters is not one which appeals to a standardized soul. T young lady in "Punch" who said to he fiancé, "George, dear, don't you think that after you've seen one wave you've seen them all?" was never destined to the command of even a rowboat. I suspect, too, that she was never destined to occupy even the commanding positio of a yachtsman's wife.

A yachtsman, no matter what h purse or his prospects, should be caught young and trained first of all in th school of small-boat sailing. Then o can seamanship become second nature then only can the instinct be trained to do without thinking what must be do when there is no time to think. When split seconds mean safety or victo

the mind that has formed in its youth the proper association tween emergencies and actions will be the best mind at the helm. The sea can be an ungentle teacher, exacting hard penalty for disobedience to its laws. It is also a great teacher which can train its followers to a selfreliance which can be learned nowhere better than under its tute

HEN the Great War was

ended in 1918, Germany was full of foreigners. There were American foreigners, French foreigners, English foreigners, and many others. The prison camps were full of 2 them. Now they were released, and allowed to go home.

Among these survivors of devastation was a bewildered Russian soldier. Home was a long way off, farther perhaps than heaven or oblivion. Here was Germany, wr a strange land, but not so strange as that

L

blackened horror rumor told him was Russia. Where should he go, and by what means? Germany was no longer an enemy country. These people were liberal in their thinking, and managed their revolutions with not so much trouble. The Russian prisoner settled down in Germany. This now was his home. It was not long before he had found more than a home. There was an affair

of the heart that troubled him mightily for a while, and then was over and done with; a mistake for two people, better recognized and admitted, with no hard feelings on either side. There had been no marriage; in the end neither wanted marriage. There was a child, a little boy; but no complications need arise from that. According to the new German laws, the Russian father paid alimony for his illegitimate son; the mother looked after the boy, which made the

arrangement complete.

When a man's life moves clearly and in the

open, there are few to trouble him. But once he is touched by mystery and suspicion, even his poverty springs to accuse him. The Russian was poor. It was difficult for him to pay his alimony, but the law demanded it, and somehow the new citizen managed his part.

But from the day that his four-yearold son was found murdered there was no hope for this man. He was accused; even his difficulties accused him, his foreign birth accused him, his very origin accused him in his strange and broken speech. There was no doubt about it! This man had murdered his boy in order to avoid

supporting him. And it would be interesting to know the mind to which this righteous and horrid suspicion first occurred. It spread rapidly to other minds. It gathered heat like a destroy

By IBBY HALL

ing flame among the worthy and indig

nant families who had their own children

to think of, those good parents who reared their young in peace and virtue. The man ought to be beheaded! With such a motive, most certainly he was guilty; moreover, he was a foreigner. What further proof was wanted?

Although the Russian spoke a halting and inadequate German, the court allowed him no interpreter; and although the German League for Human Rights fought desperately in his behalf, on circumstantial evidence the Russian soldier

was convicted and beheaded.

His life, after all, was of little value, except to himself. He has been dead now for two years, and there is no power anywhere or higher court that can return to him his life. He would no doubt have been only a little more bewildered had he been told at the time of his exe

cution that he would no longer be obscure, that he was to be a martyr, and rise to prominence in the annals of Ger

man law.

One trout has developed in these waters of bliss through the stages of egg, minnow, small fry, and parent trout. He has grown to considerable weight, but, due to his increasing sense of security and the homage given him by smaller fish, his brain has grown less remarkable every day.

Spring is well advanced in Kentucky by now. And only the other day the pompous trout was taking his airing in the bright sunshine of the South. His family and friends respected his taste for solitude; they remained modestly at a distance while the great one ascended to the air of May. Before their very eyes he made a daring leap. They waited breathlessly for his reappearance.

Meanwhile the king trout was adjusting himself to shock. Instincts, bred of generations, were slowly coming alive. Something in the depths of his sluggish mind told him that he was in the grip of the Unknown Monster which his guarded youth had flouted. Great claws

pierced the scales of his body, enormous wings pounded and whirled above his head, the rarity of the atmosphere was becoming unbreathable. Below, his glazed eyes could scarcely make out the cool, diminishing glitter of home. This was destruction. He gasped, and saw that Kentucky was lost to him for

ever.

I

Chester Conklin

in

"The Big Noise "

T'S a curious sort of garment they have wrapped around that simple

son of nature, Chester Conklin, for his current screen appearance, but it sets off his inevitable downtrodden figure to perfection. While it frequently allows vulgarity to sully its hem, the texture of it is pretty generally bright with satire and shimmering with wit. (And, thank Heaven, that metaphor's over with!)

In "The Big Noise" they have cast Chester Conklin as John Sloval, a subway guard, who takes his family on a spree to Coney Island and loses so much sleep that he's decidedly unfitted for subway guarding on the morning after. So lacking is he in the initiative required by his calling that the crowd pushes him (accidentally) under a train, causing injuries of a purely superficial sort.

This incident is seized upon by a daily newspaper as ammunition for the campaign of its mayoralty candidate, who opposes the traction company. John Sloval becomes the uncomprehending tool of reporters and ballyhoo men, and the dubious old firm of Press, Politics & Co. is held up to expert ridicule throughout the rest of the picture. The youthful and well-tailored candidate for mayor carries John around on his stumping tours and points to John's spurious bandages as mute evidence of the greed and brutality of John's employers. The great daily keeps its photographers and sob sisters busy with John's home life, and the general effect is interesting and amusing.

As for the several examples of bad taste in the picture, they're perhaps appropriate to the setting; but honestlyit's hard to see how the censors' minds work, sometimes!

The Movies

By A. M. SHERWOOD, Jr.

chief difference between the two films seemed to us to lie in the contrast between the vile treatment David got and the numerous lucky breaks enjoyed by Chad Buford. "Tol'able David" throbbed with pathos and "Kentucky Courage" doesn't; but it's a well-executed, entertaining picture and provides Mr. Barthelmess with better material than any of his recent vehicles excepting "The Patent Leather Kid."

Mr. Barthelmess, it should be added, needs to watch his weight if he's going to do adolescent rôles much longer, and so does Miss Mollie O'Day. We hope they'll accept this observation in the right spirit-and cut down on potatoes.

A Foxe.

N actor we greatly admire is Earle This expert villain stalks nefariously through the screen version of Donn Byrne's totally unreadable Irish novel and does a lot toward making it a very commendable picture.

Victor McLaglen and June Collyer, Hobart Bosworth, and several wellselected minor characters also help considerably, and the photography is consistently picturesque. There is a realistic steeplechase in which several horses run straight at the camera and jump over it; the villain burns to death in a spectacular fire; and some mist effects (invented by Dr. Murnau) are tellingly employed in a number of scenes.

"Hangman's House" was tried out on the stage by those dauntless musketeers

of the spoken drama, the Messrs. Wi iam A. Brady, Jr., and Dwight Deere Wiman; it enjoyed a run of some s frosty evenings, despite the fact that young Mr. Brady made a personal appearance, leading a horse. The Byrne novel itself may have appealed to son people, but we haven't happened to run across them. That the movie version is as good as it is demonstrates to the satisfaction of this reviewer that the screen can improve on stories-can improve stage plays, and grand operas, too.

That it doesn't do so more often is regrettable, but-stick around! The fant Cinema is growing a brain.

A

"The Raider 'Emden""

MOVING-PICTURE concern in Munich is responsible for this effort to pre sent a companion piece to the Britis made "Battles of Coronel and Falkland Islands;" but, strangely enough, it de not approach that admirable film in an bedegree. We say "strangely enough" cause one thinks of the Germans as being able to produce any kind of film and do it well, and it's a matter of record that the British cinema industry is still pecking at the eggshell. Nevertheless, this record of the sensational sea-rover Emden is grossly mishandled, whereas the less promising British subject was uncommonly well done.

The director of the German picture introduces an awful lot of propaga into this "fair and impartial reco (something the British picture se lously avoided) and he also drags in a clumsy plot, involving a lieutenant his wife. The scenes are jumpy and confused and give for the most part the impression of being about ten years