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Commander, B.J. McClure; Lieutenants, W.H. Haswell and S.G. Cresswell; mates, H.H. Saintsbury and R.J. Wyniatt; second master, Stephen Court; surgeon, Alexander Armstrong, MD; assistant surgeon, Henry Piers; clerk in charge, Joseph C. Paine. Total complement, sixty-six.
"Do you commonly let people put things in your room that they want to get rid off?" asked Mrs. Pasmer. "Well, not when I'm expecting company." "He couldn't refuse even then, if they pressed the matter," said Mrs. Saintsbury, lecturing upon him to her friend. "I'm afraid you're too amiable altogether, Mr. Mavering. I'm sure you let people impose upon you," said the other lady.
Saintsbury well remarks, “which a person of sense and taste would do anything, short of selling himself to the devil, not to know.” The devil fulfils every wish of his contractor for a stipulated period of time, at the expiration of which the soul becomes his.
Wasn't it George Saintsbury who once remarked that all discussion of contemporaries is conversation, not criticism? If this be the case, then it is suicidal for a critic to pass judgment upon the music-making of his day, a fact obviously at variance with daily practice. Yet it is a dictum not to be altogether contravened.
Saintsbury admits, such lines being frequent in his favourite Dryden; yet, on the other hand, it might be maintained, and would be maintained by its French critics, that our English poetry has been too apt to dispense with those prose qualities, which, though not the indispensable qualities of poetry, go, nevertheless, to the making of all first-rate poetry the qualities, namely, of orderly structure, and such qualities generally as depend upon second thoughts.
"I'm sure you'd be the stronger for it," said Mrs. Saintsbury. "But go, upon any theory. Don't you see there isn't a Senior left?" He would not look round. "They've gone to other spreads," he said. "But now I'll tell you: it is pretty, near time, and if you'll take me to my room, I'll go." "You're a spoiled boy," said Mrs. Saintsbury. "But I want Mrs.
Order, precision, directness, are the radical merits of prose thought; and it is more than merely legitimate that they should form the criterion of prose style, because within the scope of those qualities, according to Mr. Saintsbury, there is more than just the quiet, unpretending usefulness of the bare sermo pedestris.
His father, and Professor Saintsbury, who had been instructed by his wife not to lose sight of her, were at hand, and they crossed to that old hall which keeps its favour with the students in spite of the rivalry of the newer dormitories it would be hard to say why. Mrs.
Young Mavering, after sharing the ladies' excitement fully with them, rewarded himself by an exclusive moment with Miss Pasmer. "You must get Mrs. Pasmer to let me show you all of Class Day that a Senior can. I didn't know what a perfect serpent's tooth it was to be one before. Mrs. Saintsbury," he broke off, "have you got tickets for the Tree? Ah, she doesn't hear me!" Mrs.
Pasmer, surprised that she was getting so much information, but eager for more. "Why, how long have you known them, Etta?" "Only since Dan came to Harvard. Mr. Saintsbury took a fancy to him from the start, and the boy was so fond of him that they were always insisting upon a visit; and last summer we stopped there on our way to the mountains."
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