Word: growing
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Dates: during 1870-1879
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...fables of learned animals of the olden time; for even now, here in our midst, several species of this animal are found. To speak scientifically, literary butterflies are bipeds, of the genus Homo. Their bodies are regularly shaped and their wings, though formed of thin tissues of imagination, often grow to great size. Breaking out from the cocoon of indifference to every mental pursuit which often surrounds their boyhood or girlhood, - for the females of this species are more numerous than the males, - they see the wide field of literature spread invitingly before them. Guided by the whim...
...averse to all duties that have to be performed regularly, I soon conceived a great prejudice against my mustache, and read all the medical books I could get hold of, to see if there was no antidote against it. I did not want to let it grow, because its color is a sort of magenta, and I had not then made up my mind to go to Harvard...
...heat aroused me from my stupor. I started wildly. Smarting with the pain of the burn, I staggered to the toilet-table and dipped my head in water. This revived me for the moment. I rushed back to my impromptu teakettle. I felt the water. It was beginning to grow warm. I held it over the candle once more; and once more that dreadful feeling came stealing over me. My hands and feet were numb. My brain was paralyzed. All was over at last. I had just enough consciousness left to raise the cup to my lips and drink...
...Association." It supplies an evident need, and deserves hearty support and encouragement from us all. The best way to encourage the new association is to increase its roll of membership. The fear of assessments we are assured need deter none, as they promise to be very small, and will grow smaller as the number of members increase. It is a well-learned lesson of our defeat at Saratoga, that we must make contests at home, if we would have champions abroad, and another year, we trust, will bring laurels to Harvard for well-earned athletic victories...
...close of a College year always calls forth remarks which, although trite in themselves through annual repetition, yet express sentiments which never grow old. It is the old, old story, but the characters are changed with every year. The wheel turns. New men fill the old places, while the old, as in a game of ball, are forced off their bases to make way for the new. This is inevitable. It is life. Nevertheless, it is hard for some men. They regret the old, are fearful of the new. Under all the festivities of the season there flows a strong...