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From: Griffen R. <gui...@fo...> - 2010-09-29 22:47:23
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Chman called us--six of us--and we made coffee in a chafing dish (you never saw so many grounds!) and walked two miles to the top of One Tree Hill to see the sun rise. We had to scramble up the last slope! The sun almost beat us! And perhaps you think we didn't bring back appetites to breakfast! Dear me, Daddy, I seem to have a very ejaculatory style today; this page is peppered with exclamations. I meant to have written a lot about the budding trees and the new cinder path in the athletic field, and the awful lesson we have in biology for tomorrow, and the new canoes on the lake, and Catherine Prentiss who has pneumonia, and Prexy's Angora kitten that strayed from home and has been boarding in Fergussen Hall for two weeks until a chambermaid reported it, and about my three new dresses--white and pink and blue polka dots with a hat to match--but I am too sleepy. I am always making this an excuse, am I not? But a girls' college is a busy place and we do get tired by the end of the day! Particularly wh |
From: Sciacchitano H. <fix...@he...> - 2010-08-06 16:33:14
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From: Szafryk A. <bu...@ro...> - 2010-03-31 14:38:10
|
Elp. You have still your duty to your country. Your own personal influence may not be great, but you are nevertheless bound to use it on the side which you believe to be right. Public opinion is made up by the agreement of many, and the course of the nation is guided eventually by the votes of the people. You have your share in the responsibility of all that is done, and are therefore bound to endeavour to understand the questions of the day, and to act upon the conclusions you may form. No man has a right to shirk any of the responsibilities of his position, and a true man will endeavour to serve God and his fellow-men to the best of his ability--to do as much good as he can in the little time allotted to him, and to leave the reward of his labours in the hands of Him for whose sake and after whose example he has endeavoured to spend his life. ***END OF THE PROJECT |
From: Kovalcheck <un...@am...> - 2010-03-21 21:25:19
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O be weighed to be truly valued. Up to this time, there has never been published in England a single essay on the life or the genius of De Quincey that indicated even a good acquaintance, on the part of the writer, with that author's works; and in such a case, of course, not much could be looked for in the way of just interpretation. Gilfillan did him gross injustice: indeed, from what he condescended to say of the man, it would be difficult to conjecture that a greater than Gilfillan was there. And, will the reader believe it? in Professor Craik's "English Literature"--a work of great excellence--the name of De Quincey is not mentioned! "Sam Johnson," says Craik, "was the last king that sat upon the throne of English prose literature." Let it be that Sam was a proper king; yet it is just as true that De Quincey was legitimately his successor. First, in the matter of time: Sam died in 1784, and De Quincey was born in 1785, just in time to continue the regal line. What was it, again, that entitled Johnson to kingly honors? Was it learning? De Quincey was as erudite. Was it his style? There is no writer in the language who in that matter may look down on De Quincey. If there ever was a writer "damned with faint praise," it was De Quincey. Some stupid writer for the London "Athenaeum," for instance, dared to compliment the poor "opium-chewer" after the following style:--"He possessed taste, but _he lacked creative energy_; and his subtle and highly refined intellect was ingenious and acute rather than powerful." This reminds me of a criticism once passed upon Shakspeare by a mere pedagogue, to the effect that the great poet had considerable genius, but very little taste!] Else I should plunge _in medias res_ upon a sketch of De Quincey's life; were it not a rudeness amounting to downright profanity to omit the important ceremony of prelibation, and that at a banquet to which, implicitly, gods are invited. The reader will assuredly unite with me in all such courtesies,-- "Neu desint epulis rosae"; particularly as the shade we deal with can be evoked only by peculiar incantations,--only the heralding of certain pre |
From: Schueth <fa...@fa...> - 2009-12-07 11:54:09
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Tones we sat down side by side. And now she shows me two of my smaller shells, and dipping hers into the stew I did the like, and though we had no salt (the which set my wits at work) and though we lacked for bread, a very excellent meal we made of it, and the moon shedding its glory all about us. The meal done, and while she cleansed the things at a rill that murmured hard by, I made up the fire (for after the heat of the day, night struck chill) and by the time she came back I had the flame crackling merrily. And now as she sat over against me on the stone, I saw she had been weeping. And she, knowing I saw this, nodded her head, scorning all subterfuge. "I feared you had met with some mischance and lay hurt, Martin--or worse--" "You mean dead?" "Aye, dead." "Would it have mattered so much?" "Only that I should have died likewise!" "Because of the loneliness?" says I. "Indeed," she sighed, staring into the fire, "because of the loneliness." "I serve some purpose, then, in the scheme of things?" "Yes, Martin, you teach a woman how, even in this desolation, being weak and defenceless she may trust to a man's honour and find courage and great comfort in his strength. 'Twas foolish of me to be horror-struck at your stained garments when you had been slaying that I might eat." "'Tis all forgot!" says I, hastily. "And as for the murders on the ship--O Martin, as if you might ever make me belie |
From: Kelvin <ove...@fo...> - 2009-08-18 10:59:49
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Uited for monographs. We have but to compare a few pages in each of the two excellent works now in our hands, to see how men of the highest ability, of rigid candor, and scrupulous fidelity in the use of the same materials, while spreading the same facts before their readers, may tell different tales, varying to the whole extent of the diversity in their respective judgments and moralizings. We can easily illustrate this assertion from the pages before us. Though Dr. Palfrey stops more than a half-century short of the date to which Mr. Arnold carries us, the former indicates exactly how and where he will be at issue with the latter, even to the end of the story common to both of them. So strong and clear is Dr. Palfrey's avowal of fealty to the honorable and unsullied fame of the founders of Massachusetts, that he will not be likely, on any later page, to qualify what he has already written. It happens, too, that the points in which any two of our historians would be most disposed to part in judgment lie within the space and the years common to both these writers. We can but indicate, in a very brief way, some of the more salient divergences between them, and we must preface the specification by acknowledging again the high integrity of both. Dr. Palfrey writes, unmistakably, as a man proud of his Massachusetts lineage. He honors the men whose enterprise, constancy, persistency, and wise skill in laying foundations have, in his view, approved their methods and justified them, even where they are most exposed to a severe judgment. He wishes to tell their story as they would wish to have it told. They st |
From: Levins <ver...@ua...> - 2009-08-17 17:06:24
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S a door: it was a bedroom--it was the likely chambermaid's. "'Softly, Sir,' sais she, a puttin' of her finger on her lip, 'don't make no noise; Missus will hear you.' "'Yes,' sais I, 'I won't make no noise;' and I outs and shuts the door too arter me gently. "'What next?' sais I; 'why you fool, you,' sais I, 'why didn't you ax the sarvant maid, which door it was?' 'Why I was so conflastrigated,' sais I, 'I didn't think of it. Try that door,' well I opened another, it belonged to one o' the horrid hansum stranger galls that dined at table yesterday. When she seed me, she gave a scream, popt her head onder the clothes, like a terrapin, and vanished--well I vanished too. "'Ain't this too bad?' sais I; 'I wish I could open a man's door, I'd lick him out of spite; I hope I may be shot if I don't, and I doubled up my fist, for I didn't like it a spec, and opened another door--it was the housekeeper's. 'Come,' sais I, 'I won't be balked no more.' She sot up and fixed her cap. A woman never forgets the becomins. "'Anything I can do for you, Sir?' sais she, and she raelly did look pretty; all good natur'd people, it appears to me, do look so. "'Will you be so good as to tell me, which door leads to the staircase, Marm?' sais I. "'Oh, is that all?' sais she, (I suppose, she thort I wanted her to get up and get breakfast for me,) 'it's the first on the right, and she fixed her cap agin' and laid down, and I took the first on the right and off like a blowed out c |
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From: Hemmelgarn F. <bu...@fe...> - 2009-03-31 10:35:28
|
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