Word: tower
(lookup in dictionary)
(lookup stats)
Dates: during 1930-1939
Sort By: most recent first
(reverse)
This morning the Vagabond left his beloved Tower and his mind was filled with many a happy thought, for on this fair day nature with its blue heaven and its gentle breezes and its pure white clouds did seem to run together in sweet arabesques with the Vagabond's own world of happy thoughts and gentle feelings and whimsy moods...
...Vagabond strolled from his Tower and along the river he mused how good is this natal earth which gives us not only food for our bodies and stuff for our shelters but also feeds us with ideas and sentiments and beautiful sensations. And how good is art which does try to take nature as its teacher and is content to show...
...Vagabond thus walked and mused suddenly he was aware that he had reached. Dunster House, and it did seem very imposing and things seemed to buzz exceedingly. And again the Vagabond thought how warm it must be in winter and how cold the Tower. But the students who strolled indifferently about the court did seem most cold and concerned only with their gentlemanly ego. The Vagabond wondered whether he dare go in-for he's a sensitive soul and ill-versed in indifference. But he was asked to the exhibition of modern European art-and the Vagabond does love...
Yesterday's sleet storm seemed to put increased vigor into Lowell House's monthly bell-bedlam. Caring neither for sleet nor student, Arthur T. Merrit, Eliot House music tutor, climbed to his tower station accompanied by several assistants. Two of the merrymakers stood under the 14-ton bass bell and another at the chains and footpedal operating the remaining 16 bells...
...Vagabond feels the need of disgression himself. Climbing up his ladder tonight the Old Fellow found the rungs covered with ice! Winter is showing his sharpest teeth. The Tower at this moment is no picnic. Another log, ye merry hag. And fetch the Vagabond's cloak! We'll bear this through as in many winters past. Freedom! Freedom! Isn't that what George Noel Gordon, Lord Byron died for? Another log, merry hag! My fingers are a cold...