Seven Days. This was a comedy which flourished on the stage many years ago. In reproducing it for the films they did not take into consideration the infinite capacity of playwrights to borrow Unconsciously or otherwise almost all of the situations have been used over and over again in subsequent entertainments. The film seems to lack novelty. It is the story of a young man who acquired a wife to please his aunt. Creighton Hale is entertaining.

The Coast of Folly. Gloria Swanson is back again in her first picture since the trip to France on which she did Madame Sans Gene (TIME, Apr. 27) and acquired a count for husband. The new picture is a throwback. Miss Swanson spends most of her time wearing gowns and wandering among expensive stretches of scenery. Most of the latter are in expensive sections of New York and at Palm Beach. There is too little story to make it at all worth while.

The Love Hour. Another aged theme works overtime to entertain and does not make the incline. A rich man marries a shop girl and the villain tries to get her to divorce him. Love triumphs.

The Mystic. The single good film for the week deals with spiritualism. The strange and occult practices carried on in its name are "exposed" through various adventures, at which the hair, if it does not rise, at least starts off the head occasionally. The film is not a serious slaughter of spiritualistic knavery. It is mostly for entertainment. Conway Tearle helps with an admirable performance.

The Limited Mail. In the old days about all you had to do was wreck a train and they called it a successful movie. About all they do in The Limited Mail is wreck a train, and one would scarcely call it a success. It is about a tramp who caught hold of life in large chunks and made a man of himself and became the engineer of The Limited Mail. The Mail Clerk and he were both in love with the same girl. Accordingly it was fitting that the clerk be killed and the engineer saved from the wreck.

The Merry Widow. Love's riotous comedy supreme gave Director Erich von Stroheim a thousand opportunities to present the tintinnabulating toe, the flirting knee. Much to his credit, he seized only the hundred best, and between times permitted Mae Murray to stand still long enough to act. Grandly she, the widowed Midasette, rebuffed the too confident lips of two Princes. And at the end--when the film became a gorgeous mass of greenery, blazing red uniforms, glittering gems-- most elegantly did she submit to the manlier, younger, poorer son of a King.

The Golden Princess is neither the first nor the most important of Bret Harte's tales to be done into celluloid. It manages to preserve all the vices, none of the virtues, of the script. Some will enjoy it because it furnishes Betty Bronson with an opportunity to see how girlish she can make a pair of ordinary corduroy breeches; others will be irate because they misread "Bret" for "Bill".