Word: grinder
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PEOPLE outside of college seem to think that we are in a sort of lion-lying-down with-the-lamb condition here, and are all loving friends. "Of course you know John Grinder; he is in your class," they say; - John G. being a man whom you know merely in the catalogue, or, at most, have a nodding - I can't say bowing - acquaintance with. Now, shall we confess to these outsiders that there are many different circles of friends in each class, and that we are, in short, cliquish? Doggy, who never speaks to any one except the four...
...coming out from Boston. When you spend the night with your uncle on Commonwealth Avenue, do not come out before ten. Grinder takes the half-past-eight car every morning; he lives at his home in East Chelsea, and has a nine-o'clock recitation - which he never cuts - every day in the week, as he takes twenty-eight hours of electives this year. An exception may be made of Monday morning, when Mr Beck, of Beacon Street, refreshed by his devotions at Trinity, takes the nine-o'clock car, to the great delight of his parents, - and then plays...
...although the College gates are closed but once in twenty years, yet the vender of melodies rarely ventures through them, conscious that in whatsoever remote corner he may establish himself, the venerable Ubiquity will invite him to depart thence. But in spite of the antipathy displayed for the organ-grinder by the powers that preside over our studies, the student himself will infinitely prefer the performances of that much-abused personage, to those of the man overhead whose rowing-weights send forth a most distressing discord, half rumble, half squeak, or, still worse, whose religious enthusiasm finds its vent...
...however unfriendly a reception may be accorded to the organ-grinder within these classic precincts, in less cultured yards he is sure of an enthusiastic and appreciative audience who drink in the charms of music and monkey with open mouths. Put him in front of a bay-window, with a couple of babies looking out in the seventh heaven of ecstasy, and a nurse to take off his hat to, and to lavish his most winning smile upon, and it will be hard to find a more contented being than Signor Smitherini. He knows that he is inspiring...
...bends over the baby's crib, and whispers "charco' " in the little ear. The youngster cooing with delight, tosses up his arms, and echoes "harko' " just as the hills had been doing all day long. Now, why cannot one of our homely poets immortalize a scene in the organ-grinder's life? Let him be pictured coming into his home, chinking the coin in his pockets, and as he enters he strikes up the "Beautiful Blue Danube," and all the children fall into a spontaneous jig that is perfectly infectious in its jollity. May there not really be such...