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    1. Camp Starts In: 228 Days It must be about ten years ago that, staying a week-end with Ernest Newman, I was taken by my host one evening to Bantocks house in Moseley. I remember Bantocks bulky form rising from the table at which he was scoring the first part of his setting of Omar Khayym, and I recollect that, as soon as we had shaken hands, he took from his pocket an enormous cigar-case of many compartments that shut in upon themselves concertina-fashion. From another pocket he produced a huge match-box containing matches almost as large as the chips of wood commonly used for lighting fires. Having carefully selected a cigar for me, he struck a match that, spluttering like a firework, calmed down into a huge blaze. He gazed upon me very solemnly and rather critically all the time I was lighting up, but his face relaxed into a 247smile when, having plunged my cigar into the middle of the flame, I left it there for many seconds and did not withdraw it until the cigar itself had momentarily flamed and until it glowed like a miniature furnace.


      This website template has been designed by Free Website Templates for you, for free. You can replace all this text with your own text. There is something there, said Shaw, nodding in the direction of the sofa, that should interest you, I think.

      • Vivamus at justo ut urna porta pulvinar How do you make that out? he asked.

      • Pellentesque nunasidp adipiscing sollicitudin dolor id sagittis. I have half-an-hour for my article, said he, rather breathlessly. Wait here till I come back.

      • Donec sit amet felis a nibh ornare malesuada. Winchester

      • Etiam et tellus mi, et semper lectus. 24Yes; perhaps I meant something like that. People who are intended to understand me will understand me. The rest dont matter. In any case, this is not a subject that has much interest for me.

      • Quisque in purus nec purus feugiat consectetur. Not often does one find a man of Hall Caines very special gifts endowed with the abilities of a financier. He is as quick and as clever at driving a bargain as a 121Lancashire or Yorkshire mill-owner. There have always been and, I suppose, always will be a large percentage of writers who are constitutionally incapable of looking after their own affairs; they can produce, but they cannot sell. Mr Hall Caine does not belong to these. He, more than any man, contributed to the breakdown of the three-volume novel system. It was he who helped to formulate the Canadian Copyright Laws. With the assistance of Major Pond (who in these days remembers the great Major Pond?) he made tens of thousands of dollars by lecturing to the Americans. He had the acumen and the courage to issue one of his longest novels in two volumes at two shillings net each. He was the first eminent novelist to make a practice of publishing his works in the middle of the August holidaysthe supposed dead season in the publishing world. He has bought farms in the Isle of Man and made them pay. He has had commercial interests in seaside boarding-houses and has shown a bold but wise enterprise in many of his investments. In other words he has, to his honour, continually exhibited abilities that not one artist in a hundred possesses.

      • Fusce et ipsum dolor lorem ante, at sollicitudin libero. (This sort of thing goes on for an hour when, very secretly and as though she were on some nefarious errand, Mrs Arnold disappears from the room. She presently reappears with a maid, who carries a tray of coffee and sandwiches. The dreadful Mr Masefield is then forgotten.]

      • Etiam et tellus mi, et semper lectus. When I called upon him four or five years ago I had, I need scarcely say, long outgrown my early infatuation, for he had begun to date, and was safely in his niche among the men of the nineties. But half-an-hours talk with him revived some of the old fascination. He had atmosphere; his personality created an environment; he brought a flavour of far-off days. We talked quite pleasantly of his art, but he said nothing that has stuck in my memory, and my questions seemed to amuse rather than interest him. His small dapper figure gave one the impression of a schoolboy who had grown a little tired, who had prematurely developed his talents, and who had just fallen short of winning a big prize.

      • Vivamus at justo ut urna porta pulvinar. Let us go to the piano, he said, rising.

      • 11/10/2011

        This is just a place holder, so you can see what the site would look like. And so he sat for ten minutes; then, with a little sigh, he rose and departed from among us, without a word, without a look. He just melted away and never returned.

      • 11/19/2011

        Praesent quis nisl in velit imper diet suscipit a id quam. Holbrookes weaknessbut I do not consider it a weaknessis his pugnacity. He has fought the critics times without number and, in many cases, with excellent results for British music, though Holbrooke must know much better than I do that in fighting for his colleagues he has incidentally injured himself. A chastised critic is the last person in the world likely to write a fair and unbiassed article on a new work produced by the hand that chastised him. But not only the critics have felt the lash of Holbrookes scorn: conductors, musical institutions, some very prosperous so-called composers, committees, publishers and, indeed, almost every kind of man who has power in the musical world, have felt his sting.

      • 11/19/2011

        Nullam vulputate elementum consequat. Fusce leo felis, bibendum. There is no doubt that our most ecstatic moments at the Cathedral Festivals were supplied by Wagners Parsifal, which Mr J. F. Runciman, in his little book on this composer, describes as this disastrous and evil opera. Only excerpts from it, of course, were given; all objectionable lines were cut out. If Parsifal is to 195be given on the platform at alland, in view of the fact that we seldom have it on the stage, why not?then it had better be given on a platform that has been erected in a spacious and beautiful cathedral. I remember those white voices floating down from a place out of sight near the roof, away above the clerestory. I always used to try to obtain a seat near some dimly stained window so that it might for me blot out the rather bewildered or consciously rapt faces of my fellow-creatures, for, in listening to noble music, I invariably feel much greater than, and curiously irritated by the presence of, other people.

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