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...American Chauve-Souris which could tour Europe with notable success; but nobody would listen to it, though their eyes might burst in wonder, for only in Russia could he find such voices as those that enchant or dominate the air of Balieff's Bat. From the piercing shriek of Katinka, through the lyric beauty of the soprano, the sombre resignation of the contralto, the passion of the tenor, the expansiveness of the baritone, to that epitome of Slavdom, the resonance of a Russian bass--all were perfection in every register; a complete organ in themselves, though composed only...

Author: NO WRITER ATTRIBUTED | Title: THE CRIMSON PLAYGOER | 3/11/1925 | See Source »

...excellent game of golf seems to be coming in for a great deal of unusual notoriety from several sources. Not only does one find the usual items on the sporting page, such as reports of experiments with a lighter ball, but headlines shriek out that General Edwards is insulted by the tale that golf got him his high rank, and the Paris "Midi" asserts that "General Dawes failed to take golf into account" when he arranged his program for the reparations conference...

Author: NO WRITER ATTRIBUTED | Title: A GOLFING CIVILIZATION | 1/22/1924 | See Source »

...Elizabethen Age, Anthony Munday presented a play for the approval of the National Board of Review, a position then held by Sir Edmund Tilney. Good Sir Edmund--whether from sheer spite or momentary indisposition, reporters were unable to ascertain--grasped his blue pencil with a shriek of rage, and by means of sparkling marginal notes commanded drastic revision. Four accomplished dramatists hurried to his assistance, bore away the torn and bleeding playlet and revamped it to a more conventional pattern. Fortunately for modern scholars, one of the attending surgeons left the results of his efforts in his own hand. Careful...

Author: NO WRITER ATTRIBUTED | Title: "BEATUS ILLE--" | 10/27/1923 | See Source »

...Flesh? It was nearly half past three in the morning. Somewhere a clock tolled the hour-twelve long strokes. Down the shadow-shrouded stairway moved a skeleton, clad only in a pair of violet pajamas. Softly, sibilantly, the spectre sped. An errant mouse cried out in terror, his hoarse shriek breaking the tense stillness. At the foot of the stairs a single, shining shaft of moonshine drenched the leg of a human being, severed at the knee, lying in a pool of gore. Arsenic Hatpin, gentleman capitalist, inserted a single eyeglass deftly into one of his eyes...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Arts: Blackjack Fiction | 10/15/1923 | See Source »

...Shriek of Araby. Although it ill becomes profound commentary to point with pride to the centripetal optics of Mr. Ben Turpin, it must be said that his present opus is sniffing at the heels of true Art. Mr. Turpin's burlesque places a permanent tombstone over the twin-Bedouin story of the desert...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Cinema: The New Pictures Jun. 18, 1923 | 6/18/1923 | See Source »

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