Word: mcfee
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...Significance. Here is a cross-section of one type of British life, portrayed with an observation keenly penetrating but rich with understanding. It is not the best thing the author has done, but it is decidedly good. These people are so real that one is sure Mr. McFee has, for our benefit, graciously detained them be tween the book covers for an hour or so, but as soon as is polite, they will walk right off the last page, through the back cover, and on with their own all-absorbing concerns. The style is bewilderingly and fascinatingly reminiscent of Conrad...
...Author. William McFee is a stocky man, blond, with vivid sea-blue eyes. Son of a British sea-captain, he was born, in 1881, in a three-masted square-rigger, Erin's Isle, homeward bound from India. Educated in English schools, a prodigious reader, he found the lure of the sea was in his blood. So at 24 he qualified as Engineer and ever since has cruised about. Most of his writing was done in the Chief Engineer's room of his various ships and was sandwiched in between long hours with engine pumps, port boilers, bilge rams...
...shown in previous annals. This is due to the able leadership of Homer St. Gaudens (son of the famed sculptor), who has been Art Director of the Carnegie Institute for the past three years. Among the American paintings are works of Kenneth Hayes Miller, John Sloan, Henry Lee McFee, Mahonri Young, Eugene Speicher, William Glackens, Maurice Sterne, Robert Henri, George Bellows...
...passion for the sea is well known. He might almost be called a non-sea-going captain, so frequent are his contacts with things of the sea (notably, perhaps, William McFee), and so genuinely impressed is he by anything or anybody that seems salty...
...technical problems of serial fiction were commonplaces of the domestic atmosphere. But when a young lady of eighteen writes a novel in four months and calmly asserts that it came to her out of the air, communicated by so-called automatic writing, the average grownup hesitates, comments McFee. Yet if one knows, the road from Colchester to Mersea where the whole coast at high tide is compacted of lonely islands, "of a quiet loveliness in summer with salt winds driving thick white clouds athwart a sky of palest azure," he has come close to England...