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There are two or three awfully nice people coming over. One of Karl's classmates at Harvard, and two boys from the Tech and a nice curly-haired freshman from Dartmouth. And there is a Smith girl, perfectly charming, and a rather frumpy one from Wellesley who knows your Polly Osgood, or rather knows who she is.
At first the young man was awed by the presence of the grizzled gentleman, and he struggled with his language to bring it up to the classic level of the old meteorologist's speech. Before they had spoken a dozen words John Osgood said to himself: "What a quaint team he and the Maid of Honour would make! It's the same kind of thing in both, with the difference of sex and circumstance."
"I tell you, I'm proud to make my entrance by the side of the real Librarian of the Winsted City Library." "Leave your scarf here, Catriona darling," said Polly, greeting her guests in the doorway. "You don't need to prink. Mother, Father, here are Catherine and Algernon." Mrs. Osgood came forward and took Catherine's hand with ceremony. Then she turned to Algernon. "This is really an occasion.
In the accompanying illustration, we present to our readers a mammoth excavator, built by the Osgood Dredge Company of Albany, N.Y., for the Pacific Guano Company of California, for uncovering their phosphate deposits on Chisholm Island, South Colombia.
Thus gone, amongst you I may live, And dead, yet speak, and counsel give; Farewel, my birds, farewel, adieu, I happy am, if well with you. The Bradstreets and Woodbridges carried with them to Andover, more valuable worldly possessions than all the rest put together, yet even for them the list was a very short one. An inventory of the estate of Joseph Osgood, the most influential citizen after Mr.
Politics without war may, it is considered, produce the same results results not at all surprising, of course, except as to their extent. As to this last, if M. Lunier's figures and deductions be correct, the mental strain of exciting politics is even more destructive than has been generally supposed. Gareth and Lynette. By Alfred Tennyson, D.C.L., Poet-Laureate. Boston: J.R. Osgood & Co.
Among the rest were Dick Osgood and his little sister Hetty, the one human being whom he seemed really and tenderly to love. The teacher's eyes were on him for this one day, and he did not venture to insult the older scholars or domineer over the little ones.
Dix, "I hardly felt like saying anything before her. She is so old and innocent." "Is n't she!" said Mrs. Osgood. Virginia, much exercised over the health of Aberdeen Boy, had gone out to the barn to have a talk with Uncle Israel, who, with a peacock fly-fan moving majestically back and forth, was sitting up with eighteen hundred pounds of sick bull.
She sobbed herself to sleep in his arms, with the letter held fast in her hand; he laid her on her bed, pressing his lips to her warm, wet face, and then went down and out on the beach, pacing up and down until the dawn was in the sky. "Work for some good, be it ever so slowly." Mrs. Osgood.
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