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Updated: May 9, 2025
But at the moment I had no such ray of comfort and, full of rage and shame, I dashed the paper down before Mackaye. "How shall I answer him? What shall I say?" The old man read it all through, with a grim saturnine smile. "Hoolie, hoolie, speech, is o' silver silence is o' gold says Thomas Carlyle, anent this an' ither matters. Wha'd be fashed wi' sic blethers?
And she sat down, and began stitching frantically at the riding-habit, from which the other girl had hardly lifted her hands or eyes for a moment during our visit. We made a motion, as if to go. "God bless you," said Ellen; "come again soon, dear Mr. Mackaye." "Good-bye," said the elder girl; "and good-night to you.
Mackaye?" "Read yer book till I tell ye." And he twisted himself into his best coat, which had once been black, squeezed on his little Scotch cap, and went out.
There's a row somewhere, and I'm out of it! The Nilghai commanded silence in vain. 'That's for my sake, Dick said bitterly. 'The birds are getting ready to fly, and they wouldn't tell me. I can hear Morten-Sutherland and Mackaye. Half the War Correspondents in London are there; and I'm out of it. He stumbled across the landing and plunged into Torpenhow's room.
Sara Teasdale her poems of love her youth her finished art Fannie Stearns Davis her thoughtful verse Theodosia Garrison her war poem war poetry of Mary Carolyn Davies Harriet Monroe her services her original work Alice Corbin her philosophy Sarah Cleghorn poet of the country village Jessie B. Rittenhouse critic and poet Margaret Widdemer poet of the factories Carl Sandburg poet of Chicago his career his defects J. C. Underwood poet of city noises T. S. Eliot J. G. Neihardt love poems C. W. Stork Contemporary Verse M. L. Fisher The Sonnet S. Middleton J. P. Bishop W. A. Bradley nature poems W. Griffith City Pastorals John Erskine W. E. Leonard W. T. Whitsett Helen Hay Whitney Corinne Roosevelt Robinson M. Nicholson his left hand Witter Bynner a country poet H. Hagedorn Percy Mackaye his theories his possibilities J. G. Fletcher monotony of free verse Conrad Aiken his gift of melody W. A. Percy the best American poem of 1917 Alan Seeger an Elizabethan an inspired poet.
Sandy Mackaye had a great fancy for political caricatures, rows of which, there being no room for them on the walls, hung on strings from the ceiling like clothes hung out to dry and among them dangled various books to which he had taken an antipathy, principally High Tory and Benthamite, crucified, impaled through their covers, and suspended in all sorts of torturing attitudes.
Argemone Lavington, the heroine of Yeast, is, though not of the most elaborately drawn, one of the most fascinating and real heroines of English fiction; an important secondary character of the second book, the bookseller Sandy Mackaye, is one of its most successful "character-parts." Both, but especially Yeast, are full of admirable descriptive writing, not entirely without indebtedness to Mr.
Crossthwaite went on to speak of Mackaye. "When old Mackaye's will was read, he had left £400 he'd saved, to be parted between you and me, on condition that we'd go and cool down across the Atlantic, and if it hadn't been for your illness, I'd have been in Texas now."
And my spirit, deep enough already, sank deeper still into sadness; and I felt myself alone on earth, and clung to Mackaye as to a father and a father indeed that old man was to me. But, in sorrow or in joy, I had to earn my bread; and so, too, had Crossthwaite, poor fellow!
Mackaye everything," said poor Lizzy. "A pleasant story, isn't it? Oh! if that fine lady, as we're making that riding-habit for, would just spare only half the money that goes to dressing her up to ride in the park, to send us out to the colonies, wouldn't I be an honest girl there? maybe an honest man's wife! Oh, my God, wouldn't I slave my fingers to the bone to work for him!
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