Word: pumpkins
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...concede him Los Angeles and the Southern part of the State, look to hard-headed San Francisco and the conservative north for Merriam strength. "Poor Relation." Prime epithet used against Upton Sinclair is that he is "an agent of Moscow." Fact is, Upton Sinclair is as American as pumpkin pie. His great-grandfather Arthur Sinclair was a naval officer who fought in the war with Tripoli. Seven other seagoing relatives joined the Confederate Navy. His maternal grandfather, John S. Harden, was Secretary & Treasurer of Western Maryland Railroad. A sister of Upton's mother married John R. Bland, founder...
...unable to save poor Sam, but Eph and Roger became chieftains and left the seed. Life was pleasant: Nahuan wine was tasty, honors were plentiful, women were silent and prolific. Roger, however, found everything in this Carribean land maddening to his touch, lukewarm; and Eph yearned for Susannah, for pumpkin pie, for quoyhaugs. They had left, had spent a year in New Orleans, and had shipped for Boston...
...still hopes to go back to South Berwick, to "the house my grandfather built and in which my father was born . . . where I whispered up the chimney flue to Santa Claus, roasted apples in the ashes with my brother, started my first novel at the age of six, saw pumpkin faces at the window on Halloween, watched the marshes freeze over, the crab-apple tree blossom, the hay being hurriedly brought to shelter ahead of the storm and the wind blowing the last brown leaves about the yard...
...Delighted by the ovation given "Beranger," and "Life of Man," which had played to standing room houses in Brattle Hall, H. D. C. decided to revive these plays and take them to New York. Here, in the Comedy Theatre, as in 1914 at the Garrick, with "Peter, Peter. Pumpkin Eater," the club enjoyed a successful week on Broadway...
...married a U. S. Army engineer, bore him four sons, went with him to Russia in 1843 to build a railroad in that country: between Moscow and St. Petersburg. She held family prayers every morning, kept the Sabbath with awful rigidity and insisted on serving roast turkey and pumpkin pie on the banks of the Neva. But she would not be of the slightest interest to the U. S. public today if her son James Abbott McNeill Whistler had not grown to be a great artist, had not painted her portrait in 1872, the last portrait he ever got past...