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" : a wh. * Pk ei ha hehe bak oe pe hee abe 7 FTC. ate el bshak gta! aes it hh a is koi Shope) shal Side ahs 7 pio" 7 Hain aye fiei rt F r a4 ay it a pA Pe ps Pi of ai z+ Hidasraittes pial pate bern Pat A iba qariiey ibipotegty i es 4 ety ; “4 pi ahargt we eck ee Be) J 7 ht : i ‘ 5 PY errirosy ery: The} il Lf) etetet ets te) Me tt r ioe a! oho) hh Tgp o j aaa vh o@ rinse a - gl 21 » 4 of a 7) ete SASH ete tthe ii i ele : ; of i fe weap abot s Hil \ te ‘ “14 Vuaore mit; vr ee how a : inh og 1g tiatgist 7 i ey) ie) ie yi pati {tet P ors f4. had gh ete tate HoH ¢ 4 " i y iz ; Y as ¥ . 4 * iy cotiey ie attain eatst gt oe at Gaertc Hat itearetintronbesrnarerittt te! ert aA fifi al Di pha al ary ee bear aie tat ah pte aye A 4 fi ph 3h 4 ret hag ater 3 iar @ 4 Sak ‘she ba 8 at pale fa ae PAY Nts Coad je ea ++ . Pet fats Helo et ahi at ee ’ Ln a i ‘h p 2 tenet he © j E 1 4 ? * ‘ * ‘ ~ i . ee 2 | LE EC ° Chestnut and Thirteenth Streets NEW YORK Specialists in Fashionable Apparel for Women, Misses and Girls & j Authoritative styles, selected mate- \\\ Baie rials, careful workmanship and reason- \ : able prices distinguish all garments \ bearing our label. Whether of the in- expensive, or of the costly class (we ) Vs __| sell both and all between) our garments an have the individuality and character that appeal to women of trained taste and good judgment. Regulation Dresses Made to . Simpson 2% John B S pso Your Own Individual Misses and Measurements Childrens TAILOR | ¢ 914 Walnut St., Philadelphia Ask for Catalog and Samples Pts Bee Meee Bie Miia B _ 4 y FT x are | F / ae : : he Book of the Class of ineteen Eleven OL POTNLOL dodvator Press of The Jobn C. Winston Company Philadelphia Editor-in-Chief Marion SturGes Scott Editors RosaLinpD Fay Mason CATHERINE LyMAN DELANO Lemta HovuacstTeriInec MaArGARET JEFFERYS HOBART Art Editor Marcery EuizABEtH HOFFMAN Business Manager MARGARET JEFFERYS HOBART Class Mfficers 1907-708 Chairman—FLORENCE WYMAN President—RutH VicKERY Vice-President and Treasurer—AMY WALKER Secretary—NoRVELLE Brown 1908-’09 President—AmMy WALKER Vice-President and Treasurer—IsoBpEL ROGERS Secretary—Dorotuy CoFFIN 1909-710 President—AmMy WALKER Vice-President and Treasurer—IsoBeL Rocers Secretary—Dorotuy Corrin 19102"11 President—Amy WALKER Vice-President and Treasurer—IsoBEL RoGErs Secretary—Dorotuy CorFrin AAA thy hy Ge C4 3/y Foreword \ N 7 © are having a foreword because Hobie says Mr. Clarke says it will look better, and we are very particular about looks. So far as we know, no class has ever had a foreword before, which was rather against it to Leila, the conservative member of our board, but when we pointed out to her that it would be a good place to state our motto, she was reconciled to it. She thinks a good deal of that motto, does Leila; in fact, we all do, when it comes to that, and it seems as if the class were with us. Our motto is “There is no hurry.” Some of them wanted “Haste makes waste,” but that seemed to us to be a bit stereotyped, and we are nothing if not spontaneous. It is our conviction that to a patient class like 1911, a mere matter of a week or so, or perhaps a year or so, sooner or later, principally later, will make no difference at all, and though we are natu- rally spontaneous, we are capable of living up to our convictions. Besides, we will all enjoy reading the class book to our grandchildren more, if it hasn’t been about the house too long. For ourself, we fancy something fresh for grandchildren—it seems more wholesome. We hope that other classes, who have known us in college, may sometimes care to look over and read our book. We hope English readers will not, or, if they do, will omit the foreword, as we are painfully conscious of a lack of transition just here. And we will be glad if any of our friends find anything to interest them in these pages. But, in explanation more than in apology, we announce here that this book is primarily for the Class of 1911 and wholly by and about the Class of 1911. We are deeply and frankly interested in ourselves as a class, and now that we are out of college, we want, more than ever, to emphasise our entity and continued existence as a class. Few of us can write well, those who can do not put their fine writing here. Here it is our pleasure to recall and to record any- thing that brings back the spirit of the class, both serious and gay—not only events and experiences at Bryn Mawr, but all the characteristics, even to follies and shortcomings, that we shared, and that bound us more closely together. In short, a frank case of spread-peacock. Now we have written a foreword—quite the first that has ever come from our honest pen. You may say what you like about it, we suppose that, like most work of human hands, it has its defects, but, take it all in all, it is a foreword, and as such we glory in it. We herewith have the honour of presenting the book of the Class of 1911. Marion Srorces Scort. 426411 PAGE ForEworp ; ; OFFICES HELD BY 1911 a igi Tue First Ten . ScuHouarsaires RECEIVED BY Muaxonas 0 OF 1911 Our First Crass Meetine, Marguerite H. Layton Rusu Nicuts, Margaret A. Prussing. ........ Cuoosinc THE Cxiass AntmaL, Catherine Lyman Delano 1911’s Stncine, Margery Smith aig “Every FresamMan;” or, Not VULGAR Bor, pen Houghteling . ‘ BrninpD THE Scenes, M siete Setenis Hokus Gym Drittis, Marion D. Crane i ; Breaks, Phyllis Rice, Ruth Tanner, Mas ary Williams FrresHMAN Cxass Suprer, Frances Porter . : Tue Sout, Ruth Wells 4 On Fresaman Year, Marion Sisatian Scott aa 1912 Coucnant, 1911 Rampant; or, How We Rip tHE CoLLEGE oF AN INJURIOUS CUSTOM, ng Morehead Walker . bos EH CoMMUTING AND THE Ce eteaineta ties, te Clifton : Tue Gym Contest, Isobel M. Rogers eS th 1911 A ra Mopn, Margaret Jefferys Hobart ...... 1911 en NEGLIGEE; or, Dramatics, Marion Sturges Scott . . . SUNDAY Gincknion Maigoh A. Peas A Lantern Nigut, Helen Huss Parkhurst Tue Poriticat Rarity, Amy Morehead Walker Precious Stones, Rosalind Fay Mason Couiecr Prriopicas, Leila Houghteling . 4 Tae Mystery or THE PEAcocK’s SQUAWK, tin. s. Russell . : sen FAREWELL To 1909, Aue M ae Walker : ATHLETIC STATISTICS ; Cie EneuisH Magsor, Alice Eichberg : ‘ On Becomine UpprerciassMEeN, Marion Shoe Scott ; Tur Passtne or Mitx Luncn, Catherine Lyman Delano CoLuecE Sones, Alice Eichberg : Tasie Emotions, Virginia Custer Canan . . Banner Nicuts, Marion Sturges Scott Las, May Margaret Egan . Proctors, Margaret Jefferys Hobart Track, Isobel M. Rogers May Day rrom THE INSIDE, Catharine lita Dalans ’ May Day From tHE OvrsipE, Louise S. Russell . Quizzes, Jessie Clifion . ay te Arntetic Scenes, Helen Emerson .. . Gian ae Tur Nurses, A Four Years’ REACTIONARY BY A Wiaues Senror, Rosalind Fay Mason .... . pee Tue Jupiter, May Margaret Egan ee er Ga, ed a 11 14 15 16 18 20 23 28 30 34 38 40 41 44 48 50 52 53 56 60 64 66 68 70 72 75 78 86 89 92 - 95 97 99 . 102 . 105 AO Ud 109 ae Seas 8 Pa yj a ty § | . 128 PAGE Our Senror Metoprama, Catherine Lyman Delano. . . 127 Oras, AN ExpLopep Suprerstit10n, Rosalind Fay Mason 131 Marrons vs. One's Favourtre Autuor, Helen H. L. Henderson. BE oy ae RT a Sale ER OD ae 133 How To Keep a Sncase, pena H. Layton. . . . 186 Curnese Poetry, Helen Huss Parkhurst . ..... . 188 Cuass Goats; or, APOLOGIA PRO VitA Mra, Margaret Jefferys Hobart Seo shield ok Fe aNd ate LL Pe . 140 Fire Dritis as SEEN BY THE i Ciiereaddaenn, Leila Houghteling and Catherine Lyman Delano ..... . 143 Water Foro, feolel MM. Bomere 56025 oy aia oe Sones or 1911, Charlotte Isabel Claflin ....... . 146 Note Taxrina, Marion Sturges Scott . ....... . 148 To THE SEnror Steps, Rosalind Fay Mason ..... 150 Har an A. B., Elizabeth Willis Taylor. . . . . . .. 151 On THE Ricgut Track, Alpine B. Parker . . .... . 158 Senior Year Dramatics, Margaret A. Prussing . . . 155 LEctTURES; OR, TATLOR-MADE AND TAYLOR-MAID, Margaret Jefferys Hobart . Cree ety ty Sa Bim ak Aa De MOARTOET WMVER S55. UU miduiatit ier Howe le alan wee 160 R-revence, Rosalind Fay pT Ae ae en eta atay eg ae Twenty Years Later, Leila Cates and Catherine Lyman Delano i 16 Prenics, Marion Sturges Scott eer Ws Cian gees earn Ua, Bil 162a Masor Potecon, Margery Hoffman ........ 163 Ture Hyena Cuius, Margery Smith. .... . . 167 1912’s Junior-Seniorn Supper, Marion Sturges ‘Boot: 173 Tur Otp Gym anv THE New, Leila Houghteling . . . . 175 FAREWELL To THE Liprary, Margery Smith . .. . . 177 3.00 A. M. anp Auu’s We tL, Rosalind Fay Mason . . . 179 Facuuty Reception, Agnes Lawrence Murray ... . 181 Smenror Crass Supper, Marion D. Crane ...... . 184 Ture TreasurRER’s Report, Isobel M. Rogers . . . . . 186 Acapemta, Margery Smith .. . ae eeei | y 3 Wuen Greek Meets GREEK, Fella Hovghisting « Sat oe Tue Passine or THE SWEET Girt Grapuate, Ruth Wells 191 Tue Ciass Propnecy, Margery Hoffman ...... . 198 BonFIRES .. . 203 GARDEN ParrTIEs, " Esther Stuart Cornell ao prpeen Sturges Scott ... . . « 204 COMMENCEMENT Rewmanaat, Margures A. (Pruning . . 208 Ture COMMENCEMENT Procession, Alpine B. Parker . . 211 Tue Last Lar or tHe Course; or, THe Exit or 1911, Margaret Jefferys Hobart . .. . pie ee Our Last Cuass Megtina, Catherine oan Daichi i Ske Rel DA OME AME Cy LU a ee la ary et a) wie wii 220 L’Envor, Marion Posies Scott BO TS acs 221 Ciel ADORE Roo ee eat ee cae oes 222 Ti ECMOMTAM SO UR ie sree ar atia wos et penta 228 Te PACULPE scence ay orn Oma ap eters woe 229 —— THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN Ir MOffices Held bp 1911 - 1908-09 Christian Union. Secretary—Mary Wi..1ams League. Secretary—Marion CRANE Self-Government. Advisory Board—Mary Cast, Letra Hovcntenine Undergraduate. Assistant Treasurer—MAnion CRANE Athletic Association. Vice-President and Treausrer—HeELen EMERSON Tipyn o’ Bob. Business M anager—Mary Case. Treasurer—Kate CHAMBERS Lantern. Assistant Business M anager—CATHERINE DELANO Philosophy Club. Secretary—Catuertns DEeLANo Law Club. Secretary—Mouuin Kitner Consumers’ League. Secretary—Estuer CORNELL | Equal Suffrage. Secretary—Marcaret Prussine. Advisory Board—Amy WALKER College Settlement. Elector—FuoRENcE Woop i : Mandolin Club. Business Manager—Maraury HorrMan | Students’ Building. Secretary—Isonet Rogers Oriental Club. Vice-President and Treasurer—HANNAH M. Dopp 19092710 Christian Union. Treasurer—EtHEL RicHARDSON League. Treasurer-—Kate CHAMBERS Self-Government. Secretary—Mary Taytor. Treasurer—Virainta Canaan. Executive Board—Lrita HovucutTerine, Marion CRANE. Advisory Board— Heven Trepway. Library Proctor—Marcaret Hopart 12 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN Mffices eld bp 1911—Continued Undergraduate. Vice-President and Treasurer—MARGARET PRUSSING Secretary—CaTHERINE DELANO Athletic Association. Secretary—Katrx Cuampers. Outdoor Manager—HeLeN Emrrson Tipyn o Bob. Managing Editor—Marion CrANE. Business Manager—LovlIsE Russevit. Editors—CHarLotte CuaFuIn, HELEN PARKHURST. Treasurer—KatE CHAMBERS Lantern. Editor—Manrion Crane. Assistant Business Manager—CaTHERINE DELANO Philosophy Club. Vice-President and Treasurer—Lois LEHMAN Equal Suffrage. Vice-President—Marcaret Prussine. Advisory Board—AmMyY WALKER Law Club. President—HrELEN HENDERSON Consumers’ League. Vice-President and Treasurer—EstHER CORNELL Glee Club. Business Manager—Estuer CORNELL Choir. Organist—JULIA CHICKERING Students’ Building. Secretary—Isope, Roarrs May Day Representatives. Marcarrt Prusstnc, CATHERINE DELANO 1910-711 Christian Association. President—Lxutta Houcuteine. Vice-President— Kate CHAMBERS Self-Government. President—Marion Crane. Vice-President—Leita Houcurenina, Executive Board—Marion Crane, LertA HouGcHrenina. Advisory Board— ARIsTINE Fiep, Dorotuy Corrin. Library Proctor—Marcaret Hoparr Undergraduate. President—Caturrinn DELANo. Musical Committee—Mary WILLIAMS Athletic Association. President—Heten Emerson. Indoor M. anager—KatTr CHAMBERS THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN 13 OOOO ——_—_—_—_—_ Mffices Held by 1911—Continued Tipyn o’ Bob. Editor-in-Chief—Manrion Crane. Managing Editors— Hewen Parkuurst, CHARLOTTE CLAFLIN Lantern. Editor-in-Chief—CuaRLoTTE CLAFLIN. Editors—MAarion CRANE, HELEN Parkuurst. Business Manager—HeELen TREDWAY Philosophy Club. President—CatHEerRINE DELANO Equal Suffrage. President—Amy Wa.xer. Advisory Board—Marcaret PRossine Trophy Club. President—HrELEN HENDERSON Science Club. President—He.ten Trepway. Vice-President—Marion Scorr Glee Club. Leader—EstHer CORNELL Choir. Leader—Manrcary Smitn. Organist—Ju.iia CHICKERING Mandolin Club. Leader—Hi.pa ScorRamM Students’ Building. Chairman—Isoset Rocrers English Club. President—Heten Parkxuurst. Members—Viratnta CANAN, CHARLOTTE CLAFLIN, Marion CRANE, CATHERINE DeLano, May Eagan, Marocaret Hopart, Amy WALKER Head Fire Captain—Kate CHAMBERS Members Students’ Council—CaTuHERINE DeLano, AMy WALKER, HELEN TREDWay 14 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN Trepway, HELEN... CRANE, MARION .... CLIFTON, JESSIE........... Darxow, ANGELA... DELANO, CATHERINE....... BGAN, MAY 0 coe Emerson, HELEN ... DoouittLe, MARGARET .... Wiisur, CONSTANCE CLAFLIN, CHARLOTTE ee eee oe ee # @ ee eve ee “ee ee @ re We de). Yak ae @eernteHe eeeewee First Ten NG ek es Physics and Chemistry Dubuque High School, Dubuque, Iowa. OE AA SRB Rae mt Mey aera Philosophy and English Arlington High School, Arlington, Mass. ai Gees bs ioe Mathematics and Chemistry Philadelphia High School, Philadelphia, Pa. ee a oe vis oe ea es Greek and Latin Nea asks ues va Philosophy and English Francis W. Parker School, Chicago, IIl. Rosemary Hall, Greenwich, Conn. SOT TE A Oa a autres eigen French and Spanish Rosemary Hall, Greenwich, Conn. ee oe eas Mathematics and Physics ee ee eee Greek and Latin TS CIS ae Oe ae Mathematics and Geology Asbury Park High School, Asbury Park, N. Y. a, Greek and English Cambridge Latin School, Cambridge, Mass. THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN 15 SDcholarships Received by Members of 1911 Maria L. Eastman BROOKHALL SCHOLAR Helen Tredway EuizaABEtTH Duane GILLESPIE History PRIZE Helen Ramsey Hilpa Schram EvuROPEAN FELLOWS Helen Tredway, 91.621 Marion Crane, 88.3 GrorGE W. Cuiups Essay Prize Marion Crane Mary Heten Ritcuie Prize Marion Crane GRADUATE SCHOLARSHIPS Greek—Angela Darkow Latin—Margaret Doolittle Chemistry—Helen Tredway 16 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN HAT a contrast to some of our perfunctory “25 cents fine for non-attendance” class meetings was the mysterious, melodramatic setting of the first class meeting! Then our faces had not yet acquired that unmistakable class meeting look, one of mingled dullness, virtue, and indignation, especially if the day were rainy and the place of meeting the Gym. At first our one chief thing was to guard against any appearance of going to a class meeting at all until wafted there by Lucky Providence in the shape of a Junior. Lots of “Juniors” came around to see us that first day to tell us confidentially to meet in the cloisters at six o'clock. They were such pleasant girls, with frank, engaging smiles, but with such a disconcerting habit of sitting on the 1910 side of the chapel the rest of the year. Then other Juniors came who told us not to believe anybody or go anywhere but just to wait. My particular Lucky Providence came late when I had almost given up expecting it, came with Pleasaunce Baker popping in at the Merion dining room door and beckoning. [left my soup precipitately, after a hasty apology to the faintly and frigidly amused warden. After Pleasaunce’s whispered question, “Are you a Freshman?” she gave me directions as we went up the stairs, then we separated to go different ways. THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN 17 —_——— I opened the door of the middle suite just as Pleasaunce had said, “‘ Not a soul was to be seen, not a sound to be heard.” I opened the bedroom door, and there, filling the room to overflowing, piled up on the floor, on the bed, and perched on the bureau, was the first class meeting. There were figures familiar and yet strangely unfamiliar. Flo and Anna sat huddled up in a corner in kimonos, with soap and towels in their hands, just as they had been seized on their way to the bathroom. Harriet Couch was there in evening dress and cape, with a gold band in her hair which riveted my attention like something new and strange, although I had seen it every day for the past year in school. My climax has to suffer somewhat here for no Sophomore jumped out of the closet or crawled from under the bed, as Florence Wyman was nominated chairman. Everything went smoothly, and we elected our chairman, with the usual implicit faith in our Juniors, though not one of us knew who, what or why Florence was. Somebody opened a window and a cheer went up from the crowd of Juniors gathered underneath. The meeting was over, and we all adjourned to the Arch for the singing and cheering and to meet our new chairman. Thus was the little account settled between 1909 and 1910. After the words of “Les Romanesques,” “One first class meeting with variations attempted,” and 1911 was hence- forth to go calm and undisturbed along the path of regular and uninteresting class meeting. MARGUERITE LAYTON. 18 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN Rush Mights AM commissioned to detail our Rush Nights because until I was a Junior I never took part in one and so have a calm, judicial opinion of them. Freshman year, I remember well, we had a wild class meeting when, among other things, we learned to sing with an appearance of enthusiastically believing it, that “here we came.” The choice of people to lead the line was another important thing accomplished at that class meeting. Some one suggested Jeanette and some one else said: “Get up and let’s see you.”” Then Jeanette arose, inflated her brawny chest, and rolled up her jumper sleeve to show us her muscle; that was enough—and she and Agnes Wood successfully butted their way through all obstacles. Speaking of jumpers—I was ignorant in those days, and when Florence told us we were to wear “jumpers and short skirts,” I had visions of us in some sort of baby clothes. The appropriateness of it even made me mad. I was so relieved when Scottie told me a jumper was a “middy blues.” Well, that first Rush Night, I hear, was fearfully thrilling, and it accomplished the purpose it was meant to. It introduced us to 1910 thoroughly, and to 1909 most pleasantly, and we were not divided. But the thrill of Sophomore year. It began when we decided to wear Pierrot costumes, it rose when John Richardson discovered 1912’s tune and Amy and Scottie wrote derisive words to it,—it reached a climax when behind Radnor we scattered the Freshmen, like so much astonished chaff, thanks to Schmittie’s correct imitation of a Freshman. I did get in on some of that Rush Night, for, coming out from town, and entering Denbigh, I heard Kate Rotan Drinker shout, “No violence! Remember, no violence,” while she pushed Hoby through the wall with one hand and propelled 1912 along with the other. A little farther down Elsa was begging us to remember that we had given up violence, while she deftly hung Delano over the electric light fixtures and helped the Freshman keep on the key. When we finally arrived under the Arch, Jeanette and Frances Hearne still locked in a deadly struggle, Leila “ironing out” any one who came in her way, Virginia acting like a snow plow through the masses of 1910, the Freshmen had been as it were discounted and the contention was carried on by those most interested. As Juniors we had arrived at the point of decrying violence ourselves, with fierceness THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN 19 that dared 1912 to lay hands on one Freshman. Detailed to clear out the halls before the rush entered, we encountered one persistent party of ghosts which had to be dragged out by the heels from some room on the ground floor of each hall. The corporealness of their supposedly spiritual bodies made it stiff work, and we felt justified in bumping them along the floors as we hauled them forth. Then, too, there was a curious weight, a feeling as of solidity to their “rushes without violence” at doors of the various halls. If there were any Freshmen in that rush, I don’t remember them (I suppose there must have been, however), but the uproar, and the pushing, and the fighting, all so strictly “without violence,”’ were simply wonderful. It was with a proud consciousness of our superiority and yet with undignified regret and open longing that, with satin capes and supercilious smiles, we watched the same old “rough house” sweep past. Past! Ominous sound, yet for us there was one thrill left in Rush Night. Our bones creaking and gray hair waving in the breeze,* we had the satisfaction of taking our places on the Pem West steps and of starting that first Anassa. MaRGARET PRUSSING. *Ig it etiquette to write this way about Senior year 20 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN Viagra = Sock =» i; Sah ee CHloosING © HE notices posted on this particular occasion by our secretary did not state that the business before the meeting was the choice of a class animal. But we all knew not- withstanding; and our Freshman hearts thrilled with that sensation, possible only to Freshmen, of being about to do something irretrievable: something by which we, as a class, would stand or fall in the eyes of the college. All of a sudden, we were roused to tremendous interest in the fauna of Bryn Mawr and its environs. At least we sought out such of the fauna as had the misfortune to be coloured green. And all such green animals we looked up in the encyclopedia, where we discovered the qualities of their inner souls; also, much information concerning their symbolism in ancient days (as will appear later). Then, crammed with information and ideas, and crammed also with antagonism bred by recent controversy at the luncheon table, we betook ourselves to class meeting, ninety strong. The nominations took place as they would in any election. The list read as follows: frog, scarab, chameleon, green dragon, and peacock. After they were closed, I believe that THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN 21 Ruth was on the point of asking the nominees to please withdraw, when she realised the difficulty involved. Since then, however, I have been told of a class, one of whose members had the honour of being nominated as class animal. We, however, simply proceeded to speak for our nominees. Scottie made a fiery and eloquent speech in favour of the frog. I think most of us know where her ardour for a frog came from. Thus inspired, she spoke at length of his beauty, grace, and decorative quality. Members of the biology class, how- ever, thought only of the limp, bony (not to mention odoriferous) creatures that awaited them with outstretched arms in Dalton; and Scottie did not, so to speak, carry her audience with her. Then another spoke in favour of the scarab. She reminded us of what a charm- ing ring it would make, and we were all delighted with the notion until someone vaguely suggested expense. Imagine dispatching a little order to Egypt of “eighty scarabs for the Junior Class!”’ ‘“‘Besides,”’ said Scottie, clinching matters, in her snappiest tone, “As if any one would want to have an embalmed bug for her class animal!’’ As for the chameleon, we dealt with him most scornfully. We recalled his propen- sity for changing colours; a propensity of which, even in those early days, we felt ourselves incapable. Then Rosie addressed the chair. She said, both loudly and fervently, that she thought a green dragon would be beautiful! Again she repeated the remark, with that intense empressement of which only Rosie is capable. We somehow felt that Rosie must know a dragon personally; that she must have deep, intimate reason for her feeling about dragons. We dared not protest. So we passed to the next candidate. He was mine. Someone had given me two peacock pillows for Christmas, and I couldn’t help thinking how nice they would look, decorating a class show, or something. Also, I thought I remembered having seen peacocks in the Catacombs; and behold! the encyclopedia had revealed to me wondrous facts concerning the elusive bird. After I had endeavoured to set forth these facts in polished English, the inevitable protest arose. The peacock was the bird of ill-omen. Oh, well, that was mere superstition, far beneath us as Bryn Mawr students! And finally it was said that 1911 had a reputation for conceited- ness (a thing which, by the way, we did not long retain), and that the peacock was the “symbol of vanity.” Then I played, as I thought, my trump card. Fresh from research in the reference room, I replied with dignity: ‘‘ Anyone with any education at all would know that the peacock stood for immortality.”” But then Scottie, who also had been to the reference room, rose and retorted with fervour: “Anyone with any education at all y?? would know that the frog stood for inspiration I relapsed into painful silence. Both of us had perjured our souls, but it would have 22 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN been a case of the pot’s calling the kettle black, had either one protested. Fortunately Amy saved the day. She had spent the preceding evening poring over “ Bartlett’s Fami- liar Quotations.” “It is immortality to die aspiring,” she quoted magnificently; and our Freshman souls were thrilled. No one else had even thought of a motto. Frog, scarab, chameleon and dragon now stood forth in all their pitiful, fleshly nudity, in their hopeless lack of a suitable quotation. We did not then stop to reflect whether we desired to die, even for the pleasure of doing it aspiringly. We did not consider whether the peacock had a peculiar tendency toward dying—aspiring, or any other way. We merely voted, hastily and enthusiastically, and the majority favoured—the peacock. CATHERINE LYMAN DELANO. THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN 23 OME of those people,—who lacked that subtle something called class-spirit, a thing which covers all faults and extols all virtues,—have been heard to say that 1911 was not a singing class. Now that is manifestly untrue and most wretchedly unfair, for everyone sang, whether she could keep a tune or not. Especially those who could not. This feeling for the heroic seemed to urge them on to the most daring attempts to rush the heights of melody quite unaided by those arbitrary little steps which the over exact have seen fit to include in the octave and call a scale, No more deadly blow could be dealt a classmate than to request her not to sing on all occasions. Of course we grant that there were some saints like Hoby and Leila who would consent to smother their musical emotions for the so-called good of the class; but this was only on occasions such as when Pallas Athene had to be led out to be decently murdered, the corpse being properly interred in the cloister. With them the murder might have approached the indecent. During this operation they were quite for- bidden to utter a sound, and as result of this stern prohibition spent many a wet morning in a snug bed bemoaning the bitter fate which decreed that discretion was the better part of valour, and their slumber more valuable to the community than their song. Oh! this nipping the bud of rising genius is one of the necessarily hard things of college life. Who knows but that many of our now muted song-birds might have become Patti’s? I don’t mean chicken ai la Miller,—but real prima donnas, stirring the hearts and clouding the vision of the en- tranced audience, with never a sound to cause the spine to quiver or the flesh to creep as it used to do in those early days of their musical careers when the shattered committee cast them from the music room with cries for mercy. Oh, who knows but what our Alice or our Rosie might now have been climbing the steep Wagnerian slopes, balancing easily on the highest peaks (not shrieks, lest you misquote me) and holding the throbbing attention of the vast opera house with the “liquid” notes of the Rhine Maidens. 24 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN It would be hard to place these singers satisfactorily because they could excel in so many parts. I know Rosie would have made a bully Parsifal; but I’m not quite so sure about Alice for Kundry. However, she might do the part with real feeling, and thrill the house as she came crashing down the wild cadences of Wagner’s magic maniac. But alas these things, which I picture before the ardent members of the most noble class ever graduated from Bryn Mawr, are only the fleeting visions conjured by a doting classmate who sees what might have been from out the that which is not. Nothing can be done, for the time for working such wonders is past. These with others of that vast crop of frosted blossoms fell withered beneath the bitter blast of ingratitude blowing from off the iceberg of our class-spirit. “For goodness sake, don’t sing so loud in the Lantern Song, your flatting puts everyone off the key,” were the biting words which cut deep at the roots of some truly musical emotions when the desire to sing was opening the lips of some Freshmen as the Spring sap opens the petals of the crocuses in the cloister—(a good old classical illusion). It may thus be stated that it was with the fervour of the early Christian martyrs that the various music committees worked, sorting and re-sorting the sheep from the goats. In spite of the most scrupulous care in selection there were some sad mistakes and many a student who was thought sufficiently white and fleecy of voice to be admitted to the flock of the chosen few, developed most alarming traits which soon put her into the category of the refractory members or black sheep, and from there it was but a short step to the limbo of the goats. In fact, in spite of the game of weighing in the balance, which F. Wyman and B. Taylor started in music-room G, there were found to be a shocking number of those found entirely wanting in every musical requirement. Some couldn’t carry a tune wrapped up in a basket and others were discovered to have no sense of rhythm and could keep the jolliest waltz time to the most solemn march ever written. Having mentioned the committee in terms of semi-disparagement—at least, as regarded their inhumane treatment of the goats,—I feel called upon to give some idea of the results of their efforts and also of the patience of the mutes. Dawn hours and wet feet was the lot of the average singer—to that add a petrified smile, which had to be maintained at all costs, and you get the fate of the musical directors. They, of course, had to be examples of cheerfulness and early rising. About seven-thirty,— it should have been quarter past,—a chastened and saddened multitude went beneath the Arch and proceeded to the library. In this procession worried mutes walked by the sides of singers and busily tried to remember just which foot came on just which syllable when THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN 25 they stepped out of the cloister door, for it made a vast difference. Often the rhythmic beat- ing of the tin pan by the fountain and the shuffle and sway of the line overcame their sense of obedience and caution and they would burst into song, only to be suddenly hushed by the person behind. On the whole, Lantern Night went off well and the class was very graceful in its acceptance of compliments on the singing. No one said a word about that galley ser- vice in the moist morning when we staggered and tottered into the cloister before breakfast trying to achieve that most difficult of feats, to keep our breath and our balance going down steps. In looking back you realise that those were grand days. Our feeling for freedom per- mitted us to sing any song any way, not caring who wrote it either, how, when, or why. Each singer felt at liberty to put forth her own interpretation and often there were as many render- ings as there were girls to rend them, but on the whole the effect was fair and anyone with a sufficiently wide range of musical knowledge could come somewhere within ten composers of the song we were singing. For let it be known that our choice was exceedingly varied, extending from Wagner to Weber and Field. Now I have spoken only of those dear lost voices, and they were lost, through no fault of their own. Let us turn for one brief moment to the people who really did the musical work and rode hard on the outlaws and uncertain members. It was Norvelle Browne who for two years gave us a clear firm starting note and had voice and faith enough to keep many people on the key and some people somewhere near the tune. Among these latter ones were a few staunch adherents, who knew a good thing when they saw it, noticeably Leila, who would get near enough the air occasionally to strike a fine alto. — Most of this happened Freshman and early Sophomore year and was in the golden age of our singing life, when it never dawned on the class that it was not a body collected solely for the purpose of regaling the campus with song. Then no one was discouraged and everyone sang. About the middle of Sophomore year was introduced a regular system of Black Hand, which kept many of our most lusty members under a sort of vocal cloud from which they could but occasionally burst forth and could shine only when out in such company either where it was thought that they could do no damage, or where kind friends could not get at them to remonstrate more forcibly than by savage glances. By the end of Sophomore year the reign of terror was having an excellent and most salutary effect on the fractious ones, and the busy pens, pencils, and brains of Betty, Delano, Mary Frank Case, Amy, P. Rice, and many others were putting out enough songs to keep the class busy on the athletic field, 26 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN —_—— while our polite ditties to the upper classes, inspired by some of their illustrious members, should have ensured us a place on their good books forever. At the end of Sophomore year the Herculean labour of a song rested quite easily on the class shoulders and we stood at the foot of Senior steps and sang our returns of 1909’s praise quite happily. We seemed to give each other confidence singing en masse and had an almost touching faith in our starter. Toward the end of May the songs took a sadder note and moist-eyed Sophomores began to count the days before June should scatter the protecting red class to the four corners of the earth, perhaps never to return. At last the end came and 1909 ceded the steps to 1910, and the old classes stood shoulder to shoulder on the ground for their last collective song. Mutes and all broke into “Thou Gracious” with an astounding vehemence and it was the strength of the rush which carried the song without a tearful breakdown. Junior year was one singularly lacking in all musical efforts, save the singing at dinner of the May Day songs in which 1911 merely followed the lead of 1910. It was fortunate for us that little was required for we had lost so many voices that we needed time to recover and to develop another leader. What we lacked in song we tried to make up in dignity—but it is a question as to how we succeeded. In the course of time we were given the steps and we did manage to get up without mishap. I suppose every class that takes the steps for the first time feels as though it had stolen something and been taken red-handed; but in spite of emotion we did start “Thou Gracious” and were for the first time full-fledged singing Seniors. In the Fall of 1910 anyone coming on the campus about half past seven would have heard a “sound of voices,’”—but—it was not around the psalmist’s crystal sea, and if it had been I am sure those “harpers harping on their harps” would have thrown down the instruments along with their heavenly crowns and beaten a hasty retreat from the scene of confusion. The sound produced was wonderful and fearful. The curious may want to know what I’m driving at—well it’s 1911’s Senior singing, and that is something that won’t be driven and can’t be led. There was the class gathered on Taylor steps in all stages and kinds of attire, fighting merrily over and around the patient form of Pinkey who had been made leader— a position much like the one of the person who blacks his face, sticks it through a hole in a canvas and dodges the ball of the ardent pleasure-seeker who aims to hit the nigger-baby, and thus get a good cigar—well it was a toss-up between Pinkey and the other fellow. There she sat in medias res ducking her patient head and waiting for the storm to pass. From the description it may be gathered that Amy was not there. Each girl had a request for a song THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN 27 and no two were of the same mind. Some shouted fiercely for the Denbigh opera, some for “Bi” chorus, while Esther and other soulful ones, P. Rice among them, insisted gently but firmly on J’ai Perdu. It was usually decided by mob majority and the lower classes’ calling for Hellie Henderson and Pinkey to do the Helen and Menealaus. These would follow another embarrassed storm of protest from the “Titian Terrors” which was joined in by the Seniors pro and con and in the course of time the duet was evolved, the effects being varied by a few coughs and giggles ending in choking laughter. This of course was not the solemn and awe-inspiring function that it should have been, nor was it always a riot. There were many nights when no one fought with Scottie and when the class sang even though with much true feeling and a good measure of real success. Such evenings were the redeeming features and went toward the making of a very fine singing average for the class of 1911. Of course, a few fractious mutes and people like M. Smith who knew thoroughly every third word in a song, helped to bring down the average, but, considering the drawbacks and the scarcity of voices, the Senior class did creditably in its vocal performance. MArGERY SMITH. 28 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN or “fQot Pulgar, But—”’ HE Freshman Show was our first colossal break; there had been plenty of lesser breaks before, but they all led up to this one great never-to-be-forgotten climax. I can well remember the class meeting in the gym when Pruss read us the manuscript of the show, and how we listened complacently to it, finding nothing unusual in the setting of the first scene or in the open hits at our respected faculty. I remember that I objected to asking the age of the President and was almost reduced to tears by the scornful words of Hoby, Ruth Vickery, Prussie and several other dignified people. Aside from little details like this we were satisfied. It was evident from the beginning that Providence willed that I alone should be responsible for that first scene, for my companions on the Scenery Committee were laid low at the crucial moment, Dottie Thayer with appendicitis, Hoffie with water on the knee. HowI laboured with Mr. Abernathy about those miserable doors for the first scene! He couldn’t understand why we wanted so many and why they should be of that particular kind. Finally he said “Oh, yes, they are to be tavern doors, aren’t they?” THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN 29 We left it at that, as I really couldn’t explain any further, but he must have thought we were going to give a pretty gay show with four tavern doors in it. It is almost beyond comprehension that we never suspected that anything was wrong even after our Senior friend in the gallery had announced in clarion tones that the scene shifters were “disgusting fools,” and Frances Browne, in a sort of last agony of despair had made us remove the sign “Well of Mimir C. T.”’ from the stage. We threw all our young energies into the show and thought we were doing ourselves proud. But not long afterwards our eyes were opened and we realised the worst. I always thought that the criticism of the show in the Tip was worded with wonderful skill. Practically all it said was that the play had the great merit of ending better than it began. What a mixture of truth and caution that statement is; it can be interpreted any way you want to take it and still not lay the writer open to the charge of having said anything definite. But in spite of its failings our Freshman show was funny; in looking back I think it was one of the funniest things that ever happened to us. Besides this, it has been useful as a model of what a Freshman show should not be, and so we can be sure that its glory will never be lessened by unworthy rivals, but that it will go down to fame in lonely splendour. And if, as our Senior song says: “We came to startle fair Bryn Mawr With things she’d never seen,” we certainly fulfilled our purpose and set a high standard for the rest of our career. Leita HouGHre.ina. 30 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN ‘ | a » * 2 — Y y Ss SON So - SESS,” Ss WE S SS SAAN WS : Y subject was suggested to me one hectic day last April. It was the week before 1911’s farewell appearance on the boards—Peggy and I were at the Tea-house dejectedly eating milk-toast. We had spent the morning showing the scenery man how to turn Media’s palace into the Petkoff’s cottage, and the afternoon selecting Bulgarian uniforms from Van Horn’s supply of American military costumes. “Scottie has written something for the Class Book about 1911 Behind the Footlights,” Peg volunteered. I looked up from my bunch of lists—so much derided by Leila—and grunted, . “You and I had better write about 1911 Behind the Scenes.” So we arranged, in order that the article might be full of feeling, to write it while we partook, according to our immemorial custom, of a common* Tea-house meal on the night of the performance. For some reason, however, we were a little hurried that evening,—I think that Mr. Skelley had forgotten to send the chairs over to the Gym,—and we put off this important duty until after the press of Finals and Commencement. But Peggy, if *1. e., Common in its original sense of side-by-side. Far be it from me to suggest anything less laudatory of a Tea-house supper. THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN 31 you please, dashed, diploma in hand, from the Gym platform to the Broadway stage, and I found myself left alone behind the scenes. Then I considered asking Catherine to help. She really knows a lot more about it than I do. Only I am afraid that she is disqualified. She has won her orchids behind the footlights. My only dramatic hit I made behind the scenes, when I charmed the ears of my audience by a tuneful serenade. Moreover, Catherine in non-dramatic fields has issued beyond the background and stood majestically and effectively in the public eye. While I—well, everyone knows my modest, shrinking nature. I remember that when Amy asked me to serve ice cream at our Senior reception, I thought, here at last is my chance to come forth into the arena. So, adorned in my new hobble, I strutted carefully to the Gym, only to discover the bitter fact that my station was on the back stairs, half way between the festive table and the base of supplies. Up and down that ladder-like ascent I toiled, my train tucked up over one arm,—you all realise, of course, how becoming that is when the skirt is narrow and attached to the petticoat,—up and down, between Gym Jennie and Dotty and Virginia. Since then I have known my place and have stayed discreetly behind the scenes. Leila, who has always shown a kind solicitude for my soul’s welfare, once thought it might be won better, if I were to remain under the scenes. This she attempted to accomplish at the dress rehearsal of Arms and the Man, by heaving the heaviest flapper-wing at me and pinning me down securely under the weight of an oak forest and a stone wall. Had not Pruss wanted the whole of the stage for her company, Leila’s philanthropic endeavour would have proved completely successful. In point of fact I began my dramatic career under the stage, partly because in the old Gym it was the only spot where the stage manager could find a resting place, and partly because I had to make my immortal address to Everyfreshman up through the anathematised well. There I caught Ellen Pottberg when she made her exit with that remarkable ease and grace which the old stage facilitated. There it was that I extricated from her gray pencil case Scottie, kicking and screaming in convulsions of laughter, while I listened to Mary Frank’s sobs as I rolled the mangled pieces of her handiwork out into the open. Oh, that was a merry day! Down in the swimming pool H. P. as mistress of the robes rescued the Lobsters from a watery grave, and up in the Gym, Leila and her sturdy band set the stage amidst the thundering jeers of 1908 and the piteous entreaties of 1909. Some think that 1911 made the sensation of its life after the curtain went up. I believe that glorious moment was before. 32 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN Sophomore year the scene shifters, led by Peggy and Catherine, sought pastures new. The stage was reared at the non-pulpit end of the Chapel. “We made up in the Interview Room And costumed in the Hall.” Never was Taylor so desecrated before. We are therefore not surprised to find the same class, in their Senior year, led by the intrepid members of the English Club, inviting Mr. Hadfield to render Kipling from the pulpit and to arrange his rouge pots and powder puffs on the altar of the first president. That performance resulted disastrously, for on the ensuing Sunday night the Bible was found to have vanished mysteriously, and Dr. Barton and I were forced to make an agonised search for it while Catherine held the minister in sweet conversation. We were just on the point of wiring Mr. Hadfield But I am straying from my story. As Sophomores our impiety met with less frightful consequences. It is true that only one person at a time could shift scenery without falling into the laps of the faculty, and 1912’s themes were in danger of being made up more rapidly than the English Department had bargained for, but bruises soon heal and the odours of even spirit-glue can be dissipated by gardenias. Then came His Excellency and the new stage and the real green-room. Such luxury enabled our energy to manifest itself in a new direction. Catherine transformed Indian clubs into the hoofs of an orderly’s charger, and Scottie and I displayed our recently acquired knowledge of physics in the manipulation of a telephone. Junior year was a study in dramatics sans stage, sans scenery, sans play, sans rehear- sals, sans all the essentials and accompaniments of the art. Nevertheless Rock produced an eroplane; Pem, an aurora borealis; and Denbigh, a flock. Senior year introduced Shaw and Shots. We used caps for Press Cuttings with the result that I was deaf for a week. When Peg told me that I’d have to be the fusillade in Arms and the Man, I nearly wept. Instead I procured a pistol from Van Horn. It kicked at the dress rehearsal. Scottie and Hoff got no cues—or at least none at the right time— and I shot Pruss in the leg. So next day I went to the Oracle. I had to wait until the President had finished consulting it on the subject of the new paint on the lamp-posts. But its answer was not cryptic. It simply lent me its own gun. With pride I sat me down on the Gym steps and rehearsed the fusillade once, twice, thrice, again and yet again until I was forcibly stopped by a message from the Deanery inquiring whether interclass feuds THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN 33 ————_—_—_—_—_—_—_========_==== had taken the place of hazing or whether we were merely collecting statistics for use in our Peace Essays. Nevertheless that night I did not miss my cues. Later in the evening, when I rang the curtain down with the same little bell that had rung it up on Everyfreshman, and Catherine closed her prompter’s copy, and the class gathered rapturously around Peg and her all star company, I decided that though less bril- liant and esthetic than the activities before the scenes, no less varied and thrilling were the activities behind. MARGARET JEFFERYS HOBART. 34 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN a Y first recollections are naturally, in general, of the old Gym, and particularly of my entrance examinations. I remember most distinctly, not my first examination, but that fateful day when I essayed to write my entrance English paper—on Edmund Burke. It was not a day to be forgotten. It was a stormy afternoon, with the rain dashing in through the swinging windows, and it was five years since I had read Burke’s Conciliation. Moreover, I was struck at once by the incongruous juxtaposition of Miss Donnelly and the parallel bars. It was a triumph of intuition, but there is nothing like English, especially entrance English, for sharpening the wits. The intervening time is blotted out between that effort and the day when I was guided into the maze of little upstairs offices for physical examination, heart-and-lungs, and vaccina- tion. The three operations as they were there and then performed are blurred together in my mind, and I cannot remember for how much of the time I sat amazed in a toga. Then there was that day of trials, the day when I struggled over the horse and manip- ulated a wand under the inquiring eye of Miss Applebee, who thereupon put me in B, light and heavy, with hopes of my improvement. There was ever that peculiarity about my gymnastic situation; always there were hopes of me. I was strong and willing, and, as Miss Applebee continued to remark, looked as if I had sense. Miss Applebee’s THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN 35 remarks might confer an invidious distinction, but they were precious to me. Word was always being passed, “If she yells at you, it’s because you’re worth noticing.’ In those days I hardly knew which to aim for: to be yelled at, or to be worth noticing. It was after long determination on the latter alternative, backed up by my looks, that I got into the gym contest. I think we all felt the strain of that occasion. I can see us now, as we sat rigid between acts, hotly conscious of our hands and feet. It has never been so hot, before or since, as in that week of our Freshman gym contest. As for the acts themselves, will there ever be misery to match that miserable moment when you found your wand up while everybody else was lunging to the right, and the whole class disgraced and defeated because of you? Miss Ward met me next day with a solicitous inquiry after my health. “T don’t think,” said she, “that you ought to go in for those gym contests. Your face was too red yesterday.” Alas for 1911 and vaulting ambitions, her solicitude came too late. True, we did win next year, but that was merely in spite of me. My face, I dare swear, was no whit less red, but even as a Sophomore, I could not sacrifice my personal aspirations to the common good, nor could I ascend with H. P. to that summit of indifference, not to say scorn, from which she regarded all athletic prowess. But burning desire stood me in no stead. To the last I might hold up my head with the English sharks outside the Gym, only to be diminished and brought to the dust by my own Indian club within. In the old days, Miss Applebee would bring Jack Morris or Frances Browne, into well-deserved prominence before the Freshman. “Now then, Self-Gov.” she would say, “let’s see what you can do.” But never once in the year 1911 did she threaten with obloquy our sacred institution. Miss Applebee is not without the quality of mercy. There was a season when we were equal, high and low, when Margaret Doolittle could no longer point a finger of scorn from the top of the ropes, nor Willie twirl Indian clubs derisively. When first we came back as Sophomores the old Gym with its familiar red brick walls over the bulging front of the swimming pool had disappeared, and in its place was the new Gym, with its fresh stonework, looking from Senior Row like the fairy metamorphosis of some medizval castle. Its finishing, promised and repromised, was delayed until long after Christmas, but Miss Applebee inexorably demanded the registration of heavy exercise. Main Line inhabitants must have been constantly fighting off the fear of an hypothetical fire, for the countryside was fairly infested by running students, girls in strange clothes, with flying hair, who ran not as the mood might take them,—sporadically and for the pure joy of living,—but doggedly, desperately, for thirty-minute periods. I remember—and the joke is long since time-honoured among my friends—I remember once protesting to 36 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN Pat Murphy, as we toiled together up the long incline past Miss Wright’s School: “Oh, Pat—even horses don’t run up hill.” Pat, pounding on ahead, grudging every extra breath, flung back her answer: “Horses,” she panted, “don’t have to register exercise.” But for a steady pacer, commend me to Esther Cornell. One rough cart path, off Robert’s Road, is indelibly impressed on my memory by the pains with which, upon one occasion, I followed the indefatigable Esther. Once, to save my life, I sat down, but Esther went on running, round and around me. However, fear of fat was ever an added goad to little Esther. People who excelled in such exercises,—again the green monster gnawed at my vitals—did stunts in the corridors after 10.30, agonising the proctorial conscience by a protracted series of thumps. So we bided our time until that afternoon when Miss Thomas and Miss Garrett watched the whole student body swing dumb-bells in the new Gym without pounding itself. It was in Senior year that I took seriously to fencing. Higgie was my first partner. Higgie and I agreed that it gave us an agreeable medieval, or crusading, kind of feeling, even though the chief command was, in Miss Applebee’s best tone, ““Szt down on your hind legs.”” After all, there was the grand salute, with Ginger looking so handsome over your shoulder as you did “‘sa-lute on the left.” I never got beyond dubious intentions as one does in fancy dancing. “Better go into it, Crane,” urged Miss Applebee. “You need it.” In that very first class, however, they did one thing with their arms and another with their legs, and even the sight of Leila, valiantly effecting the combination, could not bring me back. Light B was after all the emotion for Juniors and Seniors. You had then of necessity laid away ambition as far as gym contests were concerned. You came with all your most especial friends, added to three-fourths of the College, on Friday afternoon at 5.30. Miss Gray gave you impossible Swedish exercises which nobody but her own fair self could do. Or else Miss Applebee officiated. It was in Light B that Miss Applebee’s genius fairly carried you off your feet. You lay on the floor, in the throes of inextinguishable laughter as you regarded the uplifted legs of half the college, while your own collapsed with a con- spicuous thud. Or you watched the most accomplished athletes and the most beautiful girls succumb in the midst of a terrible heels-raise-knees-bend-legs-sideways-stretch com- bination. Oh, but it was in Light B that we were idealists. And at the end, just to bring you back to earth, as it were, you did a dance, a gorgeous peasant dance with three claps and two bows and three steps forward—a dance suited to the brains of the most thick- headed of English sharks. I have always thought that my proficiency in Light B and kindred pursuits was the THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN 37 cause of the following effect: Two weeks before the last possible gym class of Senior year I was fifteen periods on the black list; I went astray at the very beginning of the first semester when Miss Applebee and Miss Taylor instituted a complicated system of registration whereby you could do four periods of gym every week and still get on the black list by geometrical progression. Scottie had eighteen periods to do. I won’t try to explain her situation. Be that as it may, we appeared together at everything, and ended our so devised athletic careers side by side. Thereupon Scottie approached me, “I want you,” said she, “to do Gym for the Class-Book.” Marion D. CRANE. 38 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN fg N eee SS abi is an a en a | 2S GLE Wy) ID ery WDD CaM, VY Wy) py yyy = Wyle Ze, Vi) YY fe Y, fit a SIZZLE => —“— BR "haw N looking back over our four years’ brilliant career, we don’t seem to be struck with the realisation of many breaks on 1911’s part. We arrive at the conclusion, many as have been our failings, a lack of conformity to etiquette and traditions was not one of them. 1911 in this respect was not a record-breaking class. This was due, no doubt, to the excellent training given us by 1909 and 1910, and in part to our natural docility and our capacity for the hasty cramming of yards of red tape. I have often wondered how many sleepless nights Ruth Vickery and Amy must have spent in learning by rote not only all of “Robert’s Rules of Order” but also the mighty bulk of traditions to be poured, next class meeting, into our surprised and unwilling ears. Heard protestingly they were, however meekly put into practice, but somehow we seemed to get along with no great amount of trouble. Of course, we were branded “fresh” during all the fall of our first year by 1910, but what Freshman class has ever been able to evade this opprobrious adjective? Our great social error, the echoes of which still ring faintly in the annals of the college, was our Freshman Show. “Not vulgar—but!”’ Miss Thomas thus condemned it in chapel, and for weeks it was barely mentioned. It was, perhaps, a bit outspoken, but 1911 loved it tenderly then and still recalls its rebuffed first-born with affection. Later in the spring we planned another little surprise for our upper classmen who had taken our ‘‘ Melody in F”’ a bit humourously. THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN 39 Do you remember the first time we changed our class song? We had practised “O, The Sunny Days of Youth” until the inmates of Pem East thought we were entering upon our second childhood. At last one evening when “1911 Class Song” was called from Senior Steps, we formed a solid Freshman phalanx and began. ‘‘O, The Sunny Days of Youth,” we caroled lustily, then something happened. Like water falling from a great height, our song broke into a thousand parts and each alone and unsupported vanished, as a drop of water, into silence. The hitherto suppressed merriment of the multitude burst into a mighty laugh, which, with our own deep humiliation, is forever fixed in the memory of those of us who took part in this, our saddest vocal break. Then, in Sophomore year Rush Night, was, we confess, rather rough. It is presumed that we broke through the Freshman line, but it is a question whether that break belongs in this catalogue. It was perhaps a near-break, no more. This long article is at length justified when it records almost the final episode in our career. Safely steered through the channels of traditions, and guided through the mazes of red tape, at the end of our voyage we crashed upon treacherous rocks, unforeseen by even Amy. Was it because it was our last chance to show our supremacy as Seniors that we should dictate how many verses of class song the Alumne should sing? Or was it in defiance of the august chapel choir which has recently demanded that no verse shall ever be omitted? Or was it to make the revered Alumne feel that they were still Upper Classmen and we Freshmen longing to make breaks? Certainly I shall never forget the break we made into 1901’s and subsequent class songs (even 1909’s, though we blush to record it) with our lusty Anassa. We hesitate to call this a break, such a complete disruption of traditional etiquette it was, yet what secret joy we took in it! There certainly were no Upper Classmen to reprove us; we were Seniors. Even break privileges we could rightfully assume. Puyuus Rice, Ruta F. Tanner, Mary A. WILLIAMS. 40 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN This ought to be Freshman Class Supper UT I never wrote anything funny in my life you wail; and yet the cruel editor of the class book who is probably one of the wits of the ‘class and has made funny speeches on every occasion when they could be made and on some when she thought she was being serious,* only smiles blandly, answering, “Oh, mine’s perfectly flat. Just write anything and send it in by—’’ Let’s not mention the date, it’s so long passed before you get the ambition to attempt the impossible. Then after a while you do spoil some potentially pleasant morning being funny, but somehow your own jokes are too feeble and you don’t think a class book article can be constructed like a speech—a collection of old favorites, e. g., ““a woman, generally speaking, is generally speaking,” unified by “that reminds me,” so you throw away your first attempt and wait until the gentle editor writes to you that someone else has designed a beautiful heading for your article on “ Freshman Class Supper,” let us say, and so because you don’t want the artist’s work to go unlabeled, you sit down again to write that article. There are two subjects tabooed by the Harvard English Department (and doubtless by the same department at Johns Hopkins)—‘The Squirrels” and “ Why I hate to write daily themes.”” Of course they ought to be tabooed, but what can you do when you remember nothing about the subject assigned, but, say like Isabelle Miller, “I don’t know that question but Pll answer another about the same length”? At any rate that’s the explanation of this long preface to nothing at all, for as an honest fact that first class supper is as hazy in my mind as the first week of college. I confusedly remember a feeling of expectation and of importance as a class, and the only incidents I can recall are wearing the first dress I ever had without a high neck and singing: “* Nineteen eleven is the Stuff.” * Leila and E., I cannot decide for which of us this is meant, but we are not eager. Take your choice.—Ed. Frances Porter. THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN 4! me OONER or later every daughter of Eve has to leave Paradise. The particular brand of fruit which sent us forth was General English. A “passed” in the entrance exami- nations, and President Thomas’ cautious inquiries as to our mental ripeness, should have warned us, but secure in the vague assurance that we had “always been good in English” we insisted on sampling the course. For the first month we handed in careless little themes about the campus and our ulti- mate aim in life, and consumed quantities of Beowulf and listened to hazy lectures on Eddas, and then came the quiz. The questions on the paper looked so guileless that we answered them in a manner suggested by our native common sense, and went on to our other concerns. Not until some days later was it announced that over half the class had failed. Startled out of our youthful complacency, we questioned with mingled suspicion and admiration those of our numbers who had not failed. A high prize, they shamefacedly reported, appeared to have been set on the confession that “Beowulf awakened primordial and hitherto unsuspected racial affinities in one’s breast,” and a statement that the baying ad Sa a a = Sees ae THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN of one Garm was strongly reminiscent of certain strains in Siegfried was accorded an approv- ing “good.” Quite clearly was it borne in upon us that the fortunate originators of these aberrations of thought must have been inspired by something more potent than common sense. And with no less clearness did we see the immediate necessity of adding that “some- thing” to our mental equipment. Little did we dream that the quest of this talent was to drive us from our Eden, occupy our every every waking hour, and drain our gladdest moments of their pleasure. We may as well proceed at once to a frank discussion of our trouble. Technically speaking, we had no “souls,”’ at least the majority of us had none, and as it later transpired even the admirers of Garm and Beowulf possessed at that time only the most rudimentary sort. Now, there may be those who claim they never set out upon this quest, never soiled their ““wholesome and hearty natures” with a “‘soul,’”’ but we would remind them that in spite of much “looking heavenward,”’ tennis playing, ‘‘church work” and the like, they did acquire enough soul to graduate with the rest of the class. In justice to them, however, be it said that they have since made great progress in removing all traces of the painful acquisition. The rest of us, however, led by the survivours of the first quiz, made it our chief business to gain some soul before the next period of trial. Bungling methods and a somewhat vague comprehension of the ulterior aim led at first to discouraging results. Mindful of Garm’s unsuspected worth, we reversed our first plan, and mentioned with enthusiasm everything which had struck us as queer or unnatural. As a result we gained some credit for originality, but our sincerity, and even our intelligence, was suspected. In despair we sought to preserve both originality and sincerity by a sweeping condemnation of the material presented for our discussion, only to call down upon our heads reproaches for the utter lack of historical and critical perspective. At the time it dawned upon us that for theme writing also a “soul” was required. Faithful accounts of childhood days and accurate descriptions of one’s mates gained no approval from the reader who had asked for a reminiscense or a character sketch. We were told in interviews that neither life nor literature seemed to have made any impression upon us, and were asked why we didn’t “re-act” a truthful picture of stirring memories. Then in a flash we understood we were to study ourselves, watch how things affected us, classify and arrange our feelings. At first we felt a bit delicate about starting such an investigation, a bit reluctant to unearth the secrets of our psychology. But all too soon we succumbed to the fascination THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN 43 of the game. If one were alert, something new might be discovered every hour. In the intervals between cheering at a water polo game one reflected deeply on the amphibious origin of man, or during a hockey game, wondered whether a brute display of strength was included in the modern ideal of womanhood. Both these ideas proved valuable for daily themes, but infinitely more valuable for soul culture was the study of our literary sensations, sensations arising from the perusal of great literature rather than from our own painful compositions. Perhaps the most accurate method of registering the pulse of literary emo- tion was to read a book through rapidly enough to provoke interest, and, pencil in hand, to note down the places where any slight thrill of pleasure or disgust had been experienced. Such incidents, somewhat seasoned, would then be ready for use in the next examination. Any occasional contingency which then arose was disposed of from our general fund of soul. For example, if uncertain as to the exact meaning of Swinburne’s Hertha we would say, “it approached the condition of music,” and let it go at that. Or again, when we seemed put off by the manifest immorality of Congreve, we would cut the knot by dogmatically declar- ing that “‘imagination is the highest instrument for moral good.”’ By dint of such artifices we all acquired enough soul to pass First and Second Year Literature and Composition. When that had been accomplished the soul had become a permanent possession, some- thing to dog our future steps from henceforth as relentlessly as we had hitherto pursued it. Indeed, like Eve, we had lost our early self-unconsciousness in the attempt to search for self-knowledge. And perhaps, after all, we should not have complained of our bargain if there had never been a General Culture examination. Before sending us forth into the world, the faculty saw fit to entice us into an expression of our philosophical, scientific, and literary convictions. Our response to this congenial task was many pages of blue book bearing quite distinctly the impress of the soul. Months afterwards from an English tribunal came the death sentence, “frankly senti- mental.” Ruta WELLS. 44 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN ¥) + \) ie as y Nx UR ays VAX RY Ne o 6%, x + wi, HON AKON \ XX ees, XX xh & AX a A P/ vy, x XS NAA) ¢ KU Pad cal xx) xy (Sentior CLass SuPPER) ‘WAS really going to write a very funny speech. It wasn’t that I wanted to. What I wanted to do was to be sen- timental and sweet, and talk about what an exceptionally nice class we are, and how much I love you all, and all that; and especially bringing out that there never was such a class, such a beautiful, clever, congenial, good-looking, interesting, charming, lovable, dignified, totally perfect class. Some ! people might think that was funny, but, of course, we don’t— we know that’s all right. Only I know that isn’t the thing to talk about, so, as I say, I meant to write a very funny speech. Unfortunately I got dragged into a Canfield game this afternoon quite against my will—and, as anyone might know, one can’t do anything else while Pinkie is playing Canfield. Have you ever heard her? “Girls, girls, I am so depressed—IJ can’t tell you how depressed I am—Oh here—this is too much, someone has been imposing on the better side of my nature. I’ve got two queens of spades!” That’s a mere sample. You might think she’d be ashamed of having two queens of spades, but she has a wonderful way of blaming it on some one else. In the meantime, I was doing my best to get a joke here and there, and finally Gordon said she had seen an awfully jolly thing in Punch this morning. However, she couldn’t remember what it was—only it was something about the coronation. I give you that on faith. THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN 45 I told Delano I couldn’t say anything funny about being a Freshman, and she said she knew I could, because she had heard me say it a hundred times. That wasn’t very encourag- ing. She said—all that about our being brought up better than any class since. That’s perfectly true. Under the severe but beneficial influence of 1908 we were certainly reared with a proper sense of the importance of Bryn Mawr, and the utter insignificance of us. But that simply is harking back to what an adorable class we are now, and I must keep away from that. Really, though, didn’t it make you furious last year, to hear 1910’s Senior song about how they brought us up and how they were responsible for our good manners—when we all know perfectly well that they—poor helpless dears—were as much under 1908’s iron thumb as we were. And then that about 1912—how they “couldn’t improve on them.” 1911, that delusion of theirs left the whole matter on our shoulders, and, do you know, I sometimes have a sinking feeling that we never quite lived up to that responsibility? It was only this morning, as Delano and I, mere Seniors with nothing but leisure on our hands, watched a prominent member of the Class of 1912 do a restrained but forceful Marathon across the campus—I really felt it then—that we had not given other classes the advantages that we had had ourselves, and—that it was too late. But this about being Freshmen. I was very thoroughly a Freshman, I haven’t been any- thing so thoroughly since, till I became a Senior, but now I am just Senior all over—I can hardly put myself back. I remember, though, that I was a loving child, I loved all 1908, and all 1909, and all 1910. That was probably because it never occurred to me that they would ever all come back at once. Now, I know that the sort of thing Delano wants me to talk about is how Amy and I good-naturedly started Anassa all through a varsity game, being egged on by the unforgivable Georgina—our own Junior, mind you! But all that is a great deal too painful—I would much rather talk about how important I have been this year—for I have had my important moments, though I fear Leila has got ahead of me pretty often. And what does it matter anyway? Now we can start Anassa all we like, and a good deal oftener. It keeps us cheering all the time trying to give a hearty welcome to all our dear guests. If I seem bitter, it is just the relief—this is the first time I have been able to talk without having Alumne round for ten days. I suppose Alumne are really enjoying reunions with long-lost friends. But I always feel that they have all been in hiding together somewhere, waiting to crush in as a crowd, just at the end of our Senior year, when we having nothing else to do but cheer them. As for Freshman year—Oh why do I have to talk about this anyway? What I want to talk about is to ask you whether you think the caterer will be able to use our new mausoleum 46 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN to serve the garden party refreshments on or not. It’s roomy, of course, but I shouldn’t say it was handily arranged. And then—do you think when we all die and are buried on the campus we will like to have separate vaults, or shall we be arranged in mortuary chapels according to our groups? Can’t you see Cranie and Delano and me in a neat little one? —and Prussie and Roz would each have one to herself, but, oh, my word! fancy the History and Polecon group! Theirs would be a regular morgue. Well, as to Freshman days—but, honestly, have you ever seen anything like the com- mencement presents? Virginia has one neat, blue silk cage of a peculiar shape, which doesn’t open and doesn’t smell—I have wasted hours shaking the thing mournfully, trying to find out what it can be for. But I don’t know yet. But now Hobie has us all beaten. Have you seen her latest? She was ecstatic when it arrived this afternoon, and I watched her open the wooden box, and look elated as she saw the name on the card. And then she drew out—no, I don’t know what they were. They were made of excellent but somewhat battered mahogany, and had evidently been sawed off the piano legs. They were in the shape of scrolls—quite lovely scrolls—just two of them—unattached, unexplained, and solid. Now for a really tasteful and handy gift for a young girl, how could you do better? I’m going right home and examine the parlour decorations to see if there isn’t some little extra ornament that I can remove, to brighten some girl’s life with. But you know what commencement presents are like, and we all have some queer ones of our own. I’m too sensitive about mine to discuss them. However, as to being Freshmen. Well, you know what we were like in Merion. If you ever passed by one of those bare rooms, with nothing much in sight but a table, on which were some unwashed cups—relics of last night’s smuggled chocolate orgy or last week’s M. C. O., as the case might be, and a few packs of cards, and Dinkey, and perhaps a few books on good manners, and then usually one or the other or both of Roz’s red bedroom slippers kicking about—well, you saw a fairly complete commentary on our daily life. And then the awful nights of cramming. Shall I ever forget Hellie, rolled in an irresponsible ball on the floor, mixed up with a down quilt, and Iola in a dainty retiring robe—they were much like our mere nightgowns, but you felt that there was a difference—murmuring sweetly that she must wait a few minutes till she could see out of her eyes. Which, when you come to think of it, was not an unreasonable request. Well, you know the rest. 191 1 gave a shocking bad show, of which we were the most shocking bad part. I refuse to discuss that show again. And then parties. Why, of course, we had highly hilarious and wild midnight parties, mostly smuggled chocolate— si THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN 47 and did all the foolish things a Freshman can do, and, I may say with modest pride, a great many more ingenious things than Freshmen nowadays seem to be able to do. And it was all extremely pleasant, while it lasted. But now—Oh now, of course, I have got to the point where I go on parties with just H. P. and Miss King in the cloisters, and she reads poetry till it’s dark, and then I ingenuously but takingly ask her what Heaven will be like. I really do, you know. I would quite surprise you. In fact, I surprise myself. But I am running on interminably, with a heart full of good will, and with not one joke. I’m so sorry. And I feel that I am growing sentimental again, so I had better stop at once. Here’s to the Freshman days of 1911. Marion Sturcess Scort. 48 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN 1912 Couchant, 1911 Rampant or wow Wie Rid the College of an GInjurious Custom ss COLD, stinging ecstasy,’’ followed by a “slow, A warm purification.” These words, applied by a revered instructor to those (you see I lived in Merion) daily concessions to public opinion, C, hot and cold tubs, apply with equal cogency to 1911’s hazing of 1912. An ecstasy it certainly was for us to find ourselves with a class below—we who for a year had been trodden under the iron heel of seniorial oppression—suppression, depression, whatever you choose to call it. The last term, if I remember, was chiefly descriptive of our side of the affair—the imprint of the heel, so to speak. To return—we meant to be stinging—to 1912, and no one will deny the chillsomeness of college corridors in the late hours of the night. So much for the first part. There was a pause of afew days. Then it appeared that somehow we had done that hazing so completely that in the minds of some people the job seemed completed for life. To be sure, we had attained to no heights such as “’11 in pants.” We had simply and logically utilised the advantages which nature had given us, of tubs, basement, etc., with a proper regard for the life, limbs (excuse me, Iola, the “portion below the knee”), and property of our victims. _ Hoby had unwittingly voiced what was to be the general opinion as she stood, on the night itself, at the bedside of a newly awakened Freshman. The aforesaid Freshman, on opening her eyes and beholding the impressive figures in front of her had gasped out: ‘Oh, how wonderful you are,’’—to which Hoby intoned the grim reply: ‘No, we are not wonderful, we are ter-ri-ble.”” And apparently we had been, terrible. Most people seemed to think we had. So then came the purification. Of course it was slow, in accordance with the dignity of B. M.S. A. for S. G. And various people from Rock and West assured me that “warm” was a pale word for it. 1911 stood rebuked, and tried to forget about it. We THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN 49 succeeded for a while. But in the minds of those in command the impression seemed to linger, and at last in the spring, after several hotly argued Self-Gov meetings, hazing was abolished. The place of comment is not here. But whatever our sentiments as to the rights of the case, I don’t think anyone in 1911 would surrender the memory of the time we hazed 1912, or the glory of being the most thorough hazers the college had ever known. By the time that we could speak carelessly and with dignity of “Sophomore year,” we began to think, somehow, that “there were giants in those days.”’ Amy MoreHEAD WALKER. 50 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN / : A? yf 4 SONG vot x SES Sere Wk x SS Nx Baise Kx, SOON , — [| — ji ja! ae a ie = ua i AV s CLOISTERED cir (Sentor Ciass SUPPER) Secure within these cloistered walls and far from all riff-raff, I wonder if you ever ask, “ How lives the other half?” When your alarm clock tinkles do you ever think of those Who board the morning milk train, while above a pale moon glows? It is a hard, unlovely life but has its compensation, We feel we do a noble work dispensing education; Though it makes you rather nervous to feel a sooty eye Is glued in fascination to the mysteries of Bi. But then we have a grievance; the lunch room is our bane. We came equipped with appetites; four years we’ve watched them wane. Now when the menu calls for fruit, the uninitiated Would never know it meant an apple gnarled and antiquated. A moistened napkin decks the bread, to keep its freshness better, And by the time that we arrive we can’t tell which is wetter. We look askance at custards and we whisper, “Nevermore!” We know that friends in Rock have scorned them just three days before. There’s something they call chicken and we really can’t deny it, For while it looks like naught but bones, we haven’t nerve to try it. Then, people will ask questions till we flee with one accord, For at the hundredth repetition one is a trifle bored. One need only mention college; it’s sufficient to incite *em:— THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN Oh, don’t you really mind the train? It must be awful in the rain. You really don’t mean they detain You to take gym, I would complain. And can you study on the train? You say your eyes don’t feel the strain? And don’t you find it tires the brain? I'd really think you'd go insane! And then, of course, you miss the main Part of the college life, but gain Advantages of home. It’s plain That commutation is a bane.— And so, ad infinitum. Jessie C.iirron. 5! 52 | THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN The Gym Contest Shocks always occur at this season, and I got one from the Gym contest. I was awakened from Latin Prose Comp. by a strange, weird gurgle repeated over and over. I shivered at being all alone. Could it be a drunken man? Trembling with dread, I sought the hall in search of a friend. The lights were low, but in the dark two forms could be made out with swinging arms and revolving Indian clubs. There were sounds issuing from them, “Swing, swing, T-T, Swing, swing P-P.” **Good heavens,” I cried, “‘ what is this?” “Swing, swing, Mr. King, One, two, an hour to do.” Down the hall mystic forms were gliding, forming 4’s, in front of 1, 2, 3, 4. IsoBeEL RoaGeErs. THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN 53 4 HIS article does not deal with Pruss’s wardrobe. To be sure, once at a President’s reception I hailed five of her gowns before finding her. Moreover, evening dresses play an important part in college life. Before a formal meeting of the English Club, H. P. always takes a solitary walk with at least two other members to discuss the arrange- ment of the nine on the Rock window-seat with regard to esthetic values. That was a serious consideration this winter owing to the fact that the Senior costumes de bal were all different shades of the same color, a point which the President noted when she remarked to me in one of the long reflective silences that fall upon hostesses and guests at a Faculty Reception, 7 “T should think that at least 68 per cent of this year’s Senior Class have pink dresses.” Directoire and hobble, sheath skirt and coal-scuttle hat, were duly recognised by 1911. Freshman Class Supper witnessed the trailing of first trains by conscious maidens. (I still remember my jealousy and mortification on that occasion. My first train did not appear until Sophomore year.) But décolleté finery is not intrinsically collegiate. Therefore let us pass it by. — 54 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN Nor do I refer to our academia. Caps and gowns vary little from year to year, although 1913 has shown a tendency to substitute willow-plumed creations for the modest mortar- board. Furthermore 1911 has already awarded Amy the palm for her scholastically tat- tered drapery, and in spite of the fact that I know it was graft and that my gown has fully three more rents in it than hers, I must acquiesce and eat my bread of bitterness in silence. I wish rather to treat of the undergraduate fashions set by our versatile class during their four prolific years. It was never a trait of 1911 to merge individuality in corporate identity. Neverthe- less Freshman year Rock en masse went into yellow-trimmed black Peter Thomsons. The rest of their classmates were on the point of proving their admiration by prompt imitation when the following episode dampened their ardour. It was a Thursday morning, and the fortnightly preacher who had been lodged in the Prophet’s Chamber was breakfasting at the Warden’s table. As eight-fifteen drew on the students began to assemble. First came Harriet in her yellow-trimmed black Peter Thom- son. Blanche followed her garbed in the same fashion. Then Beulah ditto. The clergy- man’s eyes grew wide with interest. He stopped eating and watched with the research air of a Ph.D., in the making. Finally, when the sixth Freshman arrived and completed the symmetrical semi-circle of yellow-trimmed black Peter Thomsons, he said, “*So this is your school uniform.” After that Rock never tried to set a fashion. But the other halls did. Merionites, for instance, were never seen without the adornment of a canton flannel animal, and Denbigh, represented by Phyllis and Cranie, set the pace in hair ribbons. Pembroke and Denbigh, under the leadership of H. P. and Charlotte, united on the subject of jumpers sans stays, and Radnor advocated the daily use of slickers lest one be caught by a storm on the way home from lectures. As we grew older and more individualistic, fashions were set by single members of the class. For instance, one day Senior spring Dotty appeared at breakfast looking her most coquettish in a peanut straw hat trimmed with a green scarf. By noon Hig had acquired one, and during the afternoon Hoff and Hellie and H. P.—no, I made a mistake—H. P. only borrowed Dotty’s because her hair was in curl papers. By the time we were waiting to sing on the steps, peanut straw hats trimmed with green scarfs were as thick as students in the Art Seminary the night before a Renaissance queeze. Then there was Scottie and the Mackinac jackets. It was hard enough before Christ- mas to tell where Scottie ended and Louisa began, but after Christmas it was impossible. THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN 55 Once I tried to set a fashion. I showed Crook how to make a suit such as I had seen in Devonshire. I purchased gray stockings and imported gray boots to match. Then I grasped my walking stick firmly in my hand and burst upon the astonished gaze of the college. But they, whether out of provincialism or jealousy I do not know, derided me as an Anglo-Maniac, and clung to their hockey skirts and sweaters. Except in this single instance I must confess 1911 showed marvelous wisdom and unconventionality in their choice of clothes, a fact which we realised when one of the Senior Receptions was devoted to a discussion of the relative merits of knickerbockers and the harem skirt, and President Thomas told us that she wished the advice of the Senior Class on the subject of the modern woman’s costume. MarGaReET JEFFeRYs Hospart. THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN =19i_EN- NEGLIGEE |_|} oR -DRAMATICS = =— |= — — << SS a recat RT REANES ee et “Ne we SFr So ; = & a7) 0 ae ee — yin 1)" Vf f A : = x= desire explicitly to point out that that title is the child of my own brain. I thought of it myself, and to use it for this article. But I was so proud of it—for you see I thought it was funny—that I told it to some friends, and they thought it was funny too, and the next thing I knew, I saw my own dear title glaring at me from bonfire transparencies, and being used in the vulgarest way on and in speeches, and now it has lost all the sweet, fresh innocence that once captivated me. It hardly seems like the same title to me any more, but I have to use it, as I chose this article merely on its account. THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN 57 As for the meaning of the title—it needs no explanation, among us and our friends. To put the matter briefly, we made our entrance on the Bryn Mawr stage in kimonos, and our exit in a nightgown. But on the whole, we handled the matter very delicately. For my part, I don’t see that there was anything in our plays that a girl wouldn’t like her own father to see, and why we should be so old-fashionedly squeamish about the moral innocence of our own and our friends’ male relations, I don’t know. Perhaps I don’t feel the matter so keenly, because my own costumes were generally fairly respectable. I could speak more feelingly about one of our without-violence rush nights, when a gentle Junior ripped my Pierrot costume—a dainty thing, but not of the soundest construction—off my back while I was too excited to notice it, so that I later found myself dashing airily about the campus in a high hat, a ruff, and a—well, let us let it go at en negligee. However, Pruss has done full justice to those playful parades. And I feel that I must seize this opportunity to tell how I fell off the stage of the old Gym. In my early days it was quite the thing to have done that, and having done it, you talked about it. You see, it seems 1910 had a Freshman show which they were quite willing to talk about— an advantage to any class—and in the course of that show a whole chorus of puppies, or kittens, or it may have been June bugs, fell off the stage, and having done so, talked about it. It seemed to me that every one I knew in 1910 must have been a puppy, or a kitten, or a June bug, or a young rhinoceros, or whatever it was that shared in that unfortunate mirth-provoking incident, and they each, separately, used to get me in a corner and tell me about it, and I used to laugh. As a Freshman I was nice, that way. And then I fell off the stage myself. It was only dress rehearsal, but I did, I fell right off backward, and at the time I was being a pencil, which is obviously much funnier than being a zoo. I couldn’t even let anyone know I was going, because as I began to fall, my mouth piece, which was inadequate anyhow, got switched round to my ear, and my cries only re-echoed up and down the tube. I should say “hollow tube,” but that requires too much modesty even for the sake of dramatic effect. I was in that tube myself, and very emphatically in, and in it I had to lie, in a cramped position, till my cue came—and went—and they missed me, and started a search, and finally discovered me, and undid all the seventy-six hooks required to make a pencil of me. But did I mind? Bless you, not a whit! I lay there just revelling in how funny this must be. It seemed good to be able to come back at anyone who began to tell me about those baby bears with a tale of my own like this. And it is one of the deep and lasting sorrows of my college career that I never could xO oe ee 58 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN get anyone to listen to that story. It ought to be funny, and I always told it in the breeziest way I could, for it seemed to me the kind of story that went with a lot of breeze, and I can’t think why it wasn’t very popular. I’m sure it wasn’t, though. Oh, of course by Senior year I could sometimes keep hold of a defenceless Freshman long enough to tell it to her, but Freshmen think there is something to any kind of Senior reminiscence. That’s just the way Freshman are made, and it doesn’t mean anything. Isn’t it strange, after all, how insufferably dull one always finds accounts of plays one hasn’t seen? I used to think I should choke the next person who told me that I ought to have seen Ivanhoe the Eleventh, or La Princesse Lointaine, or last May Day. Instead I used to pretend I had seen them, which was absurd on the face of it, as I had never beheld the campus till the fall of 1907. But anything to silence these descriptions of what might have been antediluvian antics, for all I cared for them. Some- how it took me a long time to connect up this attitude of mine with the way Gordon and Louisa and those people used to hold their ears, or run, when Prussie and I started the love scene from His Excellency, or to discuss the Bourgeois Gentilhomme. But these things are borne in upon us. You may tell the present undergraduate all about how we gave plays in Chapel, and ate three meals a day in the History of Art room, and about the uncommonly vulgar young man, who made us up, murmuring unspeakably fresh nothings to us from Miss Donnelly’s own desk; but you can always see by the expression of her face that she regards that as just the sort of thing that might have happened before her own presence had invested Bryn Mawr with reality. I wonder whether our college plays are really any fun to anyone but the cast. We like to think they are, or it wouldn’t be half so much fun to give them, but we are really the people who enjoy them most. All the excitement of the green room, and the make- up, and, most of all, the rehearsals, was fun, and the more you complained the more thoroughly you were enjoying yourself. The long palpitating waits at the P. U. S., when you knew just how long before your cue came, and you were eager for it; and then it came, and all of a sudden you realised that your entrance was being distinctly hampered by the fact that you had no knees at all. Also you had forgotten what the play was, to say nothing of your own lines. In that condition, you tried to walk on the stage with a firm masculine tread and make a few brisk, cheery remarks, trying wildly not to grin maudlinly if the audience gave you a lawfe; or you dashed on holding up a finger of each hand, and singing in pseudo-Turkish, then, standing on your head, you suddenly realised that both your cap and wig had fallen off and that a long auburn pigtail was sweeping the THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN 59 stage. Strictly high class and variegated vaudeville we were, 1911, and you never knew what we were going to do next. One of our most successful exhibitions of versatility and adaptability was in a little farce entitled Cue Hashings, delivered extempore by Miss Prussing and Miss Egan, while the rest of us were showing a rather pitiful tendency lamely to girdle and copy Bernard Shaw. Itis nice to think that some of us rose above mere imitation. One thing—we were not ashamed of our plays, and we didn’t care who knew what they were. I think one of the nicest traits in our character was the way we spared the other classes from sudden surprises, and all such shocks. If anyone didn’t know what play we were going to give within a week after we had chosen it, it was distinctly her own fault. In fact, it looked like carelessness on her part. Nor is there any reason why we should be ashamed of them. If there was anything harmful in our plays it was to our digestions and not our morals. We had to eat through all of them, and believe me, eating on the stage is no joke. I don’t believe that Casie and Delano and Margaret Friend were half so sorry as their dramatic instinct prompted them to look when Leila interrupted their little banquet in Le Bourgeois. And as for me, if I ever suffered more than the time when some idiot made it necessary for me to gulp five chocolate creams instead of three in the midst of a speech, it was in His Excellency when I was watching Schmidtie, outwardly so much at her ease, betray her real nervousness by dropping four lumps of sugar into the demitasse of coffee she was pouring out for me, when | couldn’t even look agonised, not to say mention it. The fact that I knew the coffee was rootbeer didn’t help at all. Pinkie was the only person who really rose to the height of enjoying a meal on the stage, for no one could question the real relish with which she ate her breakfasts, both as Menelaus, and as Major Petkoff. Acting seemed to give her a fine appetite, and it was a pleasure to watch her. It is sad to think that the plays are all over. Esther may some day be an imposing middle-aged mother, Delano I should say stood as good a chance as any of becoming a fascinating marchioness, and Schmidtie, though not exactly the Evening Star, is at least sure to be a very gay and smart little lady before whom M. P.’s will not be the only ones to fall. But alas! Pinkie has been an irascible father, Casie an elderly beau, Prussie a dashing young lover, and I a dirty orderly for the last time. And Hobie? What is a noise without Hobie ? All our plays, such as they were, did full duty in the way of amusing us, anyhow, and in affording cues and jokes for the rest of our lives. We, who had the fun of acting in them, feel a debt of real gratitude to the rest of the class for spending their money and much of their time in letting us disport ourselves on the stage about twice a year, and then applauding us for it. Marion Sturges Scort. 60 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN Breakfast “a SceNE—A tea pantry. Time—8 to 10 on any Sunday morning during college. DRaMATIS PERSONN2. You. : You and I are dressed in jumpers and hockey (or other) skirts, and pumps or slippers. You and I do not quote Shakespeare wittily, at times,nor are we in love with some member of the faculty, nor are we having a “college girl’s frolic’? such as one sees illustrated in “The Ladies’ Home Journal.” Breakfast 1s in course of preparation—it is a serious business, and you and I are ordinary mortals, without extraordinary habits and views or ways of speech conforming to that impossible type, the College Girl. These facts should be remembered. The properties necessary for this entertaining little comediette are extremely simple, viz., an heterogeneous collection of spoons and china, two patent toast makers; tag ends and component parts of dismembered chafing dishes; a frying pan; eggs, bacon, coffee, and smells of cooking. : cee if you ask me I think we’re pretty decent to make the breakfast for those azy dogs. THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN 61 I.—Personally, we are saints. Do you know anything about making coffee? Pinkie makes it one way and Scottie another, and I haven’t an idea what you do first. Gosh! The pot hasn’t been washed out since it was used last. Turn on the hot water, will you? We always have coffee in a machine at home—the simplest thing. You.—Yes, my dear, my mother would have a fit if she could see the way we fix food here. My! This knife is dull. For goodness sake, can’t you turn off the hot water now? It’s spattering all over me. I’ve endured it patiently for five minutes, but it’s soaking through now, and it’s hot. , | I.—Oh, I beg your pardon! If you don’t wash it out well, though, Craney spots you right off. She likes her bacon not so well done, by the way, when you come to frying, and Ginny has to have her’s like a cinder. You.—Did you, when you were little, just loathe bacon, and have to eat it because it came to the table? Dr. Leuba says I.—Yes, my dear, and codfish balls, and mush. We invariably had all three Sunday mornings and Sunday School afterwards just used to finish me. I wonder I ever grew up—— You.—But that’s just it. Dr. Leuba says you have to force children to obey because you can’t appeal to their reason, and I.—Well, I’m never going to make my children eat unnecessary things they don’t want to, nor go to school until they’re eleven, nor read anything but the poets. Oh, jimminy! look at this piece of toast! Do you think I might scrape it off? That is, of course, I’m never going to have any, but if I did, I wouldn’t. You.—Now [’ve got all the grape fruit fixed. I.—How many will there be? You.—Six or eight. I.—What a mob. You.—Yes, I hate a big breakfast party, but this is all 1911. I.— ! That’s the third time I’ve burned the same finger trying to fish this piece of toast from behind the burner. You.—Idiot! Use a fork! I.—There “ain’t no” fork. And whose are all these spoons, I ask you?’ You.—Never mind. I don’t know. They belong in the tea pantry, I guess. What are we going to have besides——? Ga—lory! Look at the coffee! Quick, take it off! I.—I can’t! Don’t you see! You.—Turn it off! It’s geysering all over the toast. 62 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN I,—(Shrieks.) You.—( Ditto.) Voices on the Gulph Road singing: “Come, ye faithful, raise the strain.” You.— Who's that? I (looking out while buttering).— Craney and Amy and Hoby. Do you know what 1912 is giving us—Junior—Senior—I mean? You.—No, worse luck, and I can’t get a word out of a soul. You know, of course. I.—I do not. My! this coffee looks funny! I talked to Barb a whole hour yerterday, pretending I knew all about it, but nothing doing, she never mentioned what it was. You.—Well, it’s hard, not knowing when everyone else in your class knows but can't tell. I.—Oh, my dear, I've been longing to ask you what you thought of the Tertium Quid ever since Undergrad meeting. Did you ever hear of such nerve? You.—Never! She has just about as much manners as a goat. But you know I heard something about her, from my aunt, last summer. It appears she's never had any bringing up—— I.—Evidently. Give me that jar of bacon, will you? I think we might as well begin on this now. You.—Oh, certainly, and yet she reads a lot and sometimes I think she realises-——— I.—You think she’s sincere, then? I thought she put on a lot of that brusqueness because she thought it grown up or something. You.—Oh, no, it’s natural enough. Did you see H. P.'s Insurgent about “the amen- ities of college life"? I.—I must say, I think she’s right in spots. I had to come to college to be lovingly called a “dirty devil” by my best friends. Enter two fellow-students newly arisen. They wear new and flosvie boudoir caps (Christmas presents to cach other), but these characters may be omitted altogether and their voices outside the door substituted, if actors or boudoir caps are scarce. They add immeasurably, however, if introduced. Tury.—You angels, to get things ready. We had no idea what time it was until—— (they yawn simultaneously). THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN 63 You and I (bustling things together)—Here, you goodfornothings, take the toast. Got the coffee? By the way, where is the cream? Don’t we get any? Tury.—On the study windowsill. You.—Can you manage the grape fruit? I’ll hold open the door. I (vanishing).—I hope there’ll be enough toast. Tuery (appreciatively, as they exeunt).—Such swellness! You (releasing the door, which you have been pinning back with one foot while balanc- ing coffee and bacon in either hand).—Lord! I’m hungry! Curtain. MARGARET Prussina. 64 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN fRANTERN nicHft E had possessed our own lanterns for a year and knew better how to value them than when, in the hush of the darkness, they were given into our hands. By the choos- ing of other lanterns that we in turn should give, and the learning of strange, half-understood Greek syllables we were preparing ourselves for the approaching ceremony. The realisation had come to us that the singing and procession and carrying of lights were a kind of ritual. It was under Pembroke Arch, the place of nearly every beginning and ending in college life, that we gathered. The night was very still, but above the tree-tops a light wind bore swift clouds across the face of the moon and away, past Taylor tower and high dim gables and on over the hill-top. Moonlight lay on leaf-strewn paths and gray roofs, and across it were flung the long, straight shadows of poplars. We had never dreamed of such a night, even for this most sacred ceremony of Bryn Mawr. When we fell into rank we thought of those who stood waiting for us, silent in the cloisters. A blue light flashed out from the shadows as we lit for the first time the Freshman lanterns, and with the first slow words of Pallas Athene we moved out through the Arch. It was half a dream, that solemn walk along the well-known way from Pembroke to the library, and we went in a kind of ecstasy, singing with more heart than ever before the song we still love best in all the world. Then came the slow progress through the dark corridors of the library, and finally we reached the moonlit cloisters where even the foun- tain was stilled and there was the great hush of a multitude. Over and over we sang the beautiful lingering Greek words as we wound down behind the pillars carrying our blue flame—until we stood at last, a second long line, before the Freshmen, we with them alone under the stars. A moment later they bore the light which we had surrendered and we THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN 65 felt that they belonged, in a new intimate way, to Bryn Mawr. They had passed through the initiation rites, and stood there, forever and mysteriously different. All this meant much to us as well, for it was we who had helped to receive the class of 1912 into the fellow- ship of those who honour the lantern as the symbol of many things that are very precious. Heten Huss PARKHURST. 66 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN uy OO etl *“Everybody votes but women Yet they have lots of sense,” sang the Bryn Mawr suffragists on a memor- able night in November, 1908. Isay “sang,” roared would be nearer the truth, but as I wish to make the unenfranchised seem as decorous and womanly as possible, I choose the more conventional word. Not, however, in the hope of fooling 1911. For they were there, and roared themselves, if not “Votes for Women,” then “Keep Dry,’’ or “Vote for Taft,” or some other equally commendable sentiment. I hope other people’s recollections of this night are as muddled and hazy as mine. I remember the suffrage parade, because I was in it, and I remember most of the songs, because they were sung on various occasions afterwards, and I always learned every song I heard—first, and this time, because I was an underclassman; second, because Scotty always learned them, and I couldn’t have her ahead of me that way; and third, because it gave me such prestige with R. Wells and Cranie. To them it made me a prodigy of intelligence, and to one of my philosophical standing, such opportunities are not to be neglected. Well, as I say, all I remember is the songs, and I’m not going to repeat them here. We all know how they sounded, ensemble when the procession started at the Arch; and with the Bryn Mawr Band at its head, went down to the athletic field and back, glittering with transparencies and howling with enthusiasm. Then there was a few moments’ rest for throats that felt like sandpaper while we all streamed up to the chapel. Only Jeannette was delayed. She, having water on the knee, had been deemed an appropriate driver for the water-wagon. Once up, she had conducted it around the course in the best Arizona style. But she couldn’t THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN 67 get down, and when the rest of us had sailed unfeelingly by her, who should come to her rescue but Dr. de Laguna, who reached up like an amiable and attenuated angleworm, and brought her in safety to the ground. Meanwhile the crowd in the chapel had settled itself expectantly, and soon the speeches began. No words of mine could do justice to Leila’s delivery of that lovely lyric, of matchless simplicity and seventeenth century tone, “Tam beer.” She is an editor, and may append it to this article if she wants to. Or what can I say of Elizabeth Tappan as the lean (!) and hungry “thothalist,” or Barbara Spofford as the Republican orator? They were not disturbed by any amount of interruptions from Democrats and Suffragists; or by Prohibitionists ostentatiously opening umbrellas and rattling rain-coats; or by red-handed anarchists and rabid socialists. A squad of police- men, led by Boggs, kept irreproachable order. And when we adjourned we felt, although we hadn’t voted, we had had a very good time. H Amy Moreneap WALKER. 68 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN 9 we ‘ J (SopHomorE Ciass SupPER) ISS TAYLOR has done me a great and unexpected honour in asking me to speak M to you to-night, and though I am quite unprepared I shall do my best to make a few impromptu remarks. (Here the speech is drawn from under the center- piece.) I am glad that Miss Taylor has so kindly limited the subject so that it excludes not only memory gems, which are sacred to the English department, and should there- fore be passed by with averted eyes, but also diamond solitaires. A person who has, in a year’s study, gained no more knowledge of the diamond, that gem of emotion pure and simple, than that it is an isometric crystal of octagonal shape and with a concoidal fracture, would touch far too heavily on ground so filled with romantic associations to unnumbered classmates. But as I think of these greystone buildings of Bryn Mawr, constructed, as they are, of Wissahickon gneiss, containing particles of mica and showing marked flow-structure, and as my imagination wanders over the green campus, and I remember that it is a base- level plain, elevated to its present altitude during the tertiary period, I feel that by virtue of superior torture I am qualified to speak to you on the subject of geology. THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN 69 Do not be alarmed, dear friends; I do not propose to confuse you with abstruse science. My geology is usually in words of one syllable. If, however, I should perchance make use of any long names, be assured that their meanings are as unknown to myself as to any of the ungeologised. Far off will be the day when I treat a cretaceous formation of Octoraro schist, for instance, with vulgar familiarity. Of the list of books that have hindered me in the pursuit of my degree, I should place my geology note-book at the head. It is with the most formal courtesy, therefore, that I wish to introduce to you, my dear class- mates, some rocks I have met and attempt to acquaint you with the haunts where some of them may be found. We hitch our Little Wonder Wagon—not to a star, for this action would transport us too high to study even the loftiest igneous formations; but to one of Byrne’s swiftest steeds, who transports us as rapidly, though upon the earth. Indeed, it brings one of our party, who is not holding on, in direct contact with interesting boulders on the road. She is assisted to her feet from a sprawling position on the road, and _ several inches of earth which, with her, is removed from the road, reveals a block of limestone, which had shyly hidden itself there. Limestone is a very retiring rock and very deep in character; often as deep as ten feet. There are other rocks, too, which have their especial merits. Shenandoah limestone is a true representative of old Virginia; Baltimore gneiss is what the name implies; Paoli- lithic granite brings us more nearly in touch with the charms of the “Main Line.” I am sorry to say that the one representative of Chicago, masonry, is, though charming, some- what artificial. Lastly: I cannot forbear presenting to you the dinosaur of animal origin, whose foot-prints are to be detected everywhere in the sandstones of time. He does not properly belong with the rocks, and is looked upon by them as a parvenu, as his family dates only from a few years before the Flood—and yet, I for one think him charming. He is so young and sprightly and as guileless as a young Haverford student; only twenty- one billion years old. All the rocks that I have mentioned are specimens of the titled aristocracy and very attractive in their way. And yet they are rather unimpressionable. Perhaps they do not care for my hammer-and-tongs way of making their acquaintance. But you, my class- mates, could, I am sure, gain me an enétré into their exclusive society. Should you join their humble servant in drinking their health, not forgetting their queen, the beauteous B—, I am sure you would soften their stony hearts. Although the highest H. C. intimacy can never be mine; yet, by your most gracious help, I feel that the scale of justice may yet incline on the merciful side of 60%. Do let us therefore drink the health of geology. Rosauinp Fay Mason. 70 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN oe -EGe = Ate | HEN you see this heading some of you will think it is the forerunner of something \ \) good by H. P., Charlotte, or Cranie, and will say “Aha! An intellectual treat!’ While some, but this is not probable, may be brought to read it by the method which Higgie used during that hectic Commencement week when she wanted me to read Miss King’s poem in the “‘Lantern.”” She said that she would do an errand for me for every verse of the poem that I would let her read me. I consented and in this way most of my library books were returned and my bills at the Pike paid and a good deal of the poem was read. But all this doesn’t explain why I, an awfully “wholesome” girl (ask Hellie if you doubt this), am writing this article, and there really is a reason. This is it. This afternoon our debutante President and our debutante Editor-in-Chief dropped in on me, and in the course of the conversation the latter said that she had a perfectly good illustration drawn by Hoffie for College Periodicals and no article to go with it. Therefore, as I could not let the labour of a fellow Hyena (although she is not a Hyena in good standing, as she got credit in Major Pol. Econ.) go in vain, I have started this article. And since I am now an Alumna “out, out in the wide, wide world,” I cannot refrain from comparing college periodicals with those of “the world.” Immediately I see that the THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN 71 Tipis the Town Topics of Bryn Mawr. For what could be more spicy and to the point than an item like this—‘‘ Mary Jane Jones, 1896, was married to William Smith, November 18, 1901”’—a mere matter of eight or nine years after—or perhaps this in the May number, “Louise Brown, Jane Black and Helen White visited college in October. It is always nice to have the Alumne with us.” But as I write I suddenly remember H. P.’s editorial on Spring and Hoby’s Distinction between Commonness and Vulgarity. I therefore withdraw every false word I have spoken and state boldly and with the utmost conviction, that the Tip is the Atlantic Monthly of Bryn Mawr. Now to come to the Lantern—shall we call it the Outlook?—but really I cannot com- pare it with any magazine know. It combines so many elements of the purely esthetic and literary with such things as college notes, that it is unique and beyond my powers of descrip- tion. In one way at least it is exactly like the Class Book, and here I blush with pride, and that is because H. P. has written an article on Chinese poetry for both. And now since I, an “Athlete” with my nose twice in Miss Thomas’s file, have ventured into the field of the “‘#sthetes” glorying in their unbroken noses, I humbly apologise for my intrusion and withdraw promising never under any circumstances to do such a thing again. Lema HovucHre.ina. 72 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN ieTERy OF TWE FEACOCKS STOR WH (Senrior Cuiass SUPPER) REMEMBER once reading in Sophomore year an editorial in the Tip on the subject of rainy days. It expressed the sweetest, most optimistic sentiments imaginable. It said we didn’t care how wet it was under foot nor how gray it was overhead, but went about with faces even more happy than on sunny days. We liked to have our skirts flapping damply about our clammy ankles. We vied with each other in seeing how far the water would squirt from our shoes every time we took a step. In fact, we were apparently perfectly wretched if, during the week, we didn’t have at least four rainy days. Some of you, perhaps, remember that article. I shall never forget it nor the first rainy day after I read it when I awoke to find the rain dashing in sheets across my bed. I lay for some time undecided whether to commit THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN 73 suicide by getting up and seeking a convenient bread knife, or by lying quietly and drowning, but I suddenly thought of that Tip article and jumped out of bed. I really didn’t want to miss any of the joy of that lovely rainy day. To be sure, I was not quite in the spirit yet, but I was certain that it would take only one or two cheery words from my happy classmates to put me in a proper exuberant state of mind. I opened my door and started down the hall, smiling bravely to myself. Something whirled by me, and it was only by a miracle that I saved myself from being knocked per- fectly flat by one of said classmates. I called back a cheery good morning to save her from embarassing apologies. I may be mistaken, but I don’t think she answered. When I got to the dining room I smiled brightly on those at the table. As I went down to the other end to get my napkin, I heard one of them mutter, “I should think people might have some sense and not grin inanely day in and day out.” That was a little hard, but I decided to lend her my Tip some day in an off-hand manner, and gently guide her to scorn the weather. All that morning my professors disappointed me a good deal. They seemed unwarrant- ably annoyed when I answered brightly that I was unprepared. By this time my cheer was a bit frayed. Every one I met seemed to avoid receiving the encouraging smile that I wore frozen on my face. 2 The crisis came about three in the afternoon when I was reproached bitterly for having removed my umbrella and rubbers from the room of a girl who had borrowed them several weeks before. I went to my room, and with hot tears streaming down my haggard face, I tore that editorial into small bits; at the same time I solemnly vowed never again to endeavour to make a joke or even to smile on a rainy day. Now, this morning I explained all this to our toastmistress. I told her that on a day of this kind it was not at all mysterious that the peacock should squawk, that even a butter- fly might and I should not be surprised, but she was firm. It is only lately since we have begun singing on the steps that I have been impressed with the omnipresence of the peacock’s squawk. At 7.20 punctually there begin shrieks in all directions, “Let’s begin; there are plenty here; let’s hurry up and sing something.” Yes, it is true, the steps are full and imposing. I’m pretty stupid not to begin. There in the front row are Leila, and Higgie and Kate Chambers and Mary Minor and Isabelle Miller and Isobel Rogers and countless others. Of course, there are plenty, and in great confusion I start to sing or announce that we are coming or that we are out again, or some similar axiomatic ditty. The burst of sound is not so great as it might be. So that at the end of the 74 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN song I suggest that we might wait a few minutes for more to come, but I am again assured that there are plenty. This time an airy sweep of the hand directs my attention to the second row where sit in gorgeous array Rosie and Anna Stearns and Hoby and Agnes Wood and Hilpa Schram. This time my confidence is fully restored. I start out with vigour but something is still a little wrong. I stop and there is absolute silence.. Higgie’s lips are violently moving and her head is waving in time to the music, but I hear no sound. I begin to have a terrible fear of the truth. Can it be that I am the peacock’s squawk? Louise S. Russe .t. THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN 75 ————— =—=_= a ee FA NEWELL 7 tear, , \ ae ¥ ~ o. , 3 “A, : f - AE BR VER since we had come to college we had heard vague and alluring whisperings of a delightful odd-class occasion at the end of Sophomore year, at which one wore a hockey-skirt off the campus and frolicked in festive seclusion with one’s beloved Juniors. No accurate details were to be had. 1908 and 1910 scoffed in stolid (and ignorant) even-class derision at an odd-class sentimentality, and 1909, knowing how an atmosphere ~ J \ 76 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN of mystery enhances any and all charms, gave us no hint of what was to occur. So on the Saturday after finals, when we began to assemble in front of the Arch, somewhat worn with exams, but with the infinite and blessed gulf between us and them that comes when the last one is over (and there are no papers to revise), we hadn’t the dimmest notion of what the next hour or two was to disclose. Isabelle Miller and Willa discussed it, as they waited in nervous and worried impatience for the rest of the class to arrive. Those girls never could get used to 1911’s attitude of deliberate dignity on any and all occasions. They thought it was unreasonable that we couldn’t once in a while arrive all together, and make an impressive appearance. Little did they appreciate the perfect co-ordination necessary in order that no more than three people in the class should ever arrive at the same moment, that there should be no sudden intrusion of brawling members, but a slow, fractional arrival minute by minute so as not to overwhelm whoever might be expecting us. And this day we treated 1909 with no lack of our usual consideration. At length, when the party was assembled, we left the Arch, “‘side by side,”’ in the direction of the tramp woods, down past the power-house and over the road, through the deep grass until we came to where 1909 was waiting to greet us. Things began with a cheer, and soon there was no doubt in our minds as to what was meant by “Olympic games.” Barrow races, peanut races, three-legged races, sack races—every conceivable sort of contest had been planned, and was carried through enthusiastically by both hostesses and guests. Gradually the number of contestants in each sport thinned out, as winner was set against winner, and then to the victors came the spoils, bands of red holding two inverted clumps of daisies, which batted becomingly over the eyes of the wearers. We refreshed our weary bodies with sandwiches, and “in lemonade, since we could not have wine,” we pledged the health of the hostesses to whom we owed so much. Then came the final contest between the victors, a desperate race over ditches and fences, through long grass and around trees, and back again across the brook, with a final desperate wriggle through barrels lying on the ground. There were only three, so even the privilege of wriggling had to be fought for. The excitement of seeing Jeannette and Hoffie coming through their hard won tubes at almost the same second was insupportable. In a moment it was over, and Hoffie had won, and received at Pleasaunce’s hands the extra wreath which was the sign of her special triumph. _ Little by little things began to subside, the air grew cooler and we realised that it was time to say good-bye. I don’t think there was any one who didn’t think a bit seriously as we stood there singing those farewell songs. It is always rather a solemn thing to be with a body of people whom one knows are soon THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN 77 to be separated forever, particularly when one cares for them as we did for 1909. With them went all the good wishes that 1911 could give, and behind them stayed the memory of much pleasant companionship and of very kindly friends. Amy Morenrap WALKER. THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN bockep Won by 1908 First Team J. ALLEN A. Stearns, Manager K. CuamBers M. Kitner I. Rocers D. Corr H. Emerson, Captain L. Hovextetmne A. Parker P. Rice V. Canan 1911 beaten by 1910—6-2, 3-8, 1-1. Second Team E. Taytor M. Suir H. Trepway ds Freshman Wear F. Porter M. Scorr M. Horrman R. Vickery H. Henperson M. F. Casz, Captain F. Wyman F, Woop M. Wirurams, Manager 1911 beat 1910—4-0 1911 beat 1909—8-2 1911 champions Basket-Ball Won by 1908 First Team J. ALLEN, Captain L. Hovente.inc, Manager H. Emerson V. CaNAN I. Rocers E. YarRNaALu M. Scorr H. Henperson A, Parker 1911 beaten by 1910—'-6, 9-10, 11-5. Second Team E. Corneix, Captain H. Trrepway, Manager F. Woop J. CHICKERING M. Kitner K. CHAMBERS F. Porter M. Frrenp D. Corrm 1911 beaten by 1910, 2 games, first one—6-2, THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN 79 1911 beaten by 1910—7-2 140 front 6 i. sccckeo ee I. SeEps, second Plunge for distance. ..A. Woop, first, and record —_—_ Ftesbman wear—Continued Indoor Crack Weet N. Browne A. Parker Won by 1909 J. CHICKERING M. Horrman, Captain F. Porter K. Cuamsers, Manager M. Scorr J. ALLEN L. HoveHTEeLtine H. Emerson P. Rice A. Woop M. Frrenp C. Detano I. Rocers Places Won Runting high . 66 6a ee J. ALLEN, third Fence-vault .... Shot-mut 6 ee J. ALLEN, second Ring high ...... Hep-step 26 vee eeeecke ies H. Emerson, second Rope climb ..... Three broad o.5 scss eee ee H. Emerson, first Cater Polo Swimming Won by 1909 Won by 1910 1911 Team J. Atiten, Captain I. SEEps D. Corrin A. Woop M. Frrenp M. Frienp E, Taytor D. Corrin J. CHICKERING M. Horrman F. Wyman A. STEARNS V. Canan J. ALLen, Captain F, Wyman A. CHANNING Places Won by 1911 Swim under water? oes cccivtiscss I. Sreps, third Dive for form .. Fancy dive ..... Class Points MD ce cece. 20 SO os ae k < 67 SEE pica eea ee 17 WE oe a gs 17 Individual Points H. Emerson, 12, third place Spe H. Emerson, third seid Che H. Emerson, second oe rea aera es M. 8S. Scort, third Individual Points I. Szeps, 11 points, second SO Cs ane 6 points ROGGE isk ee nee, as a kek 5 i jk Sea le ay A. Wood made college record in plunge, 37 feet 2 inches 4 oe aula as Ga 66 I. Seeps, second a ats mas I, Sreps, second THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN Cennis M. Kitner, Captain A. Stearns, Manager Cennis Singles Won by 1908 L. Houghteling beaten by M. Bishop, ’?08—5-7, 6-1, 6-0 bockep Won by 1910 First Team J. ALLEN M. Kitner M. SmiTH M. HorrmMan I. Rocers, Manager L. Hoveurte.ine, Captain H. Emerson M. Scorr H. Henperson P. Rice V. Canan 1GiT 06; TBIO Gos es 2-3 2012 oe. 1010 64.5... 1-8 Second Team A. WALKER A. A. STEARNS K. CHAMBERS F. Porter, Captain H. Trepway, Manager Freshman Pear—Continued R. Vickery beaten by H. Schmidt ’08—6-2, 6-4 H. Emerson beaten by H. Whitelaw—7-5, 10-12, 6-4 Class Tennis Champion—H. EMERSON. SH/ophomore Wear D. Corrin A. CHANNING I. Mitter M. Hicernson A. PARKER N. Browne aeea te. 1910 2... 4-1 Rete OO, BOIS. 0 5% 6-1 1911 champions On Varsity—J. ALLEN Made B.M.—H. Emerson Wasket-Ball Won by 1909 First Team J. ALLEN, Captain L. Hovente.mnc, Manager H. Emerson V. Canan I. SEEDs M. Scorr M. Prussine A. Parker Cennis Doubles Won by 1908 M. Kilner, L. Houghteling beaten by R. Romeyn, 710, C. Simonds—6-3, 6-3 H. Emerson, I. Seeds beaten by E. Swift, E. Tenney—9-7, 1-6, 6-1 E. YarNALu I. Rocers 1911 beaten by 1909—5-9, 3-2, 2-12 Second Team M. Hicernson, Captam . Kitner, Manager Porter RussELL . CHAMBERS . WALKER . CoRNELL . Corrin A. Murray OH > aN WS Preliminaries 1911 vs. 1909—6-5, 0-1, 2-0 Finals 1911 beaten by 1910—0-4, 2-5 On Varsity J. ALLEN L. Hovenrte.ine H. Emerson THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN 81 a Indoor Crack Won by 1909 H. Emerson, Captain K. CuamsBers, Manager L. Hoventre.ine see eee eeeeeeee 20-yard dash 20-yard hurdles eeee ea eeueeveae Runnings WON 6 66 ce cuss Sabet oi aks wa ek L. Hoverrmane, Bret A. Parker, third Class relay .... Swimming Cater Polo Won by 1909 Won by 1910 D. Corrin, Captain Team J. CHICKERING D. Corrin, Captain E. Taytor I. Sereps I. SEEpDs M. Frienp M. Frienp E. Taytor J. ALLEN A. WALKER V. Canan J. ALLEN 1911 beaten by 1910—7-5 V. CaANAN Tennis M. Horrman ; NW Baowe M. Kitner, Captain D. Corrix, Manager Class Points Cennis Singles 1000 23:53, 40 Won by 1909 1016). 33 33 Preliminaries 1911 vs. 1912 Wl oc. cee 6 Won by 1911 Wis 238i Aas 14 I. Seeds vs. M. Corwin—6-2, 4-6, 6-3 Places Won by 1911 Seventy-foot swim back—I. Seeps, first H. Emerson, first H. Emerson, first A. Wa ker, third Sophomore Pear—Continued F, Carry A. Parker A. WALKER I. SEEps Class Points 1909 Places Standing broad Hop, step, jump Running vault . M. Smith vs. E. Faries—4-6, 71-9 H. Emerson vs. J. Haines—6-2, 6-1 EN Vb bNiewes 7 RAN hia ss 46 PR VHA NM hs nee 8 Individual Points H. Emerson, first ae ace H. Emerson, first dal weenie H. Emerson, second 7. civ H. Emerson, second Running high jump ......... H. Emerson, first Finals—1911 vs. 1909 Won by 1909 I. Seeds vs. A. Platt—1-6, 4-6 M. Smith vs. M. Nearing—M. Smith won H. Emerson vs. A. Whitney— 3-6, 1-6 Class Tennis Champion—H. EMERSON Cennis Doubles Won by 1909 Preliminaries 1911 vs. 1912 Won by 1912 M. Kilner, H. Emerson vs. M. Vennum, J. Southwick— 1-5, 6-2 M. Smith, I. Seeds vs. E. Far- ies, J. Haines—64, 4-6, 3-6 D. Coffin (sub. for L. Hough- teling), H. Henderson vs. M. Peirce, M. Corwin—3-6, 3-6 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN Dockep Won by 1910 First Team J. ALLEN F. Porter M. Smiru M. Scorr I. Rocers, Manager I. Miter H. Emerson M. Ecan P. Rice L. Hoventetine, Captain V. Canan 1911 vs. 1913 Won by 1913—2-4, 2-2, 2-3 Second Team F. Porter, Captain H. Trepway, Manager K. CHaMBERS A. PARKER J. Cuirron J. CHICKERING D. Corrin E, Corner M. Duures H. Henperson M. Crane M. Hoxarr Second Team Preliminaries 1911 vs. 1913 Won by 1911—6-3 Suntor Mear Finals 1911 vs. 1910—5-5 1911 vs. 1910 Won by 1911—6-1 On Varsity J. ALLEN H. EMerson Basket: Ball Won by 1910 First Team J. ALLEN, Captain L. Hoventetine, Manager V. Canan I. Rocers H. Emerson M. Ecan M. Scorr E. Yarnaryi A. ParRKER H. Henprerson Preliminaries—1911 vs. 1912 Won by 1911—10-9, 25-6 Finals—1911 vs. 1910 Won by 1910—9-7, 19-11 Second Team M. Hicernson, Captain E. Russe.., Manager J. CHICKERING A. WALKER K. CuamBers F. Porter E. Corneiyu M. Frienp D. Corrin Preliminaries—1911 vs. 1912 Won by 1911 (by default)— 10-2 Finals—1911 vs. 1910 Won by 1910—13-9, 7-8, 7-3 On Varsity J. ALLEN H. Emerson A. Parker 3ndoor Crack Won by 1911 Team A. Parker, Captain I. Rocers, Manager F. Carry M. DooutrTLe M. Scorr H. Emerson A. WALKER J. ALLEN L. Hoventretine V. Canan H. Henperson Individual Championship Won by H. Emerson Class Points SBE ee aries 52 WIG ok ie 7 ROIS is iveweas 9 BAG oe ic ws cs 36 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN 83 Hurdles. 3.7% H. Emerson, Ist; A. Parker, 3d Rope climb ....F. Carry, 2d; M. Doourrrte, 3d H. Emerson, 3d Running Walt. ics 6 66a: Three broad jumps, Junior #ear—Continued Places won by 1911 H. Emerson, Ist; record broken Swimming Weert Won by 1910 Team M. Frrenp J. ALLEN Seventy-foot front ..D. Corrin, J. Aten, third Swim under water ...........- Standing broad Shot-put ..J. Aten, Ist; L. Hoventerine, 2d bila Mile dae ma la H. Emerson, 2d Hop, step, jump. H. Emerson, Ist; record broken BOA ROH Cs ER ie i ca ea as 1911 V. Canan Class Points M. Ecan Be eae. 34 M. HorrmMan BR Pe 9 J. CHICKERING 5 i ps ARI se pS ae 16 Ms chew e ees Places Won by 1911 Faaey Give) oo asa ei. J. ALLEN, second D. Corrin, first 140-foot swim on back ........ M. Frtenp, third CHater Polo Cennis Singles €Cennis Doubles Won by 1913 Won by 1913 Won by 1913 1911 D. Corrix, Captain 1911 vs. 1912 1911 vs. 1913 He grein C. Justice vs. J. Southwick. H. Henderson, H. Emerson vs. z psn! Be Won by Justice—6-3, 6-4 G. Hinricks, M. Dessau—6-4, ; 2-6, 6-4. Won by 1911 e oe H. Henderson vs. E. Faries. aiid . Hopart ‘ V. Cause Won by Faries—6-2, 6-4 P. Rice, H. Ramsey vs. L. Stet- M. Scort, sub. J. CHICKERING, sub. 1911 vs. 1912 Won by 1911—6-1, 9-0 1911 vs. 1913 Won by 1913—10-1, 6-1 6-2 H. Emerson H. Emerson vs. Won by Corwin—6-3, 2-6, Class Tennis Championship— son, K. Page—6-2, 6-3. Won M. Corwin. by 1913 C. Justice, E. Yarnall vs. K. Williams, A. Patterson—6-4, 6-8, 6-0. Won by 1913 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN Henior Wear bockep On Varsity On Varsity Won by 1911 per Hake, Copies L. Hoveuteine, Captain First Team sg SMITH ae H. Emerson, Captain H =a V. Canan I. Rocers, Manager oT S Dedien L. HovenTELine M.S rey RAlte Basket-Ball Crack A. Parker Won by 1913 Won by 1911 M. Ecan First Team i I. Miter L. Hoventetine, Captain E. Yarnautt, Manager Parker, Captain L. HovcGHTELING J. Cuirron H. HenpDERsSON oe ne Rocers, Manager P. Rice a na EMERSON V. Canan ee Ravenw HovcuHTeLine Preliminaries—1911 vs. 1914 M. Ecan DoouitTLe 1911 won—8-1, 11-0 MM Score Carey Finals—1911 vs. 1913 A. Parker Canan 1911 won—3-2, 4-2 H. Henperson snes Preliminaries—1911 vs. 1913 ENDEESON Second Team é 1913 won—17-13, 12-10 PorTeER H. Trepway, Captam HorrMan D. Corrin, Manager Roccad Tous Co¥rFin J. CLirron Murray A Tiieke M. Hicerson, Captain is aes K. Cuamsers . reali : FuNKHOUSER R. WEtts E. sammie Hiccrnson M. Taytor y alata Hoven reine M. Frrenp Sige tame CHAMBERS E. Moons L. Russet, Manager M Ceikse A. Murray M. Hosart M. Frienp Class Points Preliminaries—1911 vs. 1914 1 Gat Ow rere ae oo 34 1911 won—2-1 Preliminaries—1911 vs. 1918 1918 14 Finals—1911 vs. 1912 1918 won—11-4, tie 44, 1911 1018s 1912 won—8-2 defaulted SOG ce 20 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN 85 Rope climb Senior Mear—Continued Places Won by 1911 Be ee yp ree Me Emerson, first 1911 vs. 1914 1914 won—6-3, 9-6 Three broad jumps .........5.: Emerson, first Sia SV LD anand pws Carey, third Hop, step, jump ..............Emerson, first Standing Groed) 54.655 6h ese ees Emerson, first POUR FACS 6 Se Cibo die Cie As 1911 ge aiin hu wen HovexTe ine, first Individual Cup’ won by H. Emerson Swimming weet M. Frrenp Class Points Won by 1913 M. HorrmMan MOE ys 211, Team M. Ecan Oe boca 9 D. Corrin, Captain A. WALKER ee ai 241, V. Canan, Manager J. CHICKERING A ou aks 23 1-6 Places Won by 1911 TO-foot beck’. 005 2 A ee Frienp, first Dive: tor form’ secu ae is ek Canan, third Plunge for distance ............ CaNAN, second 140 -foot back 222i ies Frienp, first 140-foot front 222 ii Corrin, third Maney dive 06. ciWadecaiess - HorrMan, third CHater Polo Fencing 1911 Team Alumnae Team Ecan E. Kirxsrive CoFFIN B. Ex ers Ho¥rFrMaNn C. Wesson FRIEND Canan Varsity Team WALKER H. Cuampers, Captain HovuGHTELING M. Hosart H. Emerson Alumne won—6-3 of 86 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN ” “= Be /AaStinaG ae yy | | eA * / Bie, sie ree =H y f Uf, oe if; mera Bel i t Lif "e VO OLMIS, HE Yt OES GSTS iy) This LUG 7 y English Major ony pope ANY 1/4 NGLISH Major! Yes, we all know what that means. Ursa Major would put its tail between its legs and run when it saw that coming. But (ay de mi!) not all of us have as good sense as Ursa Major. And so, every year, some few of us (“‘we are the music-makers, and we are the dreamers of dreams”’) succumb to that most fatal of all errors —an idea; and we go in for Major English with a courage born of trusting and childlike ignorance. We begin, of course, with the common herd; it is only in later years that those individualistic tendencies develop which are the sure mark of—well, I majored in English myself. The first year we learned to appreciate the charms of—we may as well let it go at “the charms,” for I forget who wrote them; we heard to our horror and dismay, Mr. Stopford Brooke—think of it, Mr. Stopford Brooke!—had actually stated that Cynewulf wrote the Riddles; we translated Chaucer with a zeal and venom to which our prepara- tion for orals was but the mere dalliaunce of a summer’s day; and lastly, we went so far as to permit our peacock to roost on nothing less significant of said peacock’s world-wide importance than the Ygdrasil Tree. Our literary efforts, however, on the score of pure heavenly inspiration, would have put Cedmon himself to shame. Why I came to College, what a wealth of possibilities lurks herein! Possibilities that in numerous instances were no doubt unsatisfied by any other than the eternal woman’s reason—“ because.” Already, you see, our vague poetic tendencies begin to unfold—the mystery gathers. Recall your “first view of the campus”—a euphony suggesting at once “first aid to the injured”’; your smiling “exteriors,” your Turner “sunsets”! And all this is but as the shadow of the candle to the glories that lie before you in second year. You begin, modestly enough, with descriptions, technical and otherwise (‘‘technical” to try the common herd, “otherwise”’ to bring out the geniuses); you argue heatedly that hazing ought not to be abolished (futility of argument already shown—but you were not one of the geniuses); you find out that Kipling is valuable to Us (this is the Faculty “Us,” far more terrible even THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN 87 than the mighty editorial “we’’) only for his treatment of India, and so decide to take Poe as a subject for your twenty-four-page essay; and come at last with bated breath to your narrative. There is something imposing about a narrative—imposing at once to you and on you. In a world where there is nothing new, it is not the simplest thing imaginable to generate a tale original, clever, and entertaining. But, after you have been told that you must take something for which you need not procure the “atmosphere” out of books, but out of the depths of your own experience—with a longing backward glance at your interminable preparatory school “runaways,” you settle upon either a murder or a love story. And somehow you blunder through—or you don’t, as the case may be. Cases alter circumstances. Of course, after this tremendous effort, you fall to copying Bacon and Pope with ease and fluency—another vindication of the superiority of the creative activity over the imitative. You have made progress in this second year in other directions too; you have taken to reading Shakespeare and the Paradise Lost. Shakespeare’s manifold subtlety of characterisation is brought out in some such question as this, of Goneril: “Was she a hippopotamus, was she a whale—what kind of a monster was she?” Friends, who of us will ever forget, “Hamlet, that boy of thirty, who was to be sent to England for a six months’ holiday”; which of us does not remember that after falling for nine days, “the starch was out of the angels”? And what one of us all but could find somewhere in her lecture notebook an exquisite illustration of the Ptolemaic astronomy which Milton sets forth? By this time the common herd has dispersed “‘to fresh woods and pastures new”’; the faithful few remain. Perhaps you choose drama, let us say, and Middle English poets. If here isn’t Chaucer again, bless his heart! You greet him as an old friend; for you are in deep water, with none but sharks about you, and he makes you feel more at home. Having gained by this time that “wider view of life” which was recommended as a foundation for reading Troilus and Criseyde, you translate unhesitatingly and unblushingly, as far as this is possible. ‘‘Drammer’—even now I think of “drammer”’ with a sickening fear; while that course is given, the moral reputation of our college is not safe. But it was inter- esting, oh, yes, and we learned a lot; we even wrote charming little comedies of our own, the scene of which was laid in the Mermaid Tavern. And we recall one dramatic incident, illuminative of the spirit of the course, that might have been entitled, “When the Sleeper Wakes”’; we refrain from mentioning names. ‘Miss Mason, what do you think of this?” And so we go to the heights—English Major. We sport with Carlyle and Newman; we smile indulgently at Ruskin; we patronise Matthew Arnold. We hear, to our breathless 88 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN amazement, that Keats is Keatsian; we unbind Prometheus, as we plan our undertakings for next winter with an eye to freeing, not mankind, but womankind; we thank an almighty and loving Providence which has allotted to man but three-score years and ten for his earthly works, that Wordsworth, doubtless owing to lack of time, had to stop at the Prelude. And then, with perhaps just a little throb of sorrow, we turn back to some of those sweet, funny, sad first year memories,—to the old, wistful, melancholy Anglo-Saxon; and we bow our heads regretfully, in the pain of parting, to the inevitable law that “Nothing and none may stay.” ALICE EICHBERG. THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN 89 Sy Ay (UG On Wecoming Upper Classmen “Standing with reluctant feet Where womanhood and girlhood meet.” T is very sudden, this becoming upper classmen, and it is very sweet, but a little sad. We stand at the brink Sophomore June and look forward to it eagerly, joyously, but when the time actually comes, and we are going up the front steps of Taylor, and wondering whether we look to 1913 anything like what 1909 looked to us, we begin to realise that in this gaining of importance we have also to give up something—the “happy days of youth,” that we began to sing about the end of Freshman year, are all vanished. When we were Freshmen every decent thing we did was considered “promising.” When we tied a hockey match we were applauded, and when we got through a short song all in one key, our Juniors felt that they had reason to be proud of us, and people shook their heads, and murmured that it was not safe to say what we might not do when we grew up. But when we became Juniors ourselves all was changed. We were no longer a budding rose, and all the “ promise” of our youth counted for nothing save where it had become present fact. We were expected to be able to win a hockey game. There is something almost poignantly sad about this. The change in our academic circumstances was a less doubtful blessing. There is a great charm about walking into a post-major, for instance, and though it often turns out to be very simple stuff after all, you have at least the satisfaction that the underclassmen don’t know it. go THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN But changing from a major to a post-major is as nothing, when compared to changing from required to minor English. And we, 1911, were the last class to get the full benefit of that change. To be sure there is still a critic’s course in college, but it has serious limitations, chief among these being that it is a course in critics. In our day it was not a course at all, it was a state of mind. Nowadays, in the course in Nineteenth Century Critics,—one reads Carlyle, Ruskin, Huxley, and even Matthew Arnold. Whereas we! Oh, we read Goethe’s Faust in the original, and the book of Job, and the Little Flowers of St. Francis, and the Songs Before Sunrise, to say nothing of a dramatic reading of the Atalanta in class, with Charlotte for the chorus. We also dipped into the Divine Comedy, emphasising the Paradiso, into Chaucer, into the works of Augustine, and of Origen, and into the Oedipus Tyrannus, and the poetry of Blake and Arnold. Really, that course was probably the only one in college that lived up to the underclassmen’s idea of what a third year course should be. On the very first day, when we were told, apropos of goodness knows what, that Milton represented the sectarian spirit, and was therefore to be closely connected, not to say identified, with Lucifer, I knew I was getting what I wanted. And indeed, the only lapse into comprehensibility in the course of the year, to us who were soulless, was in the three lectures by Mr. Johnson. About then, too, the class was undergoing a tremendous upheaval in its social group system. I don’t think we ever were very clannish as a class, but it was not till Junior year that the little hall cliques into which mere circumstance threw us Freshman year, really began to break up and merge into the big, comprehensive congenial yet highly individualistic group that was the 1911 of Senior year. The fall of 1909 found all that remained of Radnor, after the exodus to Denbigh the year before, established among the only part of 1911 that had a sense of humour—i. e., Rock. Hellie and Roz were left in undisputed possession of Merion. Amy and Delano were welcomed into what later became the High Church Crowd of the Pembrokes, and May became a further factor in that part of the class. As for Virginia and me, owing to the kindness of Delano, who drew for us while we were playing in a basket-ball match, and were helpless to prevent her, we found ourselves, still together, but cut off from all else that was familiar, in Denbigh. This circumstance affected us so strongly that for several weeks we were often seen together, to the conster- nation of our friends. She is not a person one grows sentimental over, but I really got very fond of Virginia during that time, and I think she began to realise what an appealing little thing I was. The enforced companionship did not last long enough to hurt us, however, for Denbigh was very cordial, and we had brought our little “God Bless our THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN 9! Home” sign with us, which made us feel more cheerful and contented, and it was not long before going into Denbigh seemed fairly natural, though never, till Commencement Day 1911, did we get to the point of walking right down the middle of the corridor, on the rug, instead of slinking along next the wall. There is a further change in a class as it turns into a Junior class, and then into a Senior class, than can be told in exact words. Of course, we thought it was really a joke that we should pretend to be Juniors, and we knew we must look too young and too inexperienced to be taken seriously in that réle. But somehow we did manage to look like it, for a member of 1913 said to me this summer, in heavy seriousness: “Those poor benighted Freshmen! To think that they are going to think we are perfectly good, grown-up Juniors next year, as you were when we first knew you. Why we won’t really be Juniors at all.” But of course they will. Marion Sturees Scort. 92 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN (CotLeGEe Breakrast, 1911) T occurs to me that my title is perhaps a trifle ambiguous. For the benefit of those Alumne who have not heard of this most painful of recent deprivations, let me explain that I do not mean that milk-lunch is passed; I mean that it has passed! Yes, during the last years a sad catastrophe has occurred. It originated in a conspiracy of the professors. Statistics showed that the eleven o’clock milk-lunch was affecting the choice of courses and even of groups. That is, the students, in increasing numbers, were arranging their groups in reference to milk-lunch, leaving the eleven o’clock hour free for the uninterrupted negotia- tion of this feast. Or, in other cases, the students were coming in late to their eleven o’clock lectures. (I may say with a pardonable pride that two members of the Class of 1911 were leaders of this latter group.) The situation in this case was a trying one, particu- larly as the students seemed to see, in bursting into a class at 11.15 or 11.20, a sort of gay humour, indistinguishable, for some strange reason, to the professorial eye. So the professors conspired, and milk-lunch ceased, and the students languished, pale and wan. Various plans for its restoration were suggested—to meet the lack of funds which the wardens held out as an excuse for the change. For instance, many desired a communal cow, to be milked by the officers of the Self-Government Association. Or else milking might be registered as exercise and a whole flock—I mean herd—of cows employed. How THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN 93 pleasant and pastoral they would look on the campus basking under the Ygdrasil Tree, nibbling the vines in the cloister, or playfully biting Dr. Schniz as he dashed to one of his classes at fourteen minutes past the hour! They would add a new element of adventure and romance to an erstwhile prosaic afternoon of study in Senior Row! Only one reason was urged against the acquisition of these cows, and that was—1913. Unlike most of us, cows do not have a predilection for the colour red. And now, when we look around and see the wonderful red classes that have returned for this Commencement, we are glad that we did not employ cows to imperil their existence. But I cannot in justice pass over the brighter side of the question. When they threatened to abandon milk-lunch even during exams, we protested vehemently; the Undergraduate Association determined to petition. In the words of my poetical classmate, Miss Scott: “Oh, East is East, and West is West, and the difference is great, And Radnor’s and Rock’s and Denbigh’s flocks are wholly separate; But there is neither East nor West, nor clique, nor crowd, nor bunch, When the college stands, and as one demands its own long-lost Milk-Lunch.” So they petitioned. The secretary of the Undergraduate Association had the task assigned to her of composing that petition. She had always longed to write one! So she secured copies of the Magna Charta (1214). The Petition of Right (1628), and the Declaration of Independence (1776). (You see, my history tabs still stay by me.) Thus armed, she bent to her task, and in time produced a miracle of rhetoric. There were no less than siz whereas’es, and all sorts of touching and poignant phrases about the need of the undergraduate brain (in common with the brains of the rest of the human species) for nourishment at a time of great stress, etc., etc., etc. Miss Thomas read, and compre- hended, and that milk-lunch (I have never quite seen why it was not called milk-supper) was restored to us. What would life be without this rare feast! A feast for the intellect, as well as for the body; and as for the esthetic sense—well, it is simply sated! One arrives at 9.15, into the midst of a Babel of voices; but every voice in that Babel is saying the same thing: ‘‘ What do you know about that dreadful ?” (Here insert the name of any course in the catalogue.) And the answer to that question is always, always the same: “I don’t know a thing! I’m at February 15 (or October 15, as the case may be). I can’t understand,” etc., etc. Sometimes I long to vary the reply, just from sheer weariness of its 94 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN monotony, but four long years have not given me the courage to do so. Sometimes I hear the voices asking: “‘What do you know about the ‘marginal differential concept’?”’ And the reply comes back: ‘“‘Oh, she won’t ask that!” My own experience in regard to the “gastronomic side” of milk-lunch (as Daddy Warren would say) has always been singularly blighting and tragic. Either I arrived too late, and find that all the doughnuts are gone, or I arrive punctually at 9.15, only to find that there are cow-crackers. A cow-cracker may be defined as a compound of blotting paper and talcum-powder, preserved for long ages in dry, subterranean vaults. Long ago, when the world’s supply of cow-crackers was cut off—fortunately for the world!—they were all cornered by Bryn Mawr College. And I am happy to be able to announce that that supply bids fair to last for two or three centuries, as the decrease in quantity each lyear is scarcely perceptible. As for the appellation of cow! I have never been able to explain it. It is simply too insul ting to the cow, to suppose that she would touch these strange confections! And now, having depicted the beauties of milk-lunch as it appears during twenty days of the year, I want to make a plea to the Alumnez for its complete revival. If I may boldly make a suggestion, could it not be paid for out of that fund known as the “Potato Endowment”? Not that I mean to decry the Potato Endowment! I know that it is a rare and splendid thing to be able to have, at one meal, sweet potatoes, mashed potatoes, and baked potatoes—not to mention potato soup and potato salad. It must give the potatoes such a nice, cosy family feeling to be sitting there, all together, on the same plate. But, I repeat, could not at least a part of this fund be diverted in the direction of milk? If, as the hymn tells us, “Jerusalem the Golden” was “with milk and honey blest,” may not Bryn Mawr, at least, be blest with milk? CATHERINE LyMaN DELANO. ed a ae | As lar ae | KE eis : Eg ving stunt a =, Pathe —_ = -—_ “a iT 7 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN 95 C bu) pie TEN er Mi ee er PPS: Me ea hot AKT Ry "¢ “8 %, a Alt qi, BSN oc Ws A; . Ney.