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Hollywood's Latest Adventures in Matrimony
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did a rushing business among film folks.
Maybe the position of the stars has had something to do with it. It may be just a phase, a wave, as we have epidemics of floods, airplane disasters, babies, and typhoid fever. But perhaps Hollywood has really gone seriously into this marriage thing, with which she has heretofore only played. All of last year's ceremonies were quiet ones, without fuss and with attempts to avoid publicity, a fact which augurs well. It is to be hoped by those who love dear, funny, delightful Hollywood that these bridal couples will regard their new ties as permanent bonds.
Let us look back in reminiscent mood over Cupid's record for 1925.
As lack of space prohibits this being a hymn to Hymen, I can mention but a few : Gloria Swanson's marriage to the likable and more-or-lessa-Marquis Henri ; Viola Dana's acceptance of "Lefty" Flynn after a "she loves me,
she loves me not" of several years' duration; Bob Edeson's sudden marriage ; Jacqueline Logan's elopement ; the successful courtship of Claire Windsor by Bert Lytell ; Ruth Clifford's quiet marriage to Jimmy Cornelius ; Helen Ferguson's to Bill Russell; Wanda Hawley's altar march with Jay Stuart ("Stew") Wilkinson, racing driver — a dark foil for her fluffy, blond charm ; and Constance Bennett's elopement with Philip M. Plant.
Nor have the directors been ignored, for George Melford won Diana Miller, and Edwin Carewe persuaded Mary Akin to share his joys and tribulations.
The Russell-Ferguson romance has already been told about in Picture-Play. Believing in the old bromide, "Marry in haste; repent at leisure," Helen insisted upon a long engagement.
They are both so genuine, such real folks, that they seem more like the young couple setting up housekeeping next door than like actors. On Sundays, last summer,
After a long courtship, Claire Windsor and Bert Lytell were married in Mexico.
Ricardo Cortez was in love with Alma Rubens long before she knew him, and is now soon to marry her.
friends gathered at their beach place, a big, rambling, "regular" home. We all used to sprawl around on the sand after a quick swim. I always muse that nature must have been "caught in a poster mood" when evolving that particular scene. Everything conspired to Svengali me into a happy humor.
All about, the flash of movement and color, toned down subtly at the close of day. Broad, clear hues : the peacock green of the ebbingtide, a sky of infinite blue irradiating melting fires at the horizon, where the setting sun seems to drip its blood into the sea. Children dancing around in rhythm, to the beat of the waves ; parents reluctantly gathering up wraps and blankets, loath to leave.
And afterward, at dusk, we younger ones sat around a camp fire roasting wienies and humming old, old tunes.
If they keep the spirit they have now, Helen and Bill will never resort to the divorce court.
Exquisite Ruth Clifford, very much a home girl, had never been engaged and had dreamed only vaguely of romance. When, after four years of casual friendship, Jimmy Cornelius proposed^ the gate to her imaginary garden of happiness opened.
Fearing; that it might be an