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"What letter?" "The one you sent to father." He fingered his jaw in a puzzled way. "I never sent any letter to your father. Writing's none so easy to me, though sorry I am to say it." "Then it must have been " Light broke on her, but she paused and suppressed Patty's name. "I like you," she went on, "because you speak honestly with me." "Come, that's better." "No: I want you to understand.
And I had two children to care for, and was looking for another that never came; and the mother had left no more than buried her with a little help. So he took it with him, and we heard from him once or twice, how it fared, and that his wife took to it, and the like; and then well, writing's a burden. But, with renewed interest, 'she's a well-grown girl by now, I guess?
Lack of space forbids the inclusion of a list of Björnson's writing's. High school teachers will find suitable selections in the list of collateral readings that follows. Translations of his works by Rasmus B. Anderson, Houghton Mifflin Co., and Edmund Gosse, the Macmillan Co., will furnish students extensive and standard readings of this master story-teller.
Poetry's a Base-metal maid. I'm not sure that any writing's good for the digestion. I'm afraid it has spoilt mine." "Fear nothing, uncle!" laughed Richard. "You shall ride in the park with me every day to get an appetite. You and I and the Golden Bride. You know that little poem of Sandoe's?
What reads so unaffectedly and so felicitously, it is then seen, is but the result of exquisite consideration. It is Sheridan's whimsical line which declares that, "Easy writing's cursed hard reading." And it is Pope who summarizes the method by which not "easy writing" but "ease in writing" is arrived at, where it is said of those who have acquired a mastery of the craft,
I shall never write for writing's sake, only to make money. All my plans and efforts will have money in view all. I shan't allow anything to come in the way of my material advancement. 'I wish you every success, said Marian, without looking at him, and without a smile. 'Thank you. But that sounds too much like good-bye. I trust we are to be friends, for all that? 'Indeed, I hope we may be.
Because most of the books which seemed good to her did not, as she well knew, seem good to Neville, or to any of her children, and she wasn't going to give herself away. She murmured something about Thackeray and Dickens, which Neville let pass. "Writing's just a thing to do, as I see it," Neville went on. "A job, like another. One must have a job, you know.
"And did you get on all right?" "Yes: they only say my writing's bad. But Mr. Pappleworth he's my man said to Mr. Jordan I should be all right. I'm Spiral, mother; you must come and see. It's ever so nice." Soon he liked Jordan's. Mr. Pappleworth, who had a certain "saloon bar" flavour about him, was always natural, and treated him as if he had been a comrade.
To the left an open door led into what seemed a room for tools and farm supplies. Mark could see one corner where below a line of pegs gunny sacks, stacked and bulging, leaned against the wall. "Now if you'll further oblige me with a pencil and paper," said the girl, "I'll tackle it, though writing's not my strong suit." He pulled out a letter offering a clean back and a fountain pen.
"Maybe some of our men at New Orleans have laid us open to such a stab," he said. Then he added whimsically: "We'll go to Vicksburg with Grant, Dick, and get that silver yet." "The writing's fresh," said Sergeant Whitley, who also looked at the notification. "The paper hasn't begun to twist and curl yet. It's not been posted up there many hours."
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