Word: written
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Dates: during 1920-1929
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...Henry Arthur Jones all worked industriously in this medium, thereby gaining fame and gold. Of late years the drawing room has been virtually unoccupied. Nice people saying casual, witty things have nearly vanished. Therefore it is a great novelty to see one of these comedies again, suavely, smartly written by Frederick Lonsdale (Aren't We All) and even more suavely and smartly played by Ina Claire, Roland Young and A. E. Matthews...
...Manhattan. Rosa Ponselle, in the white draperies of a vestal virgin, was fervently wooed by Edward Johnson, U. S. tenor, disguised as a Roman soldier in the Metropolitan's revival of La Vestale, a totally unoriginal opera written 100 years ago by Gasparo Spontini. Critics agree that this composer understood one thing- how to write for the voice. For the rest he depended on Gluck and what he could remember of Mozart. Elaborately staged, furbished with the faultless voice of Miss Ponselle, it will, they think, be popular...
...King Frederick VI. This friend persuaded the monarch to send him to school. He was very backward in his classes. He graduated, wrote dramas which were never played, books which were never published, until a novel, The Improvisatore, brought him suddenly to fame. In his spare moments he had written a few fairy tales, idle things for which he had no regard. He wanted to be a dramatist. He traveled through Europe; after his triumphant visit to England, Charles Dickens saw him off from Ramsgate Pier. His plays were refused. People asked for more fairy stories...
...seems impossible to me that a girl so immature could have written these poems. They are beyond the powers of a girl of twelve. The sophisticated viewpoint of sex . . . knowledge of history and archeology found in these pages place them beyond the reach of any juvenile mind...
...then, did he think they had been written? That was what reporters wanted to know. Poet Markham winked. He expressed his confidence in the facility of Louis Untermeyer, of William Rose Benet, of Edna St. Vincent Millay, of other poets who dine together from time to time, all sitting around a table in a Manhattan grill while the elbows of the knowing onlookers dig the ribs of the innocent ones and murmurs float above the clatter of the table d'hôte: "There's Oontermeyer!" "There's Bennett!" One afternoon, after the coffee, suggested Poet Markham...