n tale speaks to
the magic carpet. It carries him whithersoever he desires. This yearning
for personality in furniture begins to be crudely worked upon in the
so-called trick-scenes. The typical commercialized comedy of this sort is
Moving Day. Lyman H. Howe, among many excellent reels of a different
kind, has films allied to Moving Day.

But let us examine at this point, as even more typical, an old Pathe Film
from France. The representatives of the moving-firm are sent for. They
appear in the middle of the room with an astonishing jump. They are told
that this household desires to have its goods and hearthstone gods
transplanted two streets east. The agents salute. They disappear. Yet
their wireless orders are obeyed with a military crispness. The books and
newspapers climb out of the window. They go soberly down the street. In
their wake are the dishes from the table. Then the more delicate
porcelains climb down the shelves and follow. Then follow the
hobble-de-hoy kitchen dishes, then the chairs, then the clothing, and the
carpets from over the house. The most joyous and curious spectacle is to
behold the shoes walking down the boulevard, from father's large boots
to those of the youngest child. They form a complete satire of the
family, yet have a masterful air of their own, as though they were the
most important part of a human being.

The new apartment is shown. Everything enters in procession. In contrast
to the general certainty of the rest, one or two pieces of furniture grow
confused trying to find their places. A plate, in leaping upon a high
shelf, misses and falls broken. The broom and dustpan sweep up the
pieces, and consign them to the dustbin. Then the human family comes in,
delighted to find everything in order. The moving agents appear and
salute. They are paid their fee. They salute again and disappear with
another gigantic leap.

The ability to do this kind of a thing is fundamental in the destinies of
the art. Yet this resource is neglected because its special province is
not understood. "People do not like to be tricked," the manager says.
Certainly they become tired of mere contraptions. But they never grow
weary of imagination. There is possible many a highly imaginative
fairy-tale on this basis if we revert to the sound principles of the
story of the old lady and the pig.

Moving Day is at present too crassly material. It has not the touch of
the creative imagination. We are overwhelmed wit