Word: scarecrows
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...timers will recall with a smile the production of the following fall. Percy MacKaye's "The Scarecrow." Based on a tale of Hawthorne, it was a fantasy of a scarecrow who could be made to come to life and who could be kept alive by continually smoking a pipe. James Savery was ideally fitted for the part of the scarecrow in every respect except one; he was made deathly sick by smoking. The ever-resourceful technicians, never thwarted, finally evolved the scheme of filling Savery's pipe with punk. In the excitement of the performance, Savery would invariably inhale once...
Since graduation from Harvard. MacKaye has become one of the widely known playwrights in America, and is the author of over 20 plays pageants, and books on the theatre. His best known plays are "A Thousand Years Ago", "The Scarecrow", "Mater", "This Fine-pretty World", and "Kentucky Mountain Fantastics". Of his books on the theatre, "Epoch The Life of Steele MacKaye" is his outstanding product
London's tailors had another grievance. After studying the clothes represented in the portraits, the editor of Tailor and Cutter spoke editorially for his trade as follows: "A portrait does not gain power by adding a coat which no self-respecting scarecrow would don. Nothing is added to the effectiveness of the canvas by omitting buttons, ignoring seams and maltreating collars and lapels." Of Artist Augustus John's Portrait of a Man he said: "A more graphic title would be Portrait of a Man in a Home-made Suit." Of Artist Sir William Orpen's portrait of Sir Ray Lankester...
...word of truth in his whole novel. Not that the reader would for very long be kept in doubt because whatever merits this detective tale night possess plausibility is not one of them. Still it compensates for its lack of realism by a surplus of mystery and melodrama. A scarecrow plays a major part in the plot. Every elue in the murder led to a blank wall until Detective Faucet spied the blood on the living room carpet and all that sort of thing...
...because Artist Beardsley, as Poet Keats had done, was to go southward and die of consumption before he was 26 years old. It is easy to remember him now as he must have looked to the people who had come to church that afternoon-the figure of a frightened, scarecrow dandy, scampering crazily through a graveyard...