Word: written
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Dates: during 1870-1879
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...success of their favorites than did the numberless friends of Harvard on that victorious day. They saw a record of severe defeat wiped out by corresponding triumph, yes, more than corresponding. Five to Zero was overwhelmed, submerged, buried deep beyond the possibility of resurrection, while Ten to One was written out in letters of light equally legible on the smiling faces of Harvard and the mournful visage of the Blues...
...There is a word, too, of farewell as of hail, that I would willingly leave unspoken, - a farewell for those whose records are written, whose annals are rolled up, and whose faces we are to see no more. During the past year there are numbered among them the good, the learned, and the brave, - Quincy and Motley and others, who, in their time and place, have led noble and truthful lives. I leave to each class, and to each circle of friends, the recollections that come, and must come of necessity, on a day like this. Yet, though...
...College desiring to be represented in the Association shall present at the Annual Convention of said Association a written official notice to that effect...
...room, I pretended to be absorbed in my book. Renardy was in an easy-chair by the window, closely studying a work by an author popular among students of the Classics, and occasionally glancing for explanation of difficult passages at a little book on the same subject, written by one Tacitus, which he held in his other hand. As the old gentleman turned to him, he wearily laid down his book, and settled his features into that cast-iron expression which is reserved expressly for such visitors...
There is a charming bit of poetry called "The Charcoal Man," written by Trowbridge, in which the honest hero is pictured as coming home after shouting his familiar cry since early morn, and listening to the never-failing echo, and as he enters the room, he 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...