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Y YY iIsO1i, T Mmmmmmwmwm m@rmmmg Christmas Sectior ® CV EP Sfit’f@fi“fl@?%%@f%’?fi%@fi@@f§ § S ,]ng[l\lfi 1"1"1!’5 s Walter Wilson, Proprietor ited children full of Christmas pudâ€" ing and fathers smoking their Christâ€" mas cigars in front of meâ€"I had to cling to the handrail to prevent myself from falling. "After a rehearsal which had lasted twice round the clock I develop>q ‘flu on Christmas Eve," Miss Compton told me. "Feeling more and more miserable I went home in the early hours for a brief rest. I had to be back again at the theatre for a further rehearsal at 11 am.. howeverâ€"this on Christmas morning! I did not emerge from that until 3 o‘clock on Boxing Day mornâ€" ing, and as we played our first perâ€" formance in the afternoon you can judge for yourself how the prospect agreed with me! the second half of the show T came as near to oblivion as one can without actuailly fainting. They told me afterwards that I came to the wings and fell into the arms of my dresser. I do know that I shall not easily forget that Christmas! I was ill in bed for a week afterwards!" "By the time the curtain went up my temperature was 103, and when I had to make my first big entrance down a vast staircaseâ€"with a sea of jolly faces, exâ€" "Then I had to come down to the fcotlights and sing = big number. Everything was getting blacker and blacker. Miss Fay Compton shudders whenâ€" ever she remembers Christmas, 1932. Then, in the title rols of "Dick Whitâ€" tington," she appeared in her first pantomime in Londonâ€"at the Hippoâ€" drome. Like Mrs. Vivian, her little boyv‘s first realization of Christmas is most preâ€" cilous to her. "I suppose thatâ€"until the novelty of motherhood wears off, the chief Christâ€" mas recollection of every mother is the sameâ€"the time when her first child is able to understand what it is all about and take part in the fun. A Christmas tree smugzgleq into a nursery in the small fiours of the mornâ€" ing, a sleepy little boy awakened for haif an hour‘s crackerâ€"pulling and preâ€" sentâ€"giving while the city still sleptâ€" these are the most vivid Christmas memories of Mme Prunier, wife of the famous French restaurateur. There is a very different setting for the Christmas which ‘the Hon. Mrs. Anthony Vivian remembers best. She is the lovely young wife of the son and heir of Colonel Lord Vivian, and lives in a charming little house in Chelsea. ‘"*Travelling by theatrical trains is bad enough on an ordinary Sunday, but on a Sunday which also happened to be Christmas Dayâ€"well, you can imagine how miserable we were at the prospect! Then I had an idea. We apâ€" pealed to the railway company. We tolg them our troubles, remarking wistfully on the lovely Christmas dinners everyâ€" one else would be having while we would be cooped up in cold and comâ€" fortless railway carriages. "And although we were comparativeâ€" ly unknown, with not much money beâ€" tween us, those railway officials turn:d up trumps. They put on our coach a dining car complete with kitchen and ccok, and a pullman where we could all dance to a gramophone someone had brought along. It was a great party." I asked CGracie Fields first. L knew that her most persistent recollection would be of a Christmas when she was not a rich and successful star. "Lass," said Gracie, with that whimâ€" sical earnestness which is one of her greatest charms,. "the Christmas I reâ€" member best might easily have been the worst. It‘s years ago now. It fell on a Sunday and the whole family, my brother Tommy, my sisters Edith and Betty and sundry others, with the enâ€" tire company of ‘Mr. Tower of London,‘ in which I had my first big chance, had to travel in the early morning from the "It meant about 12 hours‘ greary conâ€" finement in railway carriages, being shunted here and there with hours of waiting in sidings, and, finally arrivâ€" ing, late at night, in a strange town. For every year it is different, in spite of what our highâ€"brow friend has writâ€" ten. Think of aâ€" row of plain little houses in a plain little street, and imagine yourself looking into each on Christmas morning. Something differâ€" ent, perhaps in only a tiny way,. is hapâ€" pening in each. Looking back on our own past years,. picking them out of the fragrant laâ€" vender sachet of our pet memories, how féew there are that exactly tally with those that went before! Thers is alâ€" ways cone Christmas, too, that needs no sorting out from the general medâ€" ley. The sight of a fir tree, the whiff of an almost forgotten perfume, a parâ€" ticular tune, the soung of a nameâ€" and back flood recollections which stand out in @ir minds. So when I read that bitter view of this delightful festival of ours I said to myself: "Let‘s confound that superâ€" cilious modern novelist. Let‘s ask a fsw wellâ€"known people to tell us of their redâ€"lettes Christmas Day." south of England to a remote northern town. Whenever I come across such a senâ€" timent I congratulate myself on being crdinary, on being the average sort of person whom the very approach of Christmas thrills to the marrow. (By Caroline Ormonde in Everywoman‘s Magazin:) ‘"‘There‘s such a sameness ab>. Christmasâ€"everybody everywhere c ing the same sort of thing. A monots ous festival, Christmas"â€"a super young person in a superior modern r some "Red Letter®" Days at Christmas Some Famous People Recall Christmas Days t hat Stand Out in Their Memâ€" ories. THE PORCUPINE ADVANCEâ€" TIMMIN®S, ONTARIO In sunny France the children do not hang up their stockings but on Christâ€" mas eve they put their shoes by the fireplace where St. Nicholas can find them. They say bad children someâ€" times find sticks left. have a feast. In Mexico they do not have any Christmas trees but tise all the goodies n a large bag and hang it high. The children find it, take sticks and break it to the get the fruits and candies, In Holland the boys and girls fill a wooden shoss with hay and put it Ooutâ€" side for Santa‘s reindeer,. In the mornâ€" ing the shoes are inside and full of presents. In Syria, if a child has been good all year and leaves a dish of sweetened water for the camel outside the door Christmas eve, in the morning he finds candies, pretty toys and pomegranate jelly left. In Norway, Sweden and Denmark the birds has a merry Christmas too and a bundle of grain is tied to a tall pole or on a building so the birds can have a feast. The Christmas story and you‘ll sit And watch me roundâ€"eyed as I read And no word of it. It was for you that Santa Claus Went out and caught those dappled deer, So Fke could harness them and drive Aâ€"gallop to our chimney here. I never knew what Christmas meant, Until you came, you funny mite, You little fuzzyâ€"headed thing, With eves like stars, so clear and bright., CcrSd@ rest t‘neg, TIAaIUAIf Christmastide! May Christ Himself by abide, And lead thee through swinging gate To high empriseâ€"the fate! ; But though you do not understand, I‘ll tell it to you just the same, The angels‘ song, the gleaming star, And how the sleepy shepherds came Pecause of you, I‘ll read again The night is darkâ€"let thy illumined face Bring light and cheer to bless thy day and race. Pass on the angel song of hope and peace, ‘Till self be shamed and bitter hatred cease. § "There I found a vast music room containing several organs and pianos, on which myself, Baldwin ‘"pere et mere" and a large troupe of young Baldwins did a satisfyingly noisy renâ€" dering of the Tannhauser overture. Letting oneself go on a collection of crgans and pianos is an excellent thing for the circulation, especially before sitting down to a Christmas dinner! "Later, I was driven back to New York City to the Metropolitan Opera House, packed to such suffocation that there was a queue of thirsty individuals beside the drinking fountains during every interval!" For the best remembered Christmas of Miss Kate O‘Brien, the Irish novelâ€" ist playwright, who won the Hawthornâ€" den prize with her novel "Without My Cloak," one must visualize a family of nine jolly children in a handsome old house on the outskirts of Limerick, "My favourite memory of Christmasâ€" time is back among those childhood scenes," Miss O‘Brien said musingly. That there may come to thee this Christmas Day, + A vision of the star that sent men on With trailing light to where a new Ligsht shone. So now that we have peeped into the memories of six women let us leave cur young novelist to hide his abashed head. Christmas is always different, ard there often is one recollection more precious and outstanding than the rest. I could not pray, Mrs. Claude Beddington, the wellâ€" known society hostess and patron of music, a witty, darkâ€"eved Irish woman who knows "everybody," told me about her Christmas of 1923. "It will always stand out in my memâ€" ory because it was so utterly different from any other. On Christmas morning I woke up to New York‘s gloriously exâ€" hilarating winter climate â€" brilliant sunshime, cloudless blute sky and just enough frost to make the ait like champagne. "After breakfast a brace of millionâ€" alires (yes, in those halycon days there were millionaires and even billionaires in the United States) called for me and transported me in a rather too fast car to spendg Christmas Day ‘at the courtry house of Mr. and Mrs. J. Baildâ€" Christmas in Other Lands A Christmas Wish (Author Unknown) t wish thee better than to thee, faithful heart â€"Abigail Cresson faith ‘with these the New Year‘s master of thy (G * Third Avenue, near Imperial Bank Irn Style and Value the Stcre that Sets the Pace The beauties of life be yours,â€" The hardships of life be forgotten This is our Christmas wish to all. Monday, December 23rd, 1935 Timmins