Word: condimented
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...present volume is any indication it will not be "pure" in the Brattle Street sense. With his usual acumen, he has already ensured against that. For his recipe for poetry is apparently a dash if wit, a sprinkle of imagery, and a pinch of smut. The last condiment is easy to find despite his commendable ruse in transliterating into Greek certain English monosyllables which always arouse Mr. Dirty Mind, the true-born censor. There is a blank page, whose missing text appears only in the holograph edition, and the penny arcade reader may well purchase that--at $99 a copy...
...John Ruffin Green was looking for a name for the tobacco he made in Durham, N. C. Over a dish of fried oysters a friend, John Y. Whitted, pointed to the mustard jar and said: "There is a condiment that is made in Durham, England. It bears the sign of a Durham bull's neck. Why not name your product Bull Durham Smoking Tobacco and adopt the whole bull as a trade-mark?" Tobaccoman Green immediately had a bull painted on sheet iron, mounted in front of his factory. The bull was heavy, clumsy, stolid and faced toward...
When an institution gives such an affair, it strives to add the savor of some new scientific achievements. Pennsylvania's condiment was the demonstration of a way of seeing living cells grow in the body. Inventor was Eliot Round Clark, 49, professor of anatomy and director of Pennsylvania's anatomical laboratory...
...heavy, hairy, manlike creature, with low brows and tearing teeth, slouched one half million years ago, into a limestone cave 30 miles from what is now Peiping (Peking), China. He died. Another one lumbered in and naturally ate the corpse, probably with some shrubbery for condiment. The dead head presumably was especially tasty, for the eater, it now seems, tore it from the body, gnawed it and threw it away to disintegrate. The second comer died; a third, a fourth, a succession of ten. The last decayed with his head in place...
Which mention of hats reminds one to offer a plume to Philip Guedala, whose historical sketches have been a delightful condiment to the "Harper's" diet as he has rattled realities in the closets of the past and to the bold and true who recently suggested that the publishing of Miss Lowell's worst verse in all and sundry magazines does not help the sale of the "Life". There should be a Society for the Protection of the Reputations of Deceased Authors. Then literary Jerry Crunchers would have harder work, meriting their doctorates...