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...view of the present phase of Class Politics, it may not be amiss to pass a bit of friendly criticism on the value of the so-called "Class Lives." Class after class has maintained the custom of having (or trying to have) every member write his "life" on sheets of abnormally large paper, which are intended to be bound with a manuscript copy of Oration, Poem, etc. in a "Class-Book"; records of all Class-Meetings are to be made in this volume; the unfortunate Class Secretary is expected to know the whereabouts of Tom, Dick, and Harry, their occupation...
...hesitate to brand such trash with the name of buncombe, and I earnestly beg Harvard's aquatic chiefs not to be beguiled by like nonsense. There is but one good way to row; all others are bad. Why did Oxford beat Harvard? Because she was stronger? Not a bit of it. Calm and unprejudiced critics have never held but one opinion, namely, because she rowed better and with more judgment. Why did Yale beat Harvard last year? For precisely the same reason. Nothing can be farther from me than to be personal in my remarks. The anguish of defeat...
...have one more bit of negative advice for you, and then I will end my letter with a few words of worldly wisdom about human nature and the way in which you ought to treat your fellow-beings. The truth is, if you will pardon a vile pun on that last sentence, that you ought not to treat them...
...words about human nature that I promised you. It is a singular fact that every man, whatever he may think of himself in other ways, feels sure in his heart of hearts that he is level-headed,- to use an expressive bit of slang. If he makes any mistakes, it is always because he did not follow the dictates of his judgment. And every man considers his views of money matters to be as sound as sound can be. People who agree with him he considers as sound as himself. People who do not agree with him he calls fools...
...would like to get rid of Swiddle if they knew how; and if we could ostracize him it would give us all the greatest pleasure to do so. As I write this, I imagine myself for the moment an ancient Greek. I imagine myself scratching the word ??? on a bit of shell, and dropping the shell into a vase decorated with designs from the wars of the gods and the giants. And then I imagine myself walking off, and saying, "So, so, Mr. Swiddle, you'll cut a dash in the streets of Athens no more...