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...view, we confess, American college life seems a hot-house, producing, not gentlemen, but artistes. The majority of men coming to college from elsewhere than the social world of the great cities are pure bourgeois. They have the big virtues and the little, - regard for the truth and virtuous recoil from ponying. They have read nothing but the Requirements for Admission and high-toned books, and scorn all literature but such as "fits them for the work of life." Cards are not only a waste of time, but evil in themselves; and the theatre an abomination...

Author: NO WRITER ATTRIBUTED | Title: GENTILSHOMMES, BOURGEOIS, ARTISTES. | 2/26/1875 | See Source »

...were disturbing the peace in that dark corner, were surprised by a Professor. One, seeing escape impossible, posted himself on the spot where the old pump had been, and, holding out his arm, imitated its appearance so well that the Professor passed him by in hot pursuit of the others...

Author: NO WRITER ATTRIBUTED | Title: BREVITIES. | 12/18/1874 | See Source »

...FAIR presumption seems to exist that one will find in a college man a firm opponent of cant; if, at least, we mean by that term "the repetition of a creed after it has become a phrase by the cooling of that white-hot conviction which once made it both the light and warmth of the soul," as Mr. Lowell defines it. But however this may be in regard to religion and such indifferent matters, one cannot be so sure of a college man's hatred of cant when he comes face to face with something in regard to which...

Author: NO WRITER ATTRIBUTED | Title: CANT. | 11/20/1874 | See Source »

INJUN PROBABILITIES: "Mebbe snow next week; mebbe rain; mebbe some damn hot." - Argus...

Author: NO WRITER ATTRIBUTED | Title: OUR EXCHANGES. | 11/6/1874 | See Source »

...turn around and entreat the boy to stop the animal. Like an idiot that he is, he only repeats, "Shoe blacking," and persists in whipping the galloping brute. My eye-glasses shake off, and become a total wreck in the bottom of the gig. The sun is very hot and the road is dusty. (I anathematize Jenkins for advising me to come to Norway.) The more I pull on the reins the faster the horse goes. Despair! After two hours of misery we come to a town; the horse stops of his own accord, and I descend to terra firma...

Author: NO WRITER ATTRIBUTED | Title: THE LAND OF THE MIDNIGHT SUN. | 10/23/1874 | See Source »

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