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"It is a life which has been an Odyssey, the picturesque life a tone poet can weather through as Mr. MacGill has done." "The traits of an ardent, fearless personality, expressed in words of fire, are here again in all their lyrical richness.... The poet says: 'I sing my songs to you and well, You'll maybe like them who can tell? We do like them." Daily Chronicle.
Before the heats occasioned by this unpopular expedient were allayed, the discontent of the nation was further inflamed by complaints from Ireland, where lord Sidney was said to rule with despotic authority. These complaints were exhibited by sir Francis Brewster, sir William Gore, sir John Macgill, lieutenant Stafford, Mr. Stone, and Mr. Kerne.
Joseph Conrad, Nicholas Rimsky-Korsakov, and Patrick MacGill all were sailors for many years before they began to write. We owe "Youth" and the first section of Scheherazade to this accident. MacGill also had the privilege of digging potatoes; he writes about it in "The Rat-pit." Mrs.
Picker, carrying his noon mail, was Rev. MacGill. "Here! What's this?" demanded Mr. Picker. Then she heard Arthur, that craven-hearted, traitor-souled being she had once called "friend," that she had even desired to impress, she heard him saying: "I don't know, Mr. Picker. She just came riding in " Mr.
MacGill, after sampling the impromptu dessert, assured his hostess that her husband's eulogy had been only too moderate. He vowed he had never eaten such apple sauce. But Mrs. Merriam still looked bleak. She knew she could make a better deep-dish peach pie than Mrs. Allen could. And, then, to give the minister apple sauce and nabiscos! the first time he had eaten at her table in two months!
Arthur was very appealing when he looked at you like that his eyes so mischievous under their upcurling lashes. But Missy made herself say firmly: "You put me in a rather awkward position, Arthur. You know Reverend MacGill entrusted me to " "Oh, come out of it!" interrupted Arthur, grinning. Missy sighed in her heart. She feared Arthur was utterly unregenerate.
Just trot out some of that apple sauce of yours. Mr. MacGill doesn't get to taste anything like that every day." He turned to the minister. "The world's full of apple sauce but there's apple sauce and apple sauce. Now my wife's apple sauce is APPLE SAUCE! I tell her it's a dish for a king." And Rev.
Robin Finnie and Sandy Macgill having carried thither Zachariah Smylie's black ram, a condumacious and outstropolous beast, which they had laid in Mysie's bed, and keepit frae baaing with a gude fothering of kail-blades and a cloute soaken in milk. Mysie, on opening the door, said to the gallant cavalier,
I have learned to love my new life, obey my officers, and depend upon my rifle; for I am Rifleman Patrick MacGill of the Irish Rifles, where rumour has it that the Colonel and I are the only two real Irishmen in the battalion.
Mother followed her eyes, turned, saw, jumped up but it was too late. Mrs. Merriam viciously struck at Gypsy's muzzle and pushed the encroaching head back through the aperture. "Get away from here!" she cried angrily. "You little beast!" "I think the pony shows remarkably good taste," commented Rev. MacGill, trying to pass the calamity off as a joke.
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