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    1. Camp Starts In: 228 Days Of course he was perfectly right, and I was more than foolish to ask him these questions. But I flogged at it.


      This website template has been designed by Free Website Templates for you, for free. You can replace all this text with your own text. By this time he had poured out, and I had drunk most of, the whisky. A peculiar thing happened: whilst it was I who drank the whisky, it was he who became genialmore than genial: almost friendly.

      • Vivamus at justo ut urna porta pulvinar Years ago Ruskin wrote Rossetti a curious letter: he said he could regard no man as friend who did not value his (Ruskins) gifts as highly as he (Ruskin) did. Harris, no doubt, adopted the same kind of attitude towards England. England refused to accept him at his own estimate and, at length, in fierce disgust, Harris turned his back on a country which he deemed unworthy of him.

      • Pellentesque nunasidp adipiscing sollicitudin dolor id sagittis. Of all unhappy artists the most unhappy are those who are impelled by temperament to mingle social propaganda with their artistic work. Rutland Boughton has the soul 260of the artist-preacher. He has persuaded me to many things: he almost persuaded me to try vegetarianism, and I remember one morning very well when, sitting on the end of my bed, he pointed a finger at me and enumerated all the evils that infallibly follow on the immoderate drinking of whisky.

      • Donec sit amet felis a nibh ornare malesuada. Artist (looking wildly round). If you were to suggest such a thingof course, you havent done so yetbut if you were to suggest it....

      • Etiam et tellus mi, et semper lectus. My visit to Elgar took place during his estrangement from Newman, and when I mentioned the subject of musical criticism to him it was, I imagine, with the hope that the name of the famous critic would crop up. It did.

      • Quisque in purus nec purus feugiat consectetur. Of poets of the younger generation I have met only threeLascelles Abercrombie, Harold Monro, and John Masefield. Abercrombie I remember as a lean, spectacled man, who used to come to Manchester occasionally to hear music and, I think, to converse intellectually with Miss Horniman. Of music he had a sane and temperate appreciation, but was too prone to condemn modern work, of which, by the way, he knew nothing and which by temperament he was incapable of understanding. He struck me as cold and daringcold, daring and a little calculating. He appeared unexpectedly one day at my house, stayed for lunch, talked all afternoon, and went away in the evening, leaving me a little bewildered by the things he had refrained from saying. Really, we had nothing in common. My personality could not touch his genius at any point, and the things he wished to discussthe technicalities of his craft, philosophy, æsthetics and so onhave no interest for me. If I had not studied his work and admired it whole-heartedly, I should have come to the conclusion that he had written poetry through sheer cleverness and brightness of brain. No man was less of a poet in appearance and conversation. He professed at all times a huge liking for beer, but I never saw him drink more than a modest pint, and his pose of muscular poet (a school founded and fed by Hilaire Belloc) deceived few.

      • Fusce et ipsum dolor lorem ante, at sollicitudin libero. He then told me of his early attempts to win fame. Like many other successful writers, he began in Fleet Street. The work there did not suit him, and he soon abandoned it. He married early, lived with his wife in a couple of rooms in Chancery Lane, and for a little time picked up a living as best he could. The story of his first wifes extraordinary success with John Chilcote, M.P., is common knowledge. That success preceded his own by two or three years, but he had not long to wait before his own work found and pleased the public.

      • Etiam et tellus mi, et semper lectus. Mrs Arnold. True! True!... But then, what about Felicia Hemans?

      • Vivamus at justo ut urna porta pulvinar. Klindworth lingered on for some years later and, when I was in Macedonia last year, I saw in some newspaper a few lines recording his death. In the seventies he was a great figure in London, and Wagner-worshippers of those days worshipped Klindworth also, not only for his genius, but 219also for his loyalty, his noble-mindedness, his devotion to his art.

      • 11/10/2011

        This is just a place holder, so you can see what the site would look like. But my friend and I did not think so.

      • 11/19/2011

        Praesent quis nisl in velit imper diet suscipit a id quam. So we left the little room in which we were sitting and moved to the large music-room at the far end of which was a grand piano. Frau Klindworth, Dawson and I sat in the semi-darkness near the door; Klindworths tall but rather shrunken figure moved down the room to the little light that hung above the keyboard. He played some almost unknown pieces of Liszt, interpreting them in a style at once noble and half-ruined. The excitement of playing seemed to increase rather than add strength to his physical weakness, and many wrong notes were struck.

      • 11/19/2011

        Nullam vulputate elementum consequat. Fusce leo felis, bibendum. So that I feel only a woman can write at all convincingly of Yvette Guilbert. I must just gossip and prattle a little while.

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