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BONWIT, TELLER & CO.
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Accurate copies and modifications from the
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In after years, when you gaze in the mirror of memory,
and see in its unfathomable depths faces that recall the joys of
your school days at Bryn Mawr, trace the outline of reminis-
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In fancy see again the restful couch, the strongly defined
lines of which were softened by the vari-colored Vantine
Oriental Couch Cover. Nestle again in the bright hues of the
Vantine Cushions, where, as the day closed, you pondered o’er
the books that in after years will be cherished tokens of a past
forever gone.
Feel again the charm of a Vantine Kimono, in the silken
folds of which you so often greeted the coming’ of another day,
and for old time’s sake sip again a cup of Vantine’s tea that
so often revived you in the days that will come no more.
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30 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE
‘young hearts” and “eternity.”” But we shall have to confess that 1913 has since surpassed
us by the enumeration in their class song of the number of years that go to make up that
space of time. ,
What we lacked in organization and system that night, we made up for in our eagerness
to help and the fact that one zealous assistant (I blush to state that the person was no other
than one of our esteemed authors) in her efforts to help the scene shifters, cut down the front
stage borders in her excitement. It must be noted that it was this same author-in-col-
laboration who insisted on acknowledging curtain calls in spite of her costume and the fact
that owing to her violent efforts at scene shifting, her large toe protruded flagrantly through
her stocking. But Barb’s costume was nothing to Karin’s. I tremble even yet when I
think of our Beaver with her fetching costume made out of two grey sweaters and a neat
tea apron! And [still feel very strongly, when I think of that august Committee on Protest
headed by Cath Thompson, who begged the management to utilize the Class Beauty to the
best advantage instead of covering it with a beard!
When the night of the show finally came, every one of 1919-exaent those in the Infirmary
—was init, and every one was happy. The College was very kind in its criticism and as for
1912, we loved it so much that the following year we indulged in a circus—that being the
nearest approach to a Freshman show that we could think of. Junior year we digressed and
gave our first serious plays “Les Romanesques” and “The Man of Destiny.” But Senior
year we reverted once more, and in our Senior Play, “If I were King,” we found the true
expression of what we had first experienced in Freshman Show, and had found was what
we liked best—mob spirit.
Jura Lorine Hates.
THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE 31
BREAKING
Pe
I RADITION
a 2 Al
ee eae, ANY Wats
Wrong, CA!
[~*~ VERY Freshman class wot is a class, makes great dramatic breaks. Some time or
{___ other we all cheer after “Thou gracious,” or start “ Anassa,” or announce in the dining-
room, ‘‘ There will be a meeting of the Freshman class.”” But 1912 really distinguished
itself beyond all ordinary classes.
Food is the reason for all college entertainments and most college faua-pas. And the
cause of our great break was hunger. It was the night of Junior-Senior Supper Play and
Sophomore Class Supper. We had dined early upon roast beef and mashed potatoes, and full
of unsatisfied cravings we had later watched 1911 group around the jovial board and partake
greedily (as it seemed to us) of hors d’euvres and entrées with elaborate names. 1909 and
1910 we knew were banqueting royally in the gym. Only we poor Freshmen had to keep
body and soul together on a meal shown by scientific investigation to contain practically
nothing but starch. As we wandered dismally out onto the campus, some one suggested
82 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE
that on this night it was etiquette for Freshmen to break the Senior tradition and sing on
Taylor steps. And with our usual attitude of “‘ We aren’t very clever or athletic or dramatic
but we are nice and we can sing”’ we lifted up our voice with one accord. Soon, however, a
Senior came by from the gym, and feeling a bit cowed we separated to our several sleeping
parties and thought no more of the matter.
But after this the deluge. Like a Meredithian heroine or Alice in Wonderland, we awoke
next morning to swim about the campus. “Tears, idle tears.” For a few blissful moments
we knew not what they meant. Then the blow fell. We had caused those groans in the
parlor and sobs in the tea pantry. We had broken one of the traditions of college. The
steps would never be the same again. And as for our banner, heretofore unstained even by
wind or weather, all the apologies known to man could not wash out this damned spot.
Oh! Oh! Oh!
There came a formal reprimand from 1910 demanding a more formal apology to 1909.
We knew that in such a case the best policy is to “lick quick.”” Mary Peirce was away for
the week end, so Frances and I composed a touching epistle truthfully exhibiting 1912 as
dismal, doleful, disconsolate, dreary and distressed.
And then much to our surprise tears began to flow less freely. We had scarcely dared
hope for forgiveness much less for forgetfulness. We expected to be held up to future genera-
tions of Freshmen as an awful example. But strange to say we found that our notoriety
was only a nine days affair. The steps are still sacred and it is only when trying to comfort
some Freshmen for a minor break that we say, “Oh, never mind; you see 1912 can’t be
particular, because we broke the record.” JEAN W. STIRLING.
THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE 33
or Tue Purpose or Art 1s TO ELEVATE
HERE was once a glorious time in the history of Bryn Mawr traditions (it has been
compared to the Italy before Raphael) when all art was unconscious, and joyously
unrestrained. In those “days beyond recall” the Student Body was bound by no
self-conscious rules. It lept lightly from the windows after half past ten, smoked cigarettes
up the chimneys, and walked up from the eight-fifteen without waiting for the lantern man.
A beautiful folk custom grew up among this cloistered group of the privileged,* which
*Its origins have been traced by some scholars to the Greek festivals in honour of Bacchus, and by others to the Elizabethan sport
of bear-baiting; for controversy, see Ancient MSS. lately discovered in the Self-Gov. coffin by the eminent scientist, H. Barber.
34 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE
consisted in dragging the new members of the community by their hair to a secluded spot,
generally near Rock basement, and torturing them for the amusement of the chief dignitaries
of the college. This custom prevailed from the earliest date down to 1910 when, like the
virgin forests of our great country, it was swept away to make room for a rising civilisation.
But it is not of this that I wish to speak. I cannot trace the rise of all the customs of this
strange little people, nor will my space permit me to relate how the lantern, once used to dis-
cover the unwary earthworm, is now employed to illustrate Greek hymns—chiefly a change
of department, you perceive. These I must leave for deeper
minds; Rush Night is my chief concern in this short treatise.
Rush Night in its unspoiled form was an outlet for all the
primitive emotions caged in the breasts of B. M. C. “Primi-
tive man all over the globe delights in songs, war dances, and
oh crude struggles often culminating in bloodshed.” So did
B. M. C. For years the eyes of the Student Body sparkled,
and the hands of the Student Body clenched at the mere
mention of Rush Night. Until once, Oh fatal day, Miss Mad-
dison murmured to Miss Thomas, and Miss Thomas repeated
to a breathless chapel, “‘It’s pretty! but zs it art?’” The die
bere ——~ Lianryy was cast, the seed crossed, and the fatal Rubicon sown in the
fen THE (oos@eg hearts of the Student Body. * * * For years they struggled
af against the horrid imputation. Sophomores sat up nights
reading Burke on the “Sublime and the Beautiful” and Ruskin
on the “Objects of Art.’’ Costumes were devised, picturesque noises were procured, at great
expense, from the village. Yes, all that girls could do, the Student Body did. But still
“A horrid whisper came, and made
Their hearts as dry as dust.”
Even Mrs. Nelson took to asking the Student Body when she had them well down in the
suds, “Well now, miss, Is it art?” 'They fled for comfort and Dutch bread, only to be
cag
THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE 35
greeted by Mrs. Miller’s soft tones: “Yes, darling; but do you think it could be called art.”
Maddened, the Student Body took the last step open to humanity, burnt their bridges behind
them, had a “sense of the meeting,” and elected a committee.
The result is too well known to need reiteration here. One night they met in hot debate—
the hymn books had been carefully removed by order of the president. Catherine Delano rose
majestically from the seething crowds and proposed a plan that should silence all opposition,
“make the Freshmen feel at home” and probably react favorably on the endowment fund
and the students’ building. It was Freshman Parade. As she read we listened eagerly for
some chance to express our dynamic emotions, as Carlyle and C. Thompson would say. It
was artistic, it was esthetic; it was clear and chaste as a calla lily. It left one with the
unsatisfied feeling of a half-seen portrait, or a Saturday lunch. We trembled as Delano’s voice
rose to the last sentence, then all hearts lept, and all hopes were fulfilled as she concluded
“and there will be a band.” * * *
The next year, in the fall of 1911, Freshman Parade was tried. I have but one comment
to make.
“There was a band!”
IsaBEL VINCENT.
36 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE
(SPEECH: COLLEGE BREAKFAST)
S President of the Penny Pig Picnic Association, I feel myself eminently qualified to
write on this subject. The P. P. P. A. consists of four frugal members who drop their
pennies into a cocoa can and periodically eat together under a bush with the accu-
mulated wealth. There is $1.18 in the can now. ‘Take care of the pence and the pounds
will take care of themselves” is our motto, and one need only look at the writer to prove it.
I am thinking of publishing a Manual for the Use of Picnickers—The Bryn Mawr Campus
Topographically Considered, with Special Reference to Flora and Fauna
Fauna is Ants
Flora is Garlic.
They grow chiefly in the hollow and add a zest to any meal.
There are various kinds of picnics. Personally I could never see the raison d’étre of a
faculty picnic. It would be too great an effort for me to keep up the exalted standard of light,
witty conversation suited for such an occasion, for how can one use circumlocution when an
ant is drowning?
The remarks made at picnics are interesting and illustrative of Bryn Mawr conversation
in general. One could predict them almost certainly beforehand. “Isn’t that the most
THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE 37
heavenly sunset?” “I always feel so peaceful
when I eat.” “TI couldn’t bear it in the dining-
room to-night.”” Then some one starts “Eve-
line,” and as the campus lights come out and
the mists rise from the bowl of the lower
hockey field, the close melodies from the
scattered groups mingle in a general peace-
ful, lazy discord, the musical counterpart of
picnic fare.
There are some advantages about a rainy
picnic. If you are carrying seven pillows
I
j ore ‘
Ks
“>
5 Wife.
N ‘
i
y
MV AN |
Ni Bs } é ia
T
s—NIFOUrT TU Sal-@ cmbers-
Thee ave Hovantages =
under your arms, a scrapbasket filled with
viands in one hand and with cup handles
over each finger are poising a pitcher of
grape-juice lemonade on your palm, it is
bound to spill a little no matter how slow
and majestic your tread. But if it rains,
it will be replenished from the skies and
will be all the better for you for being a
little weaker.
il
38 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE
I should like to give one warning, however. If you go ona rich delicious picnic like those
bounteous ones the Hinglish Club provides despite the protestations of the penurious Edgie,
do not go up into the Library Tower. There is a very small crack through which one insin-
uates oneself—and you remember the fable of the thin mouse who went through a little
crack into a corn bin and ate
and ate? So unless you
have bread and milk only,
take my advice and go to
the Hollow. (Hollow zs a
suitable name for a meet-.
ing-place for the famished,
isn’t it? Lorraine sighed at
this joke. She is looking
over my shoulder.)
Finally, a picnic is a
great educational instru-
ment. It teaches one self-
reliance, and brings out our
latent faculties of inven-
tion. The other day we
— ms \ u
> — s —. Dameron )
ENV gee Ze a A
went on a picnic to some
E:
Z 3
OO AAZ 2 Zo ——
UMber TY me VS WD C OWhiIng - beautiful woods. ri ot
was spread with a fair cloth
of quaker ladies, violets and spring beauties and shaded by a roof of May apples. A brook
murmured, an orchard oriole sang. We laid out the crisp shredded wheat, the smooth
cream, the golden oranges taken from Marjorie Walter, and four pieces of candy taken
from Sara Smith. Then, O horror! we discovered that though plentifully supplied with
saucers, we had no spoons. We did not run back to college to get them. A clean twig is a
great assistance in a case like this.
THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE 39
Let us hope that the Students’ Building will not be built over the Hollow, and that the
college food will never be so good that picnic fare will not be preferable.
Frances Hunter.
Zz. tiza, =
ZY vad ZB hz
ZA & —
a tn Wp Cyt:
FA BOOK MULIMMUVEODe=S= J
40 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE
HE May-day of the poets is not the May-day of Bryn Mawr. Ours somehow lacks
the spontaneity of that far-off golden age. Freshman year, it is true, we sprang up
in our innocence willingly enough in the gray dawn after class supper. A soft rain
fell, the Seniors straggled to Rock in limp white dresses; President Thomas, well wrapped up,
tried to be at ease with a basket of flowers; the band was cheerful with an air of grim deter-
mination,—one always wonders of what the band is thinking on occasions like this. Everyone
gamboled about in the wet grass eager to do the proper thing, and argued as to which class
snarled up its May pole worst. Even our naiveté was a little forced. The only person who
seemed really happy was the May queen, who got a present.
The next year we felt much more sympathy for Corinna; indeed, we were no more eager
than she to “spring sooner than the lark to bring in May.” We prudently if not poetically,
filled little baskets with violets for our juniors the night before. We dickered with fate as to
THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE 41
who should hand them around next morning, and fate picked out So’thick,—only fancy
can adequately picture So’thick doing this little job. On that day, too, Spring seemed a
little sullen at our forced devotions.
Of course these yearly celebrations are merest tinsel beside the real May-day, which
lingers all golden in our memories. There were |
plenty of humorous elements even here, however,
such as the preliminary inspection of shrinking
legs, performed by the dance directors with bus-
iness-like detachment. Who can ever recall,
without joy, our Edgie reeling with loud laughter
around the cloister, the shrieking Charlotte in
the hollow, Hoby in a mitre, Monty being a
priestess as though she were born to the trade,
So’thick trying to keep her orange wig on her
head and hiding shyly behind the other Cupids
lest she be seen by the family chauffeur. We can
even smile now, with lapse of time, at our efforts
to dance on grass in wobbly sandals. There were
days of preparation to be sure when one would — \¢ Cprane up om Our . Innocence
have liked to pinch the mincing Graces, when one
could not bear to hear again, “Tell me, Time, Tell me, just Time.” But when the real day
came, how smoothly everything went. Romance touched us for once, and we moved in a
far-away world of kings and chimney-sweeps, knights and outlaws, dancing peasants and
singing harvesters. We appreciated ourselves much more than the undiscriminating crowds
appreciated us. For once we drank to the full the pleasure of being picturesque in a
picturesque setting.
ss
3
Y:
NS
SS
PAULINE CLARKE.
42 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE
N
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samt
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OMEWHERE back in the dim ages of Sophomore year there came a spirit of unrest
un upon the class of 1912, which chiefly manifested itself in an ardent desire for room-
mates, but so quickly and completely did we change our minds that no one knew who
was rooming with whom for more than twenty-four hours at a time. Now I know that the
experience was not unique, but it was new to us, and we suffered accordingly. The worst
of it was, that apparently there was no way out of the tangle, and in the midst of it—O
irony of fate—I was told to give a speech on room-mates at class-supper. I gnashed my teeth
and tore my hair and looked upon myself and cursed my fate, and then relieved the monotony
of life by retiring to the Library roof with Isabel and Helen and telling all the jokes that
couldn’t be used in our speeches. Those were rare and subtle jokes about the inadequacy of
THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE 43
the English language and others of that type. Then suddenly, like a bolt from the blue,
I had a great idea. In fact it was the great idea of my life. The whole problem of room-
mates could be solved on the simple principle of Eugenics. Dr. Stanton Coit had told
us a few weeks before that if a cross-eyed woman married a wall-eyed man, the children would
look straight ahead. That particular instance may not be correct, but the principle remains
the same. I was dizzy at the vistas suddenly opened up before me. It was in my power to
create a race of super-women here at Bryn Mawr. For instance, if Spry and Mary Gertrude
were to room together, in time Mary Gertrude would smile at us with only gentle melan-
choly. Then there was the combination of Cynthia and Julia. I felt that this was one which
would appeal specially to the office. If the theory held, Julia would work only twenty-
eight hours a day, limit herself to twelve committees and no longer walk from Taylor to the
Library so fast that she was only a streak across the campus, and Cynthia might be able
to take ten o’clock classes. In the case of Pinney and K. Shaw the scheme would work
wonders. At the end of four years they would be wearing each other’s clothes with the great-
est ease. If Isabel Vincent roomed with Christine she might habitually spell daffodils with
at least one “f,” instead of “ph,” and be able to see the mythological reference implied in
our allusion to a “bear-footed” man among the Coburn Players. Then there is my own case.
If Jean were to room with me persistently and unflaggingly for four years I might be able to
sing the tunes of at least three of the songs, instead of every other word of about six, and
make a striking distinction between my rendering of the tune of Onward, Christian Soldiers,
and Thou gracious Inspiration. If Dorothy were to have Edgie always by her side, she might
sometimes waste a whole half-minute. But why need I elaborate the scheme. At present
statistics are being collected by the office, and in future years the unscientific method of
room-draw will be only a dim tradition and be looked upon as belonging in the same class
with rush-night and hazing.
Marysorie L. THompson.
Ad THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE
"THE above title is extremely well chosen—it might mean anything. That is why it is
| eminently fitting that the treatise which follows should mean—except to those most
intimately connected—absolutely nothing.
The “ways and means” of a good many ends have been neither unique nor enlightening,
but those set forth by fair Bryn Mawr, for relieving the economic difficulties of the college,
deserve a place in history.
“The time has come,” Miss Thomas said,
“To talk of many things;
Of carpets and of Christmas pies,
Of mattresses and springs.”
For a month we had been bothered by the fact that the door opening from Pembroke
East towards Dalton remained locked. None of us could guess the reason, but Miss Thomas
told us. Said Miss Thomas: “The endless throng of students from other halls, passing
through that hall, was wearing out the carpet at an absolutely incalculable rate, as is clearly
shown by the statistics which Dean Maddison has given me. Thus for every week, for every
foot of each student, I should say of course, for each foot of every student, just so many yards
THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE 45
of carpet were rendered worse than useless. The
number of yards of course would depend upon the
size of the student, and the number—that is to say
the size of her feet. Therefore we have kept the
door locked, for it is only by such cutting out of
these little difficulties and extra things that we can
at all reduce the high cost of living.
“Another difficulty provided for is that of
mistakes—such as the mistake made in the food
department recently, amounting to the value of
ninety-five dollars, twenty-seven and one-half cents.
You remember that two Christmas dinners were given to the college instead of the usual
one Christmas dinner. That mistake cost Miss Parris—our economical advisor who dis-
covered it—that mistake cost Miss Parris just eight hours sleep. That is it cost the
faculty—each member of the faculty counting as two—an average loss of sleep of not
quite nine minutes. Of course such mistakes as these could not keep on happening, and
so the college has elected Miss Garrett to be the one to correct, at least three days pre-
viously, all mistakes apt to be made—especially those made by the president.
“ As for the alumnez and non-resident students who wish to
stay all night, they are another difficulty which must be cut out.
Mr. Foley tells me that two or three times he has found indigent
alumne under the windows down at Radnor, actually wishing
to occupy the students’ beds. This must be forbidden; the
alumnz must be told that the college cannot afford to have
any student pay for one bed, and then sleep in it double. The
expenses of the college must be reduced. I will ask the students
to sing now ‘Thou gracious Expurgation.’”’
Well I might mention a lot of “means” that Miss Thomas
didn’t touch on. For example, I have not told how in Dalton,
46 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE
Taylor and the Library we were forced to use a “penny in the slot” machine to get a drink;
we might just as well have been in the great Sahara as far as quenching our thirst was
concerned. I haven’t said anything either about the way our towels were taken away and
we had to dab ourselves with a sort of blotting paper arrangement, or, in the halls of residence,
use a bath-mat or a half-dried bathing suit. In this place where sanitation and economy go
hand-in-hand, it would be no great surprise if, sometime in the near future, coffee and tea
were given up, and weak solutions of formaldehyde and boracic acid instituted in their stead.
When it comes to argumentation or induction, the method of elimination is by all means the
one to follow, but when it comes to economics it’s a different matter. Yet what surer
“means” of arriving at a literal “end” than elimination? Charles I and Marie Antionette
are noteworthy examples of its effectiveness—isn’t that enough?
Karsarine L. SHaw
THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE 47
Che guntt fal, Fartice tual
(SprecH: SopHomMore Ciass SupPER)
HE Beautiful, Ineffectual Type, Frances Hunter” that is what the program says, but
the epithet applies to each of my classmates as forcibly as it does tome. I have only
to look at Scrib’s eyes, Terry’s nose, Rosie’s hair, Maysie’s chin, Barb’s ankles, and
1912’s record in the gym-contest to prove this.
My remarks are taken from the works of Matthew Arnold and Gladys Spry—Matthew
furnishes the title, Gladys the inspiration. Whatever worth these poor remarks may have
48 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE
is all due to them. You may have been present (if you had a nickel) at the first open meeting
of the Hinglish Club at which aforesaid Spry read a speech, unequaled for spontaneous humour,
on “The Fatal Coise.” “What is this Fatal Coise?’’ she read in vibrant accents. “It is
Beauty! We all have it.” Yes, my classmates, she was right. We all have it. Look at
our class-picture, at Lorraine especially. You will seldom see a collection of such faces,
simultaneously.
I come to you to-night with a message. What if we have furnished a Venus, three Graces
and a Sexton to May-Day?
Must we be ineffectual as well
as beautiful? Must the two
adjectives be indissolubly and
forever linked? Let us in our
own peculiar way be of some
service to our college and our
time; beautiful and effectual at
once. May we not be like the
pool in the cloister when the
' ic water is turned off, that merely
p=—=-, lies still to be admired, but let
us, like Mr. Foley’s watering
wagon, sprinkle beauty and joy
wherever we go.
Now, how can we begin, that is the first question that confronts us. I have a few sugges-
tions to make, and I know that you will have a great many more.
First:—Let us raise a littke money and get some ink-eradicator and take the yellow
spots off our banner.
Wr
MAN
Ff Wy
iH) He
j
|
NH)
It will then be good as new
Fresh, and clear and baby-blue.
Second:—Let us abolish the hideous type of athletic garb now prevalent among us,
THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE
49
50 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE
which transforms even our beautiful Sour-Ball Southwick into a peripatetic dumpling. I
should suggest Greek costumes with fillets and long chitons. The resultant spectacle would
recall the old Olympic games and would be most instructive, and in accordance with our
Athenian atmosphere. I dare say, moreover, that we should make quite as many goals as
we do in our present disfiguring attire.
Third:—I think we might use our influence to keep the whole college in costume all the
time. Our May Day apparel was taken from us just as shame was changing into pleasure,
and given to the moth-ball. If Miss Parris should wear to lectures her costume, giddy,
abbreviated, green as the pea; and if the men professors should follow suit (as of course they
would) Bryn Mawr would need no cut-rule. Mr. King as Cupid or Chantecler could no longer
combine a purple tie, pink shirt, brown vest, black coat, and gray gaiters. Lectures would
delight the eye as well as the ear.
Fourth:—We must bring beauty and joy into Low Buildings. You don’t know how
unhappy they are down there. And why, do you ask? Because they have no proper reading,
nothing but Elizabethan Drama and the Tip. Do you know that Cath. Thompson came out
in the train from town the other day and sat behind Miss Crandall and Miss Fullerton. The
braided head and the puffed head were close together over a printed page. No, it was not
Henry James. Guess again. No, not the Atlantic Monthly or Turgenieff’s novels. Pretty
poor! It was “Why William Got Engaged” in the Ladies’ Home Journal. Now, of course,
an English reader could not subscribe to that paper and keep her self-respect. She can only
purchase it surreptitiously in town and smuggle it out to the campus. Think how happy we
could make them by being a little thoughtful and sending them our old ones. Think of the
effect of “Pretty Girl Papers” on Miss Maddison, ;
“Pretty Girl Papers
Pretty Curl-Papers;”
that is what would happen. And she would be the next to join the Princeton colony.
These things that I have just mentioned apply, however, only to our actions in college.
Shall we cease, then, to be Beauty Spreaders when we have spread to the East and the West
THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE 51
and the North and the South? I thought over this question for a long time, and then deter-
mined to ask the advice of a wiser one than I. I wrote to the Ladiés’ Home Journal as follows:
“A beautiful young lady, (the class of 1912 symbolically,) rather weak, but willing, with
a good voice, sweet disposition, a good cook, wishes to find a mission in life on leaving college.
Can you suggest something?”
The very next day I received a personal letter from a member of the Editorial Staff. It
consisted of these two words: “Marry me!”
Frances Hunter.
52 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE
E were not at all surprised when as neophytes we came to Bryn Mawr to hear of
“the Bryn Mawr Spirit.” Though Freshmen, we knew that every thing, place,
and person has a spirit. In our ante-Bryn Mawr career we had heard of all kinds
of spirits,—ghost spirits, mean spirits, kindly spirits, and the spirit of which the minister
spoke, when he said to the ladies of his congregation, “Ladies, I thank you for the preserves,
and above all for the spirit in which you sent it.”
Armed with this abundant knowledge, we looked around carefully before adopting what
was to be the peculiar spirit of the class of 1912. In those days, Matthew Arnold, to whom
THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE 53
1912 was introduced under the happy auspices of the English Department, was in the heyday
of his Bryn Mawr popularity. We succumbed completely to that Apostle of Culture; he
stirred our soul; and we looked about for an appropriate emblem of our experience. We
pondered long, soul, s-o-u-l, s—o—u—l, we said to ourselves, long drawn out, just as Scrib
says, “Land, Land, Land!’ in her Columbus oration. Then, presto! we discovered our
emblem! The Butterfly! The Soul Butterfly! Greek students like Karin Costello, Florence
Glenn, and Mary Brown, put their classical heads together, and evolved a motto in Greek
letters that told of the wonderful power of the soul. A few of us may sometimes be in doubt
as to what our ideal exactly is, but we need not be discouraged. We may always take pride
in the shining success of our zsthetes, especially Pauline Clarke, Marjorie Thompson, and
Isabel Vincent, who have solved any difficulties to their utmost satisfaction. They have so
developed in soul, in four years’ time, that a graduate course of one year at Bryn Mawr,
may find them each possessed of an over-soul. What would poor 1912 do then, and Nietzsche
dead?
Our motto has this merit however, it is a polite motto.* It merely states a fact; it
doesn’t command the rest of us to do anything. We may take for granted that our souls are
all right. Following the policy inaugurated by our motto, we have always been a polite
class. We hold with Dr. Sanders that an imperative is rude. Spry and Catharine Arthurs,
instinctively recognising this fact, have found that Mary can do without her gavel for
weeks at a time.
Others have recognised the Greek Spirit of 1912, for instance, that connoisseur Mr.
King. In freshman days, before she had become so enamoured of the campus, we often
saw Helen Barber in glorious stride on her way to the village. We humbly compared her
to the Nike of Samothrace. Sophomore year, Mr. King recognised the fact that there was
something colgssally Greek about Helen; he solved the difficulty by casting Helen as “‘a
full-blown Venus.”
A 1914 person revealed to me a peculiarly Greek quality in another of our members.
Young 1914 was giving me clues to the person she was “interested” in. She lives in Pem.
*For those who may have forgotten let me state that our motto is:—WVuxn diow "Oxe Kal éxe. ‘The soul
permeates and posesses all nature.”—EpitTor.
54 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE
East, full name has fourteen letters, and her brown eyes make the rest of her face beautiful.
After I had carefully worked out the problem presented, I discovered the full significance
of that famous Greek phrase, “ox-eyed Hera.”
We all know how our Greek Spirit has manifested itself in song. Freshman year,
Monty with artistic sympathy produced us a Lantern song, liberally oiled with the Greek
Spirit. But Biffy and Dorothy Wolff with an eye to future reward and punishment, waited
till the very end of Senior year before they made us intone to the world in hymns of Epic
length, our keen joy in the Greek Spirit.
We are indebted to the Greek Spirit for many things. It has enabled us to laugh
appreciatively at two types of humour as divergent as Spry’s and Polly’s; or enjoy the
subtlety of a duet by Shaw and Pinney; or appreciate the situation when, at our last class
supper, a colored waiter emerged from the Pem. kitchen door just as Carlotta was warbling
“Dark Phoebus skims the sky.”
The nicest thing about the Greek Spirit we developed was that it has been not the
brand Dorothy Wolff advocates, but of the genuine Sophoclean sort, “kindly and well
meaning.” This has given our class that exquisite touch of “the sweetly reasonable.” It
has made us “easy going” in regard to all class business, and hence we have benefited by
having two songs to grace every occasion, two plays for one evening, and other things, too
numerous to mention, in double quantities. At last in America those elements which Mat-
thew Arnold so sorely missed on his visits here in the early 80’s, we, 1912, have found,—those
elements productive of “sweetness and light.” How otherwise could the following scene
have taken place without a riot call for the well-trained mob on the other side of the stage?
Scene: Stage. Time: 9.50 P. M.
Night of Dress Rehearsal, “If I Were King.”
Dramatis Persons: Shaw and Byrne.
Suaw (stage whisper): I am so tired.
Byrne: I am more tired than you are.
Suaw: No, you can’t be.
Byrne: I am twice as tired as you are, for I am twice as tall, so there!
Curtain. Sapie BEeiekowsky.
THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE 55
E who have light hair, blue eyes and a ruddy skin (this is not an advertisement
for Anybody’s facial cream) always expect to be misunderstood—that is, unless one
of us happens really to be the sort of person we look like. For until we have
repeatedly offered proof to the contrary, the world counts on our being dainty and
neat, insipid and uninteresting, nice, amiable, sweet, free from nerves, a little vain, with a
high soprano voice, not much of a soul, and an ambition to be nothing more than decorative.
We are also—according to our place on the strength list and the point of view of the person
99 «66
speaking—called “‘pink-and-white,” “clean-looking,”’ “healthy” or “husky”; and never,
no matter how hard our three-hour exam., nor how late our virgil, do we get one jot or tittle
of sympathy. Besides this we have to wear black hats, forswear scarlet and yellow or else
brave public opinion; and we never take a good photograph.
56 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE
Run through Nineteen Twelve’s rose-bud garden, and try to recall your first impression
of us—Ann Catherine, Lorraine, Fairy, Jean, Nan, Christine, Emmy Lou, Fanny, Mary
Brown, Peggy Corwin, Hunter and me. Forget that some of us are spunky, some erratic,
some nervous and intense, all more or less interesting now that you know us, and think
only of how we seemed at first, how much longer it took you to grant individuality to us,
than to mysterious beings like Pinney, Isabel, Marjorie, Maysie, D. Wolff, Karin and M.
Peirce. Beside their dusky beauty, their romantic pallor we seemed stale, flat and exceedingly
sappy. No wonder the college was bored with Nineteen Twelve; the infectious gloom of
Miss Crandall’s voice in our first General Meeting—(can you ever forget it?)—must have
1 Cursed My Great Stature
been due to the straw-like aspect (with
only a few bricks) of the heads before
her. She said afterwards that she never
had seen so much tow-colour; little hope
for English sharks in this Teutonic class.
We were as pale as our baby blue—a
good amiable lot that would perhaps
ornament the campus, but not elec-
trify it.
This is all I can think of in general.
The editors seem to demand autobi-
ography, so here goes. Plunge with me
now into the depths of personal history,
where I shall reveal to you the tragedy
of one who tried to be a Decorative
Element.
It began with Freshman Show. I
had been rejoicing in my part, in the loud
voice, the luxuriant whiskers, the tar-
paulin jacket, the high boots of the Bell-
THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE 57
man, and should have thus continued if Julia hadn’t come to tell me a joke. It seemed that
someone in the class hearing what I was cast for had exclaimed with tears in her eyes, “Why,
it’s a crime to cover her up. She’s so pink and white!” Now Julia thought this excessively
funny, and I—well, I laughed and talked about it a great deal to show how funny I thought
it was. But, truth to tell, it rankled, and when I made up Jean, Lorraine and Catherine that
great night, and saw their dainty costumes, I cursed my great stature, my awkwardness, my
willingness to play the goat, and although they vowed they felt like idiots, I longed to flit
with them as a butterfly. Once on the stage, however, I was happy; my sturdy costume
permitted me to be scene-shifter; so between acts I ran up ladders and cut down ropes right
and left, lay on the floor to squint under the drops at the last act and was leaping with
excitement at the end when I heard the call, “Author! Author!” from out in front. I con-
sidered my attire—grey trousers, near-grey sweater, with no shoes, and my hair in a pig-tail.
I thought of hiding, but natural pride conquered vanity. I grabbed a fur coat from the dress-
ing-room, turned up its collar and was back on the stage. People pushed us to the front,
Maysie, Carmelita and me, and we stood in the college limelight for the first time. As
I bowed and bowed, keeping my coat well around me, I tingled and thrilled with joy from
the top of my unkempt head to my—horrors!—my toes! There they were, pushed through
my stockings, plainly to be seen by a jeering gallery.
There you have my First Great Discomfiture. May I draw the curtain?
The next year brought the big May Day. People had said Mr. King had a part for
me all chosen, and after the way I had read Falstaff to him (7. e. very well) I had high hopes
of Bottom. But, of course, there was no such luck; Jean and Cynthia and Terry and I spent
long spring days in the cloister moving in circles, in loops and coils, waving our arms like
novices at skating, learning to embrace with ardour, to pose the fingers a Leonardo da Vinci,
and not to wobble. Eventually I became reconciled to my part and joined the Beauty
Quest. I avoided sunburn, refused to sit up late, used cold cream, pinched my fingers to
make them tapering, and floated about the campus with waving arms in the hope of becoming
supple. By the time May Day morning came I was ready to enjoy immensely all the
attention we got—the care Mrs. Skinner took about our make-up while the comic characters
58
THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE
%
1 Gvoded Sunburn-
in the other room were being dashed
_off in one—-two-three order; the fuss the
dapper Frenchman made about frizzing
my hair just so, puffing and twisting it,
weaving a million little hair-pins into
its tangles, and then the ‘“Ah’s!”’ that
we passed through as we rode our float
in the pageant. I vow I really felt gra-
cious and queenly as we moved along
attended by cupids and _ saffron-robed
priestesses—yes, up to the time we
began to dance. And then—well, you
know how hair came down and trains
got stepped on and grass-stained, how
sandals waxed soft and floppy and how
breathless—! you know! It all happened
to me, and I found my goddess mood
slipping, slipping from me even as my
Psyche. But Family and Friends walked
over with me to the Library, and they
admired my costume, my coiffure, my
general appearance so much that I was
really beginning to believe the moment
of esthetic triumph had at last arrived.
Like all fair heroines who are also
modest I cast my eyes to the ground,
and there, below the hem of my man-
tle I saw—oh, dear, I can hardly bear
to write it!—that my stocking had again
THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE 59
played me false—had split widely, revealing in classic simplicity about two cubic
inches of foot.
The rest of the afternoon, spent in borrowing safety-pins, treading them into me, losing
them and borrowing more, seems like a nightmare. The one day of my life when I might
have been a credit to my type, a daughter of the gods et cetera, I spent in solving the problem
of simultaneously appearing graceful and covering one foot with the other. This is my
Second and Greatest.
The last one of note was at Banner Show. Here again I had been lured into taking a
feminine role, and, by dint of borrowing a rosy pink gown, and a fluffy hat, had made myself
so unlike myself that I played a gushy part with abandonment, feeling every inch an emotional
actress. This time, at the final performance, I was careful about every detail, especially
foot-gear, and congratulated myself on having appeared at least as a perfect lady. But the
cruel camera had come, seen, recorded; and the old pumps I slipped on for the photographic
torture Saturday morning, worn by feet placed well in the foreground, give permanent
testimony from which I can never escape.
Since that time I have given up all attempts to be what the world expects,
and have followed the advice of the Duchess: ‘Never imagine yourself not to be other-
wise than what it might appear to others that what you were or might have been was
not otherwise than what you had been would have appeared to them to be otherwise.”
Degenerating step by step from noisy soldier to ruffian coster, I shall let the college
remain no longer under misapprehension as to what is to be expected from this exponent
of the blonde type.
Now of course the others are much better—they can play a “pretty part” very well
and completely shod. But give them a chance and they burst forth as farmers, circus
tumblers, picaninnies, or sporty youths, and have a much better time. Even one of them
who won’t ever dress up, feels the disadvantage of the type. “It is awful,” she says, “to
60 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE
have horses always snap at your head when you're around them, thinking it is a bale of hay.”
So altogether, you see, we are another lot of the Misunderstood, and we beg from you and
from hungry beasts a more intelligent consideration.
Heten D. Barser.
THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE 61
“Mut into the Wicked, Wicked World’
LASSES have been famous in years past. 1909 was famous for its night-walking,
hand-springing president. 1910 was famous for Kate Rotan’s hop, skip and jump.
1911 was famous for its Freshman Show. But what we want answered is, ‘Are we
famous or why not?” Even we admit that our acting, our singing, our athletics are all good.
But none of them have the elusive, original touch necessary. Our athletics, indeed, nearly
won for us a lonely niche in the temple of fame, but Carmelita and our hockey team this year
rudely crushed our aspirations to such distinction. In most things we find ourselves middle-
men—not as good as what went before but better than what comes after. But to answer our
burning question, we would say “Yes!” We have one undeniable claim to Fame. At
present we hold the college championship in pushing upper classes out of college.
Freshman year we were such timid, shrinking creatures that we feared even Seniors
(how much more mice, centipedes, ants and such vermin). I can still remember the hours I
spent leaping up and down with all my weight in Suthick’s room to scare away Cousin
Andronio. (Cousin Andronio was a dear pet of ours, but he came too often, as cousins often
do). As for politeness, we were the acme. Many’s the time Aggie and I crept trembling
to bed at the fierce bidding of D. I. Smith. One day I remember patiently holding the Pem-
broke West door open, for fear it would slam, while Kate was talking to Cecil over the tele-
phone. Finally Spry came to my relief, and I went on up to study in Suthick’s room. These
are mere illustrations of our true timidity which serve as contrast to our glorious boldness
when we felt that we were members of the mighty class of 1912. I will not describe the
incident, I will merely mention that it was a balmy Spring night, when we rose to our destiny
and tried to push the other three classes out of college at once. It was our supreme effort
and all that has come after is but weak imitation.
In our Sophomore year we tried other more tactful tactics, and wafted 1910 out of college
on the breezy perfume of roses, gardenias, orchids, etc.
We did our best for 1911, but I am afraid we only created illusions in such breasts as
Leila’s. She and another 1911 person fully believed the college would go to the dogs after
62 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE
1911 left (as it will next year). That class seemed to be remarkably touchy about their
singing. Everything which was not an outspoken compliment they interpreted as an
insult. Pembroke West’s wrath broke forth when one of Mary Gertrude’s famous veiled
compliments was misinterpreted to mean that she did not care to hear the Seniors sing at
sunrise May Ist.
Thus we made our way through college as the pushers until there were no upper classes
left to push. Then we saw the fatal flaw in our system. The other classes had been profiting
by our example and were seeking fame along our special patented line. Now even the Fresh-
men do not regard us as traditional “grave and reverend Seniors,” they merely look on us as
objects for their kindly curiosity. Just after singing the ‘‘Sons of Erectheus the Olden”
(or as K. Thompson has it, “the sun of Erectheus, the Old One”) on the steps for the first
time, Maysie met Lucile Davidson, and some other Freshmen. “Oh, what a pretty song,”
said they. “Won’t you give it tous?” I leave Maysie’s answer a blank which she can fill in
(if she wants to) when she edits the book. The bitterest blow to us in Pembroke West is the
loss of our most cherished possession and tradition, “1912 Fudge.”” We no longer follow the
scent, like hounds, to the tea pantry, where we demand our due for having supplied the three-
weeks-old butter. We do not have that honeyed concoction “galoola” forced upon us.
Even Johnston has yielded and Eleanor Freer reigns.
All these bitter reminiscences of past glory bring one wish and one wish only to my mind.
Oh, that we had not wasted our efforts in pushing 1909, 1910, and 1911 out of college, but had
spent them in pushing the “lower classes”’ back!”
Giapys EpGErron.
THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE 63
64 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE
mit
aT
Cees SIAL S form
\ HAVING uA ORPHAN. I
T was at a very early age that I first became interested in orphan asylums. I must have
been taken to see an asylum or been read to upon the subject, for the idea took deep
root in my mind and I thought of very little else. I arranged my dolls in rows in the
nursery in card-board shoe-box beds and fed them water porridge out of my leaden doll-house
dishes. But I was not satisfied. I wanted babies that would cry, wrinkling up their noses, and
would rock to sleep to a nice buzz-buzz, and gurgle when you gently poked their little
stomachs, and so I decided, since I couldn’t have an asylum full of them, I would like just
one baby, like my chum’s next door. She had a baby sister and when you put out your fin-
ger, she took hold of it and held it tight and wonderful thrills ran up and down your back.
So I prayed God for a baby, night after night, and when it came, and after a few more
years, another one, too, I was so interested in playing house with them and helping take care
of them that I almost forgot about orphans.
But when I went away to college where I had no little brother and sister to romp with
THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE 65
and mother, I often became lonesome for children, and thought once more of orphans. There
were faculty children to play with, to be sure, but their mothers and fathers had ideas.
And so it happened that I began to care for Marie. Of course she stayed in the Orphanage,
but I could carry her off for a day or two and pretend I had truly adopted her, the first
member of my asylum, and I did buy her clothes.
And there’s where the trials began. Marie and I would find just what we wanted, we
could not be better satisfied; and then it would be too expensive, that is for an orphan to
have. “An orphan should not
wear anything that costs, for
that would accustom her to
extravagance.” We try ona
lovely floppy blue hat, just
the colour of Marie’s eyes,
with darling pink rose-buds
all the way around the crown.
Marie’s cheeks flush with de-
light. She looks so sweet that
I kiss her on the spot and we
ask the price “Five dollars,
Mrs.,”’ says the saleslady, '
“and cheap at that.” We An-OrPHan - Shovtp-wal- Have - ANYTHina-ExPeNsivE.
can’t spend more than two, if
that much. Itisatragedy. But orphans know many tragedies and Marie soon smiles again.
Then came the question of food. ‘You will be careful what she eats,” the matron
always said as Marie and I bade good-bye on our way to Bryn Mawr. “I'll try to,” I always
replied, but my tone was dubious. And it might well be, for I knew what would happen.
Marie had been taught to eat everything set before her at table and to leave nothing on her
plate. Even if she did not wish a second helping, she must not have a scrap of the first
remaining. That was all very well at the Orphanage where the meal consisted of one course
7 uid
LS
4
i
H|
66 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE
and that of little variety, but at college I often held my breath. Marie assumed her most
industrious mood and did not speak a word. She began with the soup, her spoon rattling
in the bowl as she scraped for the last drop. Then followed meat, potatoes, peas, and
carrots. She took all in plentiful portions, and they disappeared until the plate looked freshly
washed. Then salad, crackers, and cheese went without hesitation. And ice-cream with
chocolate sauce? Well, no one would stop at
them and Marie ate the cream, the sauce, and
almost the dish itself. If she had only eaten at
meals, however, I would have had no especial
cause for worry, but girls kept coming up to her
and, before I was aware, would bear her off to
feast on cake and candy to her heart’s content.
And Marie had a piggy heart, for near bed-time
she always came back to me quiet and subdued.
“What is the matter, Marie?” “I don’t feel well
here,” she would answer in a tiny, quavering
voice, pointing below her waistline, and lie down
on the couch, a big hard pillow stuffed under her.
Another trial was the question of questions.
We were accosted by them everywhere we went.
To me: “Is that the orphan?” “How old is
she?” “How long is she going to stay?” ‘“Isn’t
she pretty?” “Do you buy all her clothes?”
“Did you buy what she has on?” “Can’t you
get me an orphan, too?” “Where'd you get her?” “Is she much trouble?” “How
do you know what to feed her?” “Does she mind being an orphan?” To Marie:
“Do you like to come to Bryn Mawr?” “Do you like the dress you have on?” “Do you
know whol am?” “Don’t you want to come with me and get a piece of candy?” ‘“ What’s
your name?” “Aren’t you sweet?” “I have a little sister like you, did you know it? Marie
——
ON.
‘1D
THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE 67
invariably replied, “ Yes-s-s-m-m,”’ shy and bewildered, while I lost agreeableness as a virtue.
And then there was the question of getting Marie back to the Orphanage. That
was a task. One Sunday in particular I shall never forget. Coming out she had her
little bundle of night things, but going back she had not only the bundle, made larger by the
addition of new dresses, but a brand-new doll, a battered old wooden dog, an almost empty
box of animal crackers, a story-book losing its cover, an umbrella that she had left at college
the time before, a coat that was too hot to wear, and a bag of candy carefully saved to give
Does SHe Mind Bang An Orruan?
away to the other children at the Orphanage. With much assistance we got safely on the
train. There we turned a seat over and carefully deposited our treasures and, almost imme-
diately, were at Overbrook and picking them up again. At Fifty-second Street I looked
around and went over the list. I decided we had everything. At West Philadelphia we got
out, crossed under the Elevated—the umbrella had been left behind. That was a calamity,
but to Marie’s mind, worse followed.
We had two blocks to go before we reached the street-car. The first we passed over
68 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE
safely, but by the second, Marie’s hands began to grow tired. She dropped the book. I
stooped down somehow and picked it up. That made me lose my grip on the wooden dog.
T held tight, but slowly it slipped down. Marie, in her turn, tried to get itforme. Hercandy
bag hit the pavement, split, and chocolate drops and striped peppermint balls went rolling
in all directions. It was almost too much to bear not to be allowed to pick them up again.
She had not eaten one herself and now nobody could eat any. The car came along and we went
out in the street to board it. The last straw. It was a pay-as-you-enter-car. Bundles
had to be frantically readjusted, my pocket-book unearthed from my suit coat pocket,
a dime searched for and not found, finally a dollar bill handed out and change returned in
nickels and dimes. I got Marie to the Orphanage at last somehow, but returned to college
hoping that when I had my real Orphan Asylum it would be far from well-meaning, kind-
hearted girls and pay-as-you-enter-cars.
CARMELITA CHASE.
THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE 69
The Intelligent Minority
ANDIDLY I have my own doubts as to the fitness of the epithet, but since it is the
term generally applied to the minority, I accept it gratefully. The fact that I thus
cast faint aspersions, however, does not imply that I am not fond of the minority.
On the contrary, I have devoted my entire college career to its support. I do not know
whether it is I who make the hope forlorn or whether it is merely that the forlorn hope
attracts me irresistibly yet insensibly. However, we are inseparable, so it comes to the same
thing in the end. My voice rises solitary, my hand waves alone, where a moment before
rose the hum of many voices, and waved a very forest of hands. I do not speak in bitterness
of spirit, however, for I have my compensations. There are few things which give one a
more complete sense of superiority than to vote desperately, passionately for that which
one alone out of the multitude desires—and then to lose it. It was to express this sense of
exaltation that the phrase “intelligent minority” was invented, and not, as the majority
supposes, to soothe our ruffled feelings. It is not that I do not love the waving of flags and
the blaring of trumpets indulged in by those who champion a popular cause, or that I
am unmoved by the thrills of victory; it is simply that it is not intended by fate that I
shall be one of those who dance around the bonfires of a popular cause. I have at last
realized that my point of view is inevitably wrong, yet I cling to it all the more fondly—as
a child does to a broken toy—for that very reason. In the class-room my answers are passed
by in hurried and disapproving silence. In class-meetings there are no nodding heads and
half-hushed murmurs of approval for the side of the question which I present. My most
plausible arguments fail to sweep my listeners from their feet, as I had fondly hoped against
hope they might, and yet I do not despair. That is a characteristic of those in the minority.
I even sing hopefully in a way not approved by other people. None of those who are habit-
ually flushed with victory pay any attention to my ideas of the way a tune should go.
It is only then that they cease to be kind, in a vague, uninterested way, and desire to sup-
press me absolutely. Yes, there is one other time when the world is rather less than kind.
When it finds me differing from it in the matter of two “I’s” in a word, or in the minor
70 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE
66 99
matters of a final “e” or a “y” instead of an “i,” it suddenly sees comic possibilities. And
yet I am not placed in this position because I am adventurous or bold or ill-natured and
eager to disagree with people. It is only that I am constitutionally unable to be in the
majority. No matter how glittering the possibilities are, they fade when I touch them,
not so absolutely, however, that I cannot still see them, although they are lost to the sight of
all but the minority.
Manrsorie L. THoMPsON
THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE 71
: The hinglish Club
T began, as all great things begin, from a small thing—namely, a jealous remark of
I Edgie’s in regard to her inability to attain the English Club of Bryn Mawr College.
I hated to think of Edgie’s losing any interesting feature of college life, and the brilliant
inspiration flitted into my mind to found a club which only those could join who were not
gifted in expressing themselves in the classical form which B. M. C. demanded, but who had
other qualities of charm, amiability, a love of society, etc. Edgie’s power-loving soul
snatched greedily at the idea as she instantaneously perceived the prestige and influence
she would wield by becoming an originator of such an important organization.
I hastily called a meeting of a few of those whom I knew the muse had stung,—Spry,
Agnes Chambers, Gert Llewellyn, Terry, Edgie and myself. Needless to say, they were ©
enthusiastic; I may say that Spry almost bordered on the vulgar in her excitement. I
nominated myself as president and without much difficulty carried the nomination, as I
think that everyone felt that it needed a brilliant mind to carry the club from its infancy
through to a beautiful and fruitful old age. Of course, I hate to talk about myself, but I
think I started the club very successfully.
At the first meeting to which outsiders were allowed to come (after paying five cents),
a great many new members were admitted after the charter members had assured themselves
of their integrity, social position and a dislike to English. I read the constitution—a re-
markably brilliant effort which to my notion proved a conclusive argument to my admission
to the real English club—and then Spry read a paper of undying fame, “the Coise of Beauty.”
At the conclusion of the paper members remained to partake of a slight refreshment
purchased with the money received from the admiring outsiders.
After this triumphant first meeting, applicants were so numerous and persistent that
it was with great difficulty that the exclusiveness, one of the club’s strongest features, was
preserved. However, by a judicious examination into the various merits of the candidates,
the standard of excellence has been maintained. The past two years the illustrious president
72 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE
was unable to administer the affairs owing to her absence from college, but I have heard
that affairs were managed most successfully by the next illustrious president, Miss Spry.
I sincerely hope that the Hinglish Club will still remain as important and beneficial an
influence as it was during the presence of the class of 1912.
JEAN SOUTHWICK.
| faa elif
Ma | oll
VI MC Ww
Ua <
THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE 73
UNDER SWE AUSPICES CF
hE Konevosy Chee
BUS EE ay PRR Oy
LTHOUGH the purpose of the Hinglish Club in taking up the drama was for the
education of the Common Herd, it grieves me to state that unavoidable circumstances
have always prevented our giving our performances as previously planned.
The first year of our dramatic career we allowed the Common Herd to try for the
chorus. The trials were held in the “Most Beautiful Room in College” and lasted all
evening. Of course many failed miserably, but we were delightfully surprised to find some
talent among the Common Herd, among whom I may mention Catharine Delano, Carmelita
Chase, and Leah Cadbury. After we had selected the chorus we chose the play “As by Fire”
—a temperance play with a deep moral to it. It was well adapted for choruses and gave
the principal parts great possibilities for dramatic acting. Our dear Mugsie (May May)
was a hair-splitting villain assisted by two subtle accomplices, Smutty (Schmidty) and
Champaign (Aggie Chambers). The family the villain sought to ruin, because he was a
disappointed lover of the mother, was the Gordon family, consisting of a drunken father,
Giddy (Spry); a grief stricken mother, Butter Ball (Esther Walker); a dissolute son who
was fast following in his father’s footsteps, Hades (Louisa); and a saintly little daughter,
Ce THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE
Terrapin (Terry). The choruses were made up of angels, devils, and bar room loafers. The
angels were the four class presidents; the devils all the beauties of the college including
Helen Barber, Jean Stirling, and Marion Crane; and the rest were bar room loafers of whom
Rotten Egg (Edgie) was the chief. The curtain pullers in Greek costume, ushers, scene
shifters, and flower senders were all carefully chosen and posted. Indeed everything was
planned out even down to those who were to sit in the boxes (soap boxes), the first of which
was saved for the Divine Emily who had helped Mugsie select the play and was to come all
the way from Germantown for the performance. But even the best laid plans sometimes
miscarry and so with ours. At four o’clock the afternoon of the performance I was told by
one in authority that “As by Fire” must not be given. It was too late to call it all off, for
even then I could see Pennock boys flitting around the campus. In sheer desperation we
decided to give Uncle Tom’s Cabin. Of course such a last minute affair was not what our
drama would have been, but there was nothing else to do. There were a few thrilling scenes
in it, however, which some of us will not forget in a long time—Eliza (C. Delano) chased by
gray hounds, leaping over the ice (sheets of tissue paper), and Topsy (Carmelita) shocking
Aunt Ophelia (May). I may here mention that the real drama with no omissions was
privately given in May’s room immediately after the rather flat affair in the gymnasium.
This year our play committee was so careful in their selection that by the time the
play was chosen and cast the dates were all filled. The play was to have been “Captain Joe” —
by an old Bryn Mawr girl, Alice Gerstenberg. It was admirably cast, the officers taking
the best parts without trying for them. In trying for the other parts, however, a great
deal of dramatic ability was displayed. I may with all modesty say that the college missed
a rare treat by being so busy.
In its work next year—I know the whole college will regret to hear me say this—the
Hinglish Club has decided to give up its altruistic aims and to discontinue its dramatic
career, as Miss Thomas so emphatically disapproves of extra plays, and instead devote all
its time to writing and entertainments for itself.
Guapys SPRY.
THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE 75
T would take a book the size of the Encyclopedia Britannica, the kind that Christine
I got and I wanted, to do justice to my subject. I shall, however, plunge right in and
skip lightly from peak to peak, allowing the less salient features to be absorbed by the
background.
tA. (I cannot get over the habit
It seems so much clearer to tab it.)
1912 has progressed in wit, as in everything else, from the simple to the subtle. From
the comparative ingenuousness of Aunt Jane’s peach in Spry’s bed, we have advanced to
the more ingenious practical joke of springing silver cups on our unsuspecting friends. Some-
one may object that Spry’s “See that Spot” and “Champagne” seem a bit retrogressive,
76 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE
but then Pembroke with its “Poor Little Orphans,” its water battles, and other table tricks
is in a class by itself. As Freshmen many of us took the same delight in crawling under
Radnor tables that Sara Smith now takes in putting jelly on Olga’s doorknob, but Pem-
broke alone is still strong, young and vigorous in the play-spirit of youth.
B. Some of our classmates have, however, passed beyond the stage of apple-pie beds
and “an ox and a goat.” No longer content with the Practical joke as such, they have
progressed to a state of symbolic and hieroglyphic mirth. It was my privilege last year to
make a little commentary on the letters of one of the subtlest of our humourists. She is,
sometimes unable to appreciate our coarser jests. Now for a sample of hers—Horribilia
Dishpania Barb at her best.
(a) Epithets applied to F. H.
“You tough old Jersey.”
“We miss you fiendishly, old lemon-pip—”
“You old toad.”
“You old lamb.”
“You old poodle.”
(“You harp on my age, Sir!’’)—Louis XI.
‘A fool osphagus named Hunt.”
“You bewhiskered jam-pot.”’
“You poisonous reptile.”
“You horrible hobgoblin.”
“You pickle-toothed pastry cook.”
Who can doubt at this point that our classmate will rank with W. J. Locke and
O. Henry as an expert in the Epithet?
(b) Remarks about herself.
“What a rum-dum I am!”
“My beauty is a matter of color.”
“You know I’ve always had a distinct yellow streak”
THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE 77
(These last two remarks are inserted for biographical rather than humourous
considerations.)
“Yours effer effervescingly, Dewdrop.”
“The Ecstatic Egg.”
(c) Remarks about others.
“The iron-clad, non-combustible Carmelita.”
“Who waters the flowers, C. C. or I? Three guesses.”
“He is very kind to the invalid and offers to let me off from the Lab I missed when
I was yellow.”
+ “That old banana W. Wordsworth just makes you love him if you just keep at tt!”
(Note again the curious felicity of epithet.)
“T must write to my steady H. P.”
This is enough to show the subtility, fragility almost, of our friend’s wit. Now for press
notices. The mother of the authoress remarks: ‘Crude, and to be laughed at, not wit ake
My sisters say, “All letters from Bryn Mawr girls sound exactly alike. They all try so hard
to be funny.” I think my classmates will agree with me, however, that we all have a great
future before us as humourists, and that if all the world is cold to our kindling wit, we have
at least one appreciative audience—Ourselves!
Frances HuntTER.
78 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE
On The Subline
And fhe
NE rainy afternoon in April, Biffy sat making out her garden party list, while I was
() happily chuckling over 1911’s Cuass Boox. Suddenly she said, “That makes nine
Reverends, two Right Reverends and one Right Reverend Dean. By the way, Lorle,
I think you’d better stop reading the productions of other classes and get to work on your
Zsthetes article.” I protested against rushing into print. “I am a modest and retiring soul
(how Dr. Leuba would have shuddered to hear a post-major attribute reality to such a chimera)
and I’ve never done a single esthetic thing—at least not in public.” “You’ve worn clothes,”
THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE 79
retorted Biffy, “and that itself was enough to give you a reputation.” Well, I admit my
fondness for raiment that our categorical minds would scarcely put in the neat-but-not-
gaudy class. I shall never forget one night in Sophomore year when Biffy, coming into my
room before dinner, found me trying on a crimson dressing gown, trimmed with a sort of
Dresden silk apron with fish-tail ends. I particularly admired the “jagged tail” for reasons
to be explained later. Let me implore you, however, to believe that I have never wished “to
be interchangeably man and fish.” Well, anyhow, Biffy, having not yet adopted stern, room-
mately methods, remonstrated gently, “Don’t you think it’s a littl—a—fancy to wear to
dinner on just an ordinary night? Why not save it for an occasion?”* * * * I pass rapidly
by a certain green silk with Duchess lace and slashed sleeves that did duty at numerous
Old English Christmas revels; I even omit mention of my last green velvet (Julia Houston
calls it the Russian Princess) whose comforting train enabled me to arrive three-quarters of an
hour late at the President’s first reception, after a bitter dash back to Radnor in search of
those cards. I come directly to my greatest triumph, that black velvet cloak. One day,
with the cloak slung Hamlet fashion over my shoulder, I was wandering to class tea in Rock
when out from the library dashed Miss Jones with a visitor in her wake. The visitor remained
discreetly at a distance, but Miss Jones’s eye gleamed. I know not how—whether with the
triumph of the successful antiquarian or with the pity of the sensibly dressed—and she shouted
across to me, ““O, my dear, did you get it from your great-grandmother?” Presently, when I
was safely seated on Rock steps, butterfly cup in hand, I heard an anxious whispering behind
me and turned about only to be asked by an almost timid Spy, “Will you lend it to Miss
Garrett for Grad Party.” I now quite believe that my reputation has thus been established.
But let me pass to another phase of Lorle’s zstheticism. I believe my name is usually
considered a phase, as if I had chosen it with especial zsthetic malice. After four years of
practice, most of 1912 now pronounce it “trippingly on the tongue.” It has proved so use-
ful that Mr. King is considering putting it into his Graduated Exercises in order that Fresh-
men may be enabled to get rid of a cerebral / or r. Coming to the question of middle names,
I was reminded by Maysie of a curious indication of zstheticism—the desire to conceal the
middle name Ida. I don’t know how successful Pauline has been, but I confess that my last
POPC iy
80 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE
attempt at suppression was futile. When I registered with Mr. Forrester in the Fall and
requested that I be set down “plain,” he gravely struck out the Ida and handed me back
the registration card without making any effort to have the correction made permanent.
It was like reading proof and never sending it to the printer.
Now I really must try to connect all this general estheticism with my splendid title,
“The Sublime and the Beautiful.” Perhaps I’d better take the Beautiful first. My history
as an exponent of pure sensuous beauty dates, I believe, from my Freshman composition
course under Miss King, when in the middle of second semester I suddenly “tumbled” to
G. G. K.’s special style, gave up writing about playground children, began wearing a touch of
green and started to inventory the objects of art and nature according to a catalogue of sen-
sations. Let no one think that this was the spontaneous expression of a truly esthetic nature.
It was the last resort of a hard-driven Freshman, who didn’t know what her favourite out-door
occupation was and had to interest her reader somehow. The plan was instantly successful;
the paper, inscribed with a large V. G., was sent by Georgiana to the Tip and read aloud by
the board of directors amid joyful guffaws that grew more vehement as the unsuspecting
author listed a series of objects:
Item. A beautiful view.
Item. A fragrant hyacinth.
Item. A velvet cushion pleasant to the touch.
Item. A pretty sound— I can’t remember what.
Last item. An interesting taste,—probably that of Camembert cheese, to which M. D.«
Warner and I were devoted then.
The velvet cushion and the hyacinth (or its successors) are still visible in 52. My
intimate friends who perceived my true nature and disapproved of the humbugging scheme,
called me sometimes Liar, or in its more softened form Lorlelei. This course of deception
having succeeded well so far, I was enabled,in Second Year English,to write that choice classic
which subsequently appeared in the Lantern, but whose name I can’t remember. (Oh, yes,
Biff says it was Metempsychosis.) That was indeed a pretty thing, written at a hectic tea
with McKelvey sitting on the arm of my chair, and howling with joy at each new bit of
-
THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE 81
wstheticism. Thenceforth I pursued Beauty unceasingly, especially the more aquatic
phases. In order that my Division might never be in doubt as to who had written my themes
(in case they should ever be read in class) I adopted a sort of trade-mark, a dyed-in-the-
selvedge emblem, namely the goldfish. My critics have occasionally pointed out a remarkable
similarity of taste in fish between myself and a former editor-in-chief of Tip—a notorious
gsthete with copper-coloured hair. To tell the truth, that girl so pursued me with requests
for Tip copy that I had to make a vow in self-protection never to contribute, lest the college
at large discover upon what precarious ground my reputation was built. I hope my readers
will believe that this is the true reason for my failure to appear as a principal writer in this
journal.
Just at this time I introduced the element of the sublime and throwing together a few
Minor Philos notes turned out a sonnet entitled “Cosmos,” consisting largely of “cosmic
throb” with a certain admixture of doubt as to the reality of existence and a decided propor-
tion of that giddiness that comes to those who are drunk with the All. When I received back
this mystical effusion, Miss Donnelly had pencilled in the margin, for her own guidance in
reading, several indistinctly written words. Among others the word “whole” was so treated.
For practical purposes I do admit the advantage of a legible chirography, but how much more
desirable for esthetic purposes is a hieroglyphic script which lends itself readily to anagram
and acrostic. Miss Donnelly apparently missed entirely my characteristic fishy touch, as
may readily be seen by substituting in the following excerpt for whole the very similar
word whale.
“The window-stone and all I feel as moving one with me
The whale (whole) outside of which all else is naught.”
I now took a long jump into Junior year—for the chasm between Second Year English
and Minor English is a deep one. But I carried over with me the very useful Cosmos. As
a Minor Intellect in the back row of the Poets class, I had little opportunity to become
a conspicuous esthete’ except by occasional references to Baudelaire. I will here confess
what I should have told Miss Donnelly if she didn’t always cut me off so abruptly, that I
have had about three months of French in my life and hence have, like Marjorie Thompson,
™.
82 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE
eo
Sa
read that gentleman only in translation. By the time Shelley papers were due the Cosmos
was, however, again in good throbbing order with the usual results.
I have saved for a climax—though out of the chronological order—my greatest cosmic
masterpiece, that epitome of Pantheism, our class song. I myself did not intend it very seri-
ously in Freshman days. Later I was even rather seriously ashamed of it. But I regard
it now as the result of the mystic subconscious working upon my unworthy self of the Absolute
Principle of the Sublime and Beautiful. No longer do I feel the sting of Roz Mason’s epithet
for me, “The Druid.” I rejoice in my kinship with natural forces; I admire mine own choice
phraseology. What could better convey an atmosphere of majesty and benignity than those
simple words, “majestic, benign.” I have never known anything to equal it except that
Wordsworthian bit:
“Bryn Mawr, we worship thee as a daisy,
White-petalled, yellow-centered conventional design;
We come from East and West
All other halls suppressed. o
the rest is lost in the mutterings of the priestess. I fee] myself incapable of further comment.
Now in the old age of my student life I regret to state that I have not justified Miss
Donnelly’s expectations of her “‘coming student.” I have not even come into my own in
Anglo-Saxon. Of course no one ever expected me to do well in the sterner sciences. In fact
I strongly suspect my friends of taking me out to play on the day before quizzes in order that
I might uphold my purely esthetic reputation by getting 3 or less in such tests. But Anglo-
Saxon zs more or less remotely connected with English. I sometimes have momentary doubts
of my estheticism and turn my attention to larger humanitarian and socialistic interests,
though not for long. My ego soon returns unto itself again, soothed by the fact that a Fresh-
man whom I have known well for six months, seeing me pouring at English club tea, learned
only upon inquiry that I was not a bona fide hostess. My long endeavour has been crowned
with some success, but its fruits are not altogether sweet because forced in the hot-house of
deception. I say with regret:
THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE
Ie
I guess I am an esthete now
I never thought I'd flee one
But I can tell you anyhow
Td rather see than be one.
Lore STECHER.
84 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE
DRAVA
DANIKRACY
There’s nothing like democracy.
1912 found itself, looked at itself, then confided to itself, “ You know, there’s nothing
like it!” So we’re a democracy and we feel very strongly about it.
On the strength of this feeling, Mary Peirce appointed a well-assorted casting-committee
for Junior-Senior Supper Play. Surely every Junior had a friend or at least an inspiration
in one of that various group decorating the window-seat in “52,” rivalled only by the domesti-
cated lilies-of-the-valley on the several taborets. (Emerson Lamb denies this encouraging
supposition. She prefers orals to casting committee. Such is a “white, academic lamb”
eligible for Phi Beta Kappa!) There was Julia, “mighty and everlasting, majestic, benign,”
radiating that indefinable encouragement “just like home.” Julia sat in the middle. At
THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE 85
one end was Jean, a sight to cheer the dim eyes of a doubtful comedian or offer an assurance
of discriminating judgment to the sophisticated tragedian. At the other end was Pinney,
and Pinney is a comfortable soul. Perhaps something dangerous lurks behind her cosmo-
politan kindness; but she came too seldom to committee meetings for my childish perception
to see it. I only wished in my affectionate little way that Pinney would come oftener, and
rejoiced in the same way that Fanny was so regular. Fanny was just then beginning to talk,
but her progress was rapid, so rapid that after our first Senior Reception, President Thomas
alluded in glowing terms to the “simple, direct eloquence of the Virginian.” Between the
ends and the middle of the window-seat—it was a hard window-seat—sat Lorle and I, the
triumph of democracy! ‘Why were we both chosen?” we asked each other nightly, after my
Philistine Episcopalian ritual and Lorle’s daily Cosmic Throb. Others realized that we had
been selected and compiled in order for the committee to have free use of our room. But
so strong is the individualistic tendency of those who ornament the borders of English Club
teas, that we trusted one of us might have been a chosen vessel, though the other was a feature
of democratic policy. Which was sensitive, making it necessary for her feelings to be
considered? She was the goat, the complementary after-thought. The world has not yet
revealed her. But secure in the pleasure of the moment, I devoted myself to the helping
on and off of the white polo coat and thus became an indispensable member of the committee.
White polo coat is symbolic, my indispensability is realistic, for I am again on the casting
committee, and worried as to proving my efficiency, for the polo coat is out of season.
Day after day, night after night, we stayed on that window-seat, save for occasional
marching tactics labelled “playing up,” calculated to give the dramatic candidate a sense
of stage-presence. Julia “did’’ Napoleon till her eyebrows refused to work. Then Fanny
or I “did” lines; (Pinney had left us by now); once Lorle and once Jean, for we soon found
that Jean was the “only lady” on the committee and Lorle’s criticisms were too valuable
to be sacrificed to peripatetics. Lorle owes this reputation to Maysie. Once when we were
all trying to put our mental finger (M. B. Alden has, of course, the only real mental finger)
on the je ne sais quoi of Maysie’s subtlest speech, Lorle suddenly murmured with a piscatory
wiggle: “Isn’t she rather querulous?”
86 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE
“Querulous!” cried Julia. “My dear, you have a head like a tack. If you say another
word, I shall burst into tears!’ Of course we were all silent. Lorle’s impression was the
more real and Maysie made the part with the added distinction of having the only original
label in the committee records.
Between trials, we were interrupted by “52 the many” who came to bear away cups,
tea, lemon, sugar and all other tea and china. We know only that “52” teas were no longer —
in “52” and that the food was, by hearsay, more exciting than usual. We lived by art and
sesthetics, munching Boston fern for tea, and choking down lily-of-the-valley leaves with our
tears for dinner.
“Tears!” you exclaim. Do you question it, gentle reader? Imagine, if you can, our
feelings when Jean and Julia would try the Lady and Napoleon dialogue as follows:
JeAN—“ Because it cOmpromises the d’rector Barrassss—!
— Sutsra—(Diagonally forward lunge, eyebrows downward raise, together spring!) “Bar-
raw! Barraw! Take—care—Madame, the director Barrah is my attached”’ (eyebrows down-
ward, head upward raise) “personal” (reverse the brow-bend and head forward and backward
spring) “friend!” (Three steps to the right, quarter wheel by evasion.)
This from the best of us! Far be it from me to berate my class. But there came
moments to the most generous of us when all the players seemed to be low comedy: all, that
is, except Zelda; never did she descend to this. Several nights the committee was reduced
to singing “Emmeline” to cheer its spirit, the spirit of a democracy, for the singing was co-
operative. One awful night when a momentous decision was pending, as we stared with
glazed eyes into space, that space was suddenly filled by the cheering figure of Mary Pierce.
All of us tried to fall on her neck, but Mary is no giraffe; she had to take the will for the deed.
With Ipso as well as Facto we rose to heights of hope and sat down on the window-seat.
Mary coiled herself gracefully half out of the window; but her presence was felt (see James).
Alas, however, ’twas only a feeling, a mere Ipso, for M. P. is discreet. Vainly did we quote
“The eldest oyster winked his eye
And never a word he said” —
THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE 87
for the lines had the fatal effect of suggestion. M. P. would not give destructive criticism.
She is a democrat and a diplomat. She did, however, carry the fainting committee home.
At last the plays were cast, the committee receiving, on the whole, very kind treatment
from its victims. ~ The polo coat had been thrice cleaned, the lilies-of-the-valley were long
since a “sweet memory,” but despite these hardships the committee rallied to one last
democratic effort for the class. It registered its appreciation of 1912’s feeling for varied
assortments, by distributing among its own little number the leading parts—nothing if not
thoughtful; and “with malice toward none, with charity for all,” left the window-seat for
the Dank Cell in the Lib, far from the jibes of 1911 and secure in the righteous consciousness
of 1912 democracy.
Anna ConsTANCE HEFFERN.
|
88 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE
‘ATALETICD:
E believe that though there may have been reason to doubt the athletic aptitude
of the class of 1912, still there has never been cause to question the earnestness
of 1912’s athletic endeavours, the sincerity with which each member of the class
desired that 1912 might excel in physical prowess and skill. Perhaps we did not all equally
exert ourselves to insure this excellence of our class,—a reasonable self-control we find this,
however, serving to maintain a seemly moderation even in our extra-academic enthu-
siasms, for it would have been ill-mannered, and ill-advised, to “athleticize’ in excess.
Or perhaps some of us wished to show how deeply we still feel that the woman’s place is
in the home? Such as these latter would have played croquet or ping-pong heartily, gentle
reader, if we’d had those games.
But here let us pause in our general commentary and apologetic, and honouring a
Bryn Mawr tradition, let us consider our athletic accomplishments historically. Our
earnestness was apparent most extensively, and took most active form in Freshman year.
Practically all of us tried to play hockey, miscellaneous in fitness, costume and capacity,
but all alike eager and all playing hard. We were so numerous that often each could play
only one half or even only part of a half of a game, for only thus could every aspirant
have her turn. This was in October, 1908. But the congestion in the traffic did not last
long, for in November some of us moved on to exert ourselves elsewhere henceforth, since
even in hockey that law holds good which reads “though many are called, few are chosen.”
The teams had been selected—particularly the favoured first team—after much disputa-
THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE 89
tion and many disappointments, and the superfluities discreetly withdrew. Carmelita was
made manager of that first team, though in the face of a maturer judgment, for is it not
well known that a member of the class of 1910 once said exclusively of Jean Stirling:
“Tsn’t she fine! She'll make the varsity surely?’’ But we justified our temerity of choice,
and under the good leadership of Carmelita worked bravely and with determination, not
demurring against Miss Applebee’s gruff encouragements or her kindly discouragements,
but each day running a little harder than our hardest, and with characteristic hopefulness
believing that 1912 must surely win. We lost,
of course, just as characteristically as we had
previously hoped. We practised solemnly, un-
tiringly for the gymnasium contest, for track,
basket-ball and tennis, but we consistently lost
them all, smiled, and began promptly to hope
for better fortune next year. (And just here
the author would like to suggest that perhaps
the class of 1912 may have to thank their
athletic inefficiency for their choral proficiency.
Certainly the many songs at dinner necessi-
tated by the many defeats on the field kept
us in good vocal training.)
But, to continue, Sophomore year brought
us no better luck. Hockey season came—and
went for us after one match game, when under
cover of the gracious darkness of a late after-
noon in November we silently took down our
banner from the gymnasium and marched home.
Gymnasium contest—our last one—came too,
and went, as Miss Applebee announced to a
tense line of red figures dressing right, and of
90 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE
blue ones dressing left, that 1913 had won. Perhaps in our hearts we knew that they
had won, yet we couldn’t quite believe it when we were told that we’d lost our last
chance to have 1912 inscribed upon the shield. We refrain from further mention of the
athletic history of Sophomore year. Our radical events that year were distinctly May Day
and our Presidential tent, not athletic victories.
Junior Year gave promise of better things to come. In hockey we drew 1913, and,
very unconventionally, tied them in the first game—a tremendous event, understand, in
view of our former unsuccess and of the fact that 1913 was no mean rival. We were as
pleased as if we’d completely won the hockey finals; thought we had, in truth. But the
next game destroyed our delusions, and we settled back into our habitual state of hungry
hopefulness, concluding that the pleasant augury of one match game won augured for the
next year, not for that one.
We were right. Saving best for last, we took our victories for dessert, and did what
were for us great deeds in Senior year. We were in the finals in basket-ball, tennis, and
even in water polo, though our first opponent was 1915 with its team of Titans—Mudge,
Bailey, Brownell, Dessau, Goodhue and Har-
rington. But these things are as nothing com-
pared with two greater things—success in
hockey and track. To the intense pleasure of
the class of 1912 we did win the hockey cup
at last. It was the ages-old story of the hare
and the tortoise; we were very slow in getting
there, but were steady in our progress and after
a long season of earnest preparation, we passed
well. In four straight games of hockey we
beat 1914 and 1913; and 1912, deservedly if
inordinately happy, must be forgiven for send-
ing a telegram collect to Leila to say that even
classes had won. In athletic methodology as
THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE 91
well as in general methodology “from the simplo to the subtle we’d progressed,” with
most gratifying results. Instead of our former habit of hoping, believing confidently
that we would win, as we went into each game we distrusted ourselves mightily, therefore
exerted ourselves to the utmost and so won by fighting every inch of the way, up, down,
and across the hockey field. It was a proud moment when Carmelita presented her-
self with the cup on the Senior steps.
Our other late but signal reward for our patient persistence in athletics was that in
the first out-door track meet the laurels fell to 1912. Or should we be fairer in saying that
they fell to Fanny with her brave record of four world’s records broken? 1912 would have
competed but lamely without Fanny’s support.
And, now, having conscientiously recounted a brief history of the athletics of our class,
in closing we would thank the earnestness of all that were called, and the activity of the
few who were chosen, in the name of 1912, for the fruit of their labour. Tasting the flavour
of success on our tongue, we feel that this little story of their labour ends as happily as all
fairy stories always end when we read “and so they married and lived happily ever after.”
Curistine P. Hammer.
92 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE
History Club
REETINGS, classmates, I think I will begin this by a postscript. Do you remember
that I had another article in this blessed book, entitled “Good-bye, 1912!’? Well,
in it I warned ourselves that we’d never succeed in seeing the last of each other.
I meant it. I shouted it from the housetops in heavy type and then spread my hands over
you in inky benediction. “Well, thank heaven,” I sighed, as Maysie’s address went on the
outside and I sank to rest, ‘‘that’s over at last—the Class Book is buried.”
I went to sleep. The Class Book turned over and winked one eye. Three weeks passed.
The Class Book sat up—‘ Not so fast,” it yawned. ‘Hi, there, you Maysie! What about
the ‘Turner Verein?’”’ Maysie tore her beautiful hair; a tear fell upon my finished proof.
“Ah,” says she, “Here must be somebody who writes quickly (pipe the constructions!) ;
besides, punctuality should be its own reward.”’ And she sent me the following telegram:
Dear FRIEND:
You love 1912. I love 1912. It needs us both. But just now it needs you most.
You can stand cold history and I can’t. Go out in the garden with your fountain-pen
and eat w—, I mean the herb of reflection.
Yours, by return mail,
M. A. M., Redactor.
So here we are again, 1912. Only this time when I’ve kissed you firmly on both cheeks,
please, as you are a lady, stay kissed and go away.
Now what about the History Club? When one goes to pick out its salient features,
one finds they’re all salient. (Ah, 1912, when will you learn to be commonplace?) So per-
haps a better way would be to pick out some one “Leit-motif” and follow that through—
from the cradle to maturity. Upon reflection, I think it will have to be our Penchant for
Partizanship again—that is, our good old 1912 never-die Esprit de Corps that must never,
never be spelt Esprit d’ Accord—See, you orallers? Likewise our Craze for Characterization
—it’s all the same thing.
THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE 93
Well, so far as I can remember, it all began with the Hyena Club, 1911. They had
conceived an inveterate antipathy for Costs of Production, so of course we said we loved
them, right down to the Ground-rent, and up to the Margin.
Only—only—we didn’t quite understand them, and mightn’t we form a little sociable
coterie to investigate further?
No sooner said than done. Miss Parris communicated the glad news to Dr. Williamson;
he passed it on to Mr. Haworth; and in course of time it percolated thence to Mr. Turner.
Then things began to hum! In two hours, telegrams summoned the four members of the
departments from their adjoining offices to a Conference Committee Meeting; in four,
special deliveries called the élite of the student body to a Preliminary “Reillery”” Consulta-
tation; and in six, the Club was formed—Yes, friends, then and there, on those historic
“Reillery”’ steps.
Never shall I forget the scene. Steeped in moonlight it was, with one bright shaft
streaming out through the open door. All around, picturesque maidens in clubbish attitudes.
Near the door on one side, Miss Parris; on the other, M. Alden with the Constitution.
Heavy silence. A lingering aroma of coffee and Reillery cake. Suspense. Suddenly
a sound—enter into the shaft of light Mr. Turner, one-two-three, click, and bow in its exact
mathematical center; then, assuming an easy attitude, ‘Madam Chairman, Miss Parris,
ladies and gentlemen” (a long look toward Mr. Haworth’s block of shade). “This Club, I
take it, is to represent the more—ah—gracious side of college life’—and the fight was on!
But, as our song goes on to say “the Junior team was out for glory!” In short, “we done
it.’ Ah, Mr. Turner, did you ever think so many pretty girls (pardon the quotation)
could be so obdurate?—no, adamant, I think was the word. Gilt-edged invitation-cards?
No-o-o! Much rich food?—Hardly! In short, a large and opulent membership for the
entertainment of the créme de la créme of Main Line society?" H’raus mit!” And so the
whole Turneresque vision tumbled; and from its ashes (note the facile shift of metaphor—)
rose radiant 1912’s dear old chiaroscuro of a Fechts-Verein—“‘ Where you’re as good a man
as me, and I’m a better man than you.” Yes, what we wanted was an Association for
the Expression of Opinion: and we started right in voicing it that night.
94 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE
In fact, do you know, come to think of it, I don’t believe we’ve ever been quite so
successfully vociferous since. Think of the wonderful character-analysis we consummated
in that one evening! Why, no amount of Social Intercourse with the faculty could have
achieved as much. The hum of neighborly conversation on that terrace was positively
electric.
Now let us draw the curtain over the summer and take a casual glimpse again along
about November, when the Club is in full swing and we are having an informal session.
Scene: Pem. East drawing-room. Dramatic persone: M. Alden and her reversible coat, Miss
Parris, Mr. Cleveland, Mr. Hudson (rampant), Dr. Smith (couchant); at intervals, the hell-
hound. Supers (fictitious): The rest of the Club—except perhaps Julia and Aggie, who,
holding semi-official positions, feel responsible, and refuse to be submerged. Supers (real):
7 grads; the gavel and the maid with the East coffee, who stumbles.
Casus Belli: International Arbitration—great cats! Argument: (a) Mr. Hudson:
“There is no such thing.” (6) Miss Parris: “Why not? Think of Béhm Bawerk!”’ (c) M.
B. A.: “Why not Not? Think of the ‘rocker’!” (d) Mr. Cleveland: “You bet! Think
of Democracy.” (e) Julia (brightly): “Yes, indeed, that’s what we always do in Indianapolis.
Don’t you think so, Miss Parris?” (f) Aggie (brows wrinkled): ‘But, Mr. Cleveland,
now, you know Section VI, 9 here, of the International Law says—I mean—it says—in
cases not affecting the national honor’. .’ (g) Mr. Hudson (snapping up the bait):
“From the beginning of time, when a big nation wants to demolish a little nation, there
can be no national honor!!” (hk) Dr. Smith (diagonally from the corner): “But, d’you
know, I always rather liked the little fellows!’"—The Club:
ee eo (6)! (e)! @)! ©! @! A)! M@! @! (©! ©! ~!
Led (Curtain).
This, you see, was the Club in its working jeans. Now, have a look at it in décolleté.
Scene 1: Preliminary Survey. °Tis the night before February 22d, and all through
the house not a creature is stirring save M. B. A. and fourteen friends. They are talking. In
: THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE 95
fact, they are crying aloud. For (9:45) the Deanery has issued a ukase that Eating is a Social
Engagement; ergo Washington or no Washington, the Club may not invite faculty to dinner.
Difficulty: the Club has already invited 43 of them (the very nicest only) and 89 of the rest
of the College, to help fill up Pembroke dining-room.—Agony. 10:15 P. M.: Reform Ukase:
Eating from your Lap en Masse (commonly known as Buffet Supper) is a Social Engagement;
Eating from the Pembroke Tables is, for this once, Unsociable-—Chastened jubilation.
Curtain.
Scene 2: The Unsociable Social. Candle-light, long tables ranged like spaghetti, with
outcroppings of red-white-and-blue. Shirt-fronts. Décolleté. Roast beef—mashed
potatoes (with a premonition of pale cheese, lettuce and saltines due in 5 minutes). The
hum of conversation.
_ Dr. Leuba (seated at the head of a particularly select spaghettus and regarding his
plate with irony): “Did you ever reflect, Miss Donnelly, how they kill these poor
beasts? No? It is most interesting. I have visited the stockyards for three days, in Swit-
zerland in the heat of summer, to observe. You should go over from Brooklyn some day;
or near Oxford, I know they have model ones. The point of interest is the kinesthetic
sensations—No, no, Miss Donnelly! Your subjective ego has nothing to do with it, that
is purely affective; we want the sensations of the ox. Well, first one attendant advances
with a great hammer and strikes him in the face; there is considerable contusion and he
falls down and groans. Then a second quickly cuts his jugular vein (this is preparatory
to removing the hide), while a third with a huge prong waits until his eyes begin to glaze,
and then
Christine (costatige to the rescue): “Oh ‘prong,’ dilemma, that reminds me, Dr. Leuba,
what do you think of the Religious Consciousness of the Day? You know Rosalie and Mr.
Ferree both say it is'so largely a matter of vision. .
Kath. Thompson: “Dr. Laguna, did you hear whale President Thomas said in chapel
yesterday about Philosophy!!”
96 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE
Fairy (at another leading spaghettus): ‘Tennis is fine, thank you, Dr. Barnes,—but
I do feel pretty silly with face and hair pink at the same time!”
Barb (opposite, to Miss Parris at her right): “ Speaking of silly, I do think engaged
couples are the funniest, bless their baby hearts. . .
(Incipient notes of “The Star Spangled Banner,” BO Mac, Nan, Peggy Peck and myself
in the lead—adjournment to the stairs—opening bars of “Mary Jeffers””—Curtain.)
So ended our little Verein’s social whirl. But in case you ever feel that that was our
high-water mark of opinionimus and categorization, just turn to M. Alden’s account of
the Convention (I trust she didn’t load that off onto any poor, meek obliging soul!) and see
what 1912 can do in the Public Eye—I should say it blackened it most effectually. And
please remember that our Club was the Convention.—Talk about your Club Law! Why,
every blessed plank in that platform was aimed at the devoted head of some head of the
Departments—or rather at some apple of their Constitutional eye. The Gym floor for days
was just strewn, “membra disjecta,”’ with dead hobby-horses.
Pardon, M. B. A., if ’'m trespassing on your ground. [ll retreat in good order. But
before I dip my colors, let me give Us just one more parting word of advice.—Oh, Alumnze
1912, History Club 1912, don’t ever forget what you’re the product of! Don’t be civilized!
Don’t be afraid to give tongue! Don’t die of Ossificatio Alumniensis! Remember the
Law of the Pack: “Cave Clubbam: aut Vox aut Nihil!’ And if ever you come back and
feel tempted to scorn some beautiful, free-for-all, undergraduate wrangle, just remember
that we too were once Senior Wranglers, that you too have been in Arcady; and that once
you too, oh most sociable individualist, would have paraphrased “the lowing herd winds
slowly o’er the lea” as “the bellowing bulls meander o’er the mead.” You did bellow, and
you wouldn’t herd for a cent, and you surely were a good little crowd. Now, dears, as
aforesaid, do stay kissed and run away—and play like everything.
Dorotuy S. Wo rr.
THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE
97
eS
“What shall I be?” the Senior said,
As mournfully she sat.
“The only job at which I’m skilled}
Is ‘going on a bat.’
II
I hoped to be a doctor once;
Bi-lab cured me of that.
The rabbit and the pigeon knocked
Me absolutely flat.
THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE
II
A lawyer too, I’d visions of,
But now, I feel it’s futile.
My ‘argument’ in English comp
Was marked up ‘something brutal.’
IV
A teacher? No, ’twould never do;
The lab boys made me nervous,
And there were only three of them—
I'll take up social service.
V
And then in haste I sent word home
Of my decision new.
My father telegraphed me back:
“In years you are too few!’
VI
Perhaps a farmer I could be;
No,—obstacles arise:
A high rate of insanity
Infests their lonely lives.
VII
I might, of course, go on the stage,
Though I fear I’d not be taking.
I don’t dare even try for parts
When Julia notes is making,
THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE
VIII
I see no life of fame ahead,
I see no married station;
And I don’t want just to live at home,
With ‘no paid occupation.’
IX
Bryn Mawr has made me restless,
It’s made me kind o’ mad;
It’s upset all my confidence
When little enough I had.
». 4
I used to be ambitious,
While now Ill be content
If I can get a job in town,
To be on errands ‘sent.””
99
ExizaBetuo PINNEY.
100 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE
PROPOSE that we have class meetings for the purpose of singing; not, as we have done
in the past, merely to practice, but also to sing. In future years, when our enthusiasm
over interclass hockey games has worn off, when we can no longer show 1913, in song,
how much we enjoy their play, or tell 1914 how much we love them because they are blue—
in short, when we are old alums come back to reune, then we can sit back and carol, for the
sheer joy of it, with no ulterior motive at all. At our twenty-fifth reunion we ought to be
THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE 101
able to give a choral jubilee for the benefit of the cathedral, or any other little building for
which the College might happen to be raising money at the time.
Of course there are objections to this plan—the mutes, for instance. (Did I understand
Miss Haines to say that we had no mutes in our midst? Did I understand you, Miss Haines?
At any rate, I thought we had several mutes and I have written my speech with this assump-
tion, and so I will read it as it was written because I cannot extemporise.) Well, the mutes
are not so hopeless as they might seem at first hearing. Monty says there is no reason at
all why Marjorie Thompson and Isabel Vincent, for instance, shouldn’t sing like larks.
All they need is to understand some of the “principles” of Mr. King—(isn’t that so like
Monty?) and get their vocal cords trained to, obey their ears—or else it’s the other way
around. I forget. Monty once bet me five pounds of candy that she could train Marjorie
Thompson to sing any tune I might mention, inside of two weeks. She was to take Marjorie
into one of the music-rooms and train her ears for half an hour every day. I was very much
interested in the result of this experiment, and also afraid I might get the candy. Unfor-
tunately Marjorie was too much absorbed in LeseBuch at the time to be dragged away to
practice, so we never knew what would have happened—but I have heard her sing a part of
“Thou Gracious” on the key, so there is hope—maybe. We'll turn the mutes over to Monty
and that will settle them.
Then there is another objection—our tendency to scrap. We never could give a really
successful performance if we scrapped all the time. In the first place, if our production
continues as prolific as it has been in the past, we shall have to limit our exuberant genius
by appointing a chooser, to select the master-pieces. For the sake of order, too, Mary Peirce
should be provided with a hammer and a table—(the kind that echoes, but will not break)
and Julia will have a baton that can be seen even by those who insist upon looking out of
the window. We shall have to have a policeman to suppress Polly when she gets obstrep-
erous—this will be such an awful job that I dare not suggest anyone. We can vote on it
later. Then we'll have to have some sort of official to bring Christine and the other delin-
quents to class meetings. I humbly suggest that Carmelita might be good in this capacity,
102 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE
or Mary McKelvey, and I think Scrib ought to go along to try soft blandishments and
cunning wiles when strength fails.
But of course, what we lack most in our singing at present is soul—as anyone could
see who looked in upon one of our song practices and found poor Julia frantically pawing
the air with half the class gazing dreamily out of the window, the mutes looking at their
feet and other people’s in stolid silence, Fanny and Carmelita and Fairy and Winnie having
a little athletic meeting in a corner, the tenors screaming at each other (so as to keep on the
key) and screaming so loud that they can’t hear anything at all, and Scrib and Gert in hysterics
over a little private joke that: nobody else understands at all. Well, soul is something that
we will get, perhaps, out in the wide world—I hope so—and then we will need only a few
of these merely external precautions to make the singing of the class of 1912 perfect.
CaRLoTta WELLES.
THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE 103
Through a Glass Darklp
(FELLOwsHiPp DINNER)
ae. in this book you may read about the beginnings of a masterpiece. It
is my duty and privilege to tell you of the fate of a masterpiece, to express my “burn-
ing conviction” of the ultimate futility of things.
I was delegated to write an article on Fellowship Dinner. Ponder on that phrase, dear
reader,—Fellowship Dinner. With the true feeling of fellowship I approached my subject;
with a sympathy, distinct from any animal faculty for imitation, I thought to enter fully
into the point of view of one of my neighbours, and to express that point of view.
“And whois my neighbour?” you ask, O student faithless and facile of me, a Daughter of
the Cloth?! I feel sure that you have heard at least six sermons and eight months of Sunday-
school on that question, so I will refrain from stating my neighbour’s name. I will merely
reiterate the fact that I tried to describe Fellowship Dinner from another’s—and hence an
unselfish—point of view. Moreover, I endeavoured, at your behest, to be humorous about
the vital subject. This was a task that demanded at least a Hunter, for sentiment is too
sacred to me to be vitiated by a dribble of humor. But I did my best, even though it be a
bromidic thing to do.
I analysed Miss Thomas’s charm and Miss Garrett’s winsomeness; I showed a keen
appreciation of Doctors Barton and Warren; I viewed Mr. King with connotation; I cata-
logued the sensations of Yarrow; I gave a personal touch to the married faculty; and individ-
ualized many Low Buildings types. I discussed municipal problems; I alluded to the cul- —
tivation of subjectivity; I mentioned literary classics and current periodicals; I adapted
quotations. Furthermore, the entire composition was characterized by a marked eclectic
idealism that might pass equally well for an idealistic eclecticism. Such was my master-
piece—conceived in sympathy, in the spirit of fellowship and in a legible calligraphy.
This monument of self-expression—pause, gentle reader!—was pronounced
rilous!” “And O, the difference to me.”
** scur-
104 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE
. On such dramatic occasions, M. L. Thompson testified that “strong men sob.” That
may be true. I don’t know. I am notastrong man. I do know more than ever before the
real meaning of “thoughts that lie too deep for tears,’”’ and hereby join the ranks of Words-
worths and evicted alumne, asking only for “A safe lodging and a quiet rest, and peace at
the last.”
Anna ConsTANCE HEFFERN.
THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE 105
-_—— ———_ ae ee
——
~.
~~ f .
7
‘
me >
—_——
\
eee Fee 9
|S ft ewan! ———
camengeayge ff Statins EE =I |
Set ET ae seas capone Seoraec
See ee [2S -— —-
1 D-K - RATHER: EIR. BE: xE-ON
THE: OUTSIDE-LOOKIN IN
THIANFON Tile
== INSIDE -LOOKIN OUT.
[Aurnor’s Note—Owing to the recent great demand for Hibernian literature, I venture to put forth this little piece, which
is for the most part an Irish drama, but—unlike the work of my fellow-dramatists, Mr. Synge, Mr. Yeats, etc.,—founded not
on Irish myths, but on legends and tales from the French and German.]
Scene:—The Chapel. Midnight of the Saturday in December. All is in semi-darkness,
while two figures are seen steadily sweeping, the objects of their sweeps being apple-cores, crul-
lers, nuts, fig newtons, and various other sundry delectable dainties.
WW
106 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE ”
Sux (Bearing and manner, not to mention accent, bespeak the Irish)—“Humph! And ain’t
it nice of me to be helpin’ yez. You ain’t never helped me with the gym aither! What’s
been goin’ on here anyhow?” -
He (Ever dignified and owl-eyed)—‘‘The young ladies have been having a party,—the
Senior young ladies.”
SHe—‘Oh that’s the class where Miss Haines does, ain’t it? Sure and it’s glad I am
to be helpin’ them. They give the beautifullest plays, that class. Ever seen one?”
Hre—“No. We gentlemen of the faculty are not invited.”
Sue—“ Ain’t that too bad now! But say, what kind of a party was it to-day? Ain’t
it a shame them sweet young girls don’t be going out for a walk these lovely rainy Saturdays
instead of givin’ parties in here.”
Hr—“ Yes, they locked themselves in and no one was permitted to enter. Except Miss
Jeffers! She seems to be quite a favorite with the Seniors, they are with her all the time.”
SHe—“Humph! Who else came? And what did them girls wear?”
Hre—‘“It was very peculiar—they all wore white and their caps and gowns. Do you
suppose it was a masquerade party? And my goodness, how they talked about that pretty
little Miss Welles because she wore a dark skirt! Every few hours they came out and new
ones went in. Miss Maddison was there too. Other years Miss Thomas came; I wonder
why she didn’t come this time.”
Sue—‘Oh, I guess she ain’t so fond of this class as them others. And they the most
ladieslike class in college! They'll be graduatin’ too, won’t they? And then there won’t
be nobody nice left.”
Hre—“Oh, I think the Sophomores are very nice, refined young ladies too. Some of
them were at the party. And I do think it rather extraordinary the way your Seniors let
1914 bring all the food and do all the dirty work, while they have all the fun?”
Sure—“T don’t believe it. But say, what else happened?”
Hre—* Well, I do think the young ladies are very good. They went all the way down to
the Infirmary and got Miss Haines and brought her up in a rolling chair.”
Sue— Ain’t it nice now, the way they wouldn’t let her miss the tea?”’
THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE 107
Hre—“If you promise not to betray my confidence I will tell you a secret.”
Sue—“See here! Ain’t I been keepin’ secrets for them ladies for years now, and nobody
knowin’ what plays they was givin’!”
Hre—* Well, I have heard that Miss Barber disapproves of the young ladies having what
_ she calls ‘social engagements with the faculty.’ And do you know that Dr. Barnes, and Mr.
Holbrook, and that German man with the bad temper, were all there! And I heard Miss
Catherine Thompson say that Julia (whoever she is) carried on perfectly scandalously.
Why, when Dr. Jessen said, ‘Don’t you believe me?’ She looked him straight in the eye
and said, ‘Dr. Jessen, I’d believe anything you tell me!”
Sue—“Ain’t that fresh now? I don’t know who that Julia is, but my Miss Haines
wouldn’t never have done nothin’ like that, I bet.”
- He—“ Well, I guess they had a good time though. But I don’t think that party was as
much fun as other years. They didn’t carry on so, and I didn’t hear much about it. But
then 1912 always behaves well and never makes any breaks. They’re such nice conventional
girls. I'll be sorry to see them go.”
(By this time the last crumb has been swept from the mouth of the last starving mouse, and
the sweepers prepare to depart.)
Suz—‘So long, Nelson—see yez next year if yez want me
Hz—“Good-night, Miss Jennie, much obliged and pleasant dreams
Fiorence T. Lropoup.
yy?
.
99?
108 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN TWELVE
URING the agonising days of my last midyear exams, there appeared on all the
bulletin boards a notice of marvellous content and great promise, announcing
that during the second semester Dr. Randolph would offer a one-hour elective in
“Birds.” “Birds; not ornithology, but “Birds!” At last the standard was sinking,
an unacadeemic course had arrived. 1912 was to see a cinch scheduled on the same
bulletin board with Second Year English and Baby Greek, and we could at last rest
from our labours. No microscopes, no alcohol, no lab-books, but bird lectures with a
weekly field trip! Field trip it was to be officially in the mazes of the Bryn Mawr Calendar,
but actually it was to be a weekly walk with our friends to be counted as exercise. Great
was the excitement. Gert and Tack succumbed immediately, so did Glad and Beth, but
with foresighted provision for their future happiness they registered as auditors. Then
THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE
I, more famous for taking that fateful step than for
being first ten, rushed off to the office to prevent a
conflict with Post-Major American Constitutional His-
tory to 1789.
On the first day of the new semester we hurried
eagerly to the Bi room, but, alas! far above the charg-
ing distance of the electroscope, above the clutches of
the skeleton, above the reach of the smells, above the
world of the weather reports, panting and choking, we
had to climb. I, who had carefully shunned chem-
istry and geology for their loftiness, as Isabelle Miller
had planned courses to give her time for milk lunch, I
indeed was punished by the fates. We did, never-
theless, reach that skylight, though the hands of the
clock were perilously near twenty minutes past. Miss
Randolph called the roll from Mrs. Leuba to the hum-
ming bird herself. It is too bad “Birds” is not given
in the first semester; it would be such an inspiration
for Freshman Show. Then we had our first lecture.
Miss Randolph told us how a bird with an engraved
bracelet on its leg, like a dog collar, flew from San-
dusky to Kentucky—or was it Keokuk? I should
remember, for she wrote out all the names most care-
fully on the blackboard. But the worst was yet to
come. I, who had so painstakingly avoided
Bi with the rabbit and the alcohol, now
was forced to examine pigeons that had
but recently departed this life, and soft
squashy stuffed birds with staring eyes.
110
THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE
‘dropped the course. After our extended Easter vacation,
on account of which the fortunate few, but not I, missed a walk, we all agreed
with Miss Randolph that our walks would be much more fruitful if
taken at an early hour. Of course we could all be at Low Buildings by
6 A. M., and every hand went up with one accord. Five hours sleep and
ginger snaps for breakfast, however, did not make me a very keen
student of birds, so Miss Randolph and Miss Dimon took pity on my
half-shut eyes and advised me not to come early again. One of my
greatest causes of unhappiness on those walks was my field glasses.
When I finally had found the right tree with my
glasses, the bird was always sure to be gone. As for
We soon found that the one hour of lecture was just the excuse
for the course; it was the field trips which were to be a landmark in
the history of human tortures. Just to pass the time away until a
few birds should come north, we each had a report to make. Gert’s
was the vegetable food of the crow. Then just to keep us busy we
had a few hundred pages of reading to do in government reports.
One morning in early March, we were to have our first field trip.
The air was icy and the snow deep. Unfortunately Mrs. Leuba,
Gert and I went down the campus to Low Buildings for Miss
Randolph while she came up the Gulph Road to Dalton and
went without us. On subsequent trips many were the surprises.
I found that all birds do not sing alike, nor are all sparrows the
same. One morning Miss Randolph, pointing to a strange gray
animal, asked me what it was. “Why, it has the most
peculiar beak I ever saw,” and she answered pityingly,
“That's a squirrel’s tail.” At Easter, Miss Randolph read
the black list. Glad held the record with fifteen hours
doubled exercise, so thereupon she, foresighted auditor,
THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE 111
Gert’s glasses, she complained one afternoon as she struggled with the tangent galvanometer
that the chromatic and spherical aberration in hers was most annoying; whereupon she
appeared next day with the famous Dalton binoculars.
At last the days of exams drew near. Miss Randolph said she thought it would be very
NICE as part of the exam to sit on the Gulph Road and identify chirps. So this then was the
purpose of “Birds”. Orals were creeping into semester exams by way of this seemingly
innocent little course. I saw my degree recede ever further with each chirp. I plead with
Miss Randolph, I told her that we might not be referring to the same chirp, that the weather
might be unfavorable, so at last she decided that we were to visualise birds and write
descriptions. What, O what was the difference between a sparrow and a flicker? I trembled
again, as once more my degree began to vanish into darkness, so I bought a book with
beautifully coloured plates, and actually learned six pictures. In the exam I, who had never
before needed a choice, now found that I had never heard either of “the migration route of
North American ducks, geese and swans,” or “that of the Western American robin,” so I
chose the former because it offered a wider field for imagination, decided on Mexico and
Yucatan, and then found that Chesapeake Bay was the southern limit. Now the course is
over, I have been asked to write this tale of the academic Inquisition because the class book
is still thin and there is plenty of stuffing to be found in the Dalton “Birds.”
Mimics Fowrts WarsB.ina.
112 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE
a ° 6
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Me, ha cid
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ptt
THEHIGHERCRITICISN
IGHER Criticism, in this instance, means that negative criticism applied in chapel,
at intervals throughout the year, to the class of 1912. Take, for example, the
remarks about the Lantern—my Lantern. (I drop a tear before proceeding.)
“The picture in the front is very good—better, I think, than last year’s.
The Proof-reading and Paragraphing are, I think, admirably done.
I do not agree with one word of the editorial, though it is written with grace and
charm. It, I think, is not so good as last year’s.
The poetry I liked very much. It has a certain quality—shall we call it poetic—or
something else?
THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE 113
Tt has a literary flavor.” May I ask, without great disrespect, what would happen
to a critical paper if—but I pause at this point.
A few days after that Miss Donnelly stopped me as I was hurrying past Juno to take
an examination in the Lyric. Said she: “I did not agree with Miss Thomas. I thought
the editorial better than last year’s which was—fulsome! Miss Thomas said to me, you
know, ‘Lucy, tell me what you think is the best article in the Lantern—I won’t tell that
you told me.’ But I said ‘No, Miss Thomas, I cannot trust you!’” (True story T. R.)
So you see Miss Thomas had to make up her own opinion of the literary values of the
Lantern on the spur of the moment, and I think we may call the resultant criticism mildly
negative.
As a class, too, we have been subjected to this negative criticism or absence of criticism.
It has gradually been forced on our unwilling and optimistic minds that Miss Thomas does
not accept us at our own valuation. “Marked down to $0.99. Formerly $9.90,” would
almost express it. Consider, if you doubt this, the last day of lectures. Miss Thomas
found suddenly, to her surprise, that it was the last chapel, and that old custom demanded
a farewell speech to the Seniors. Her usual form is
I. What the class has done for the college.
Ex: (a) The Rotan quiz.
(b) The Tredway average, etc., etc.
II. Characteristics of the class.
Ex: 1910’s adoration of the High Standard.
II. Prophecy for the Future.
In speaking to us she omitted I and II and so was able easily to compress her remarks
into fifteen minutes instead of the usual long chapel; and to us, a class apparently without
accomplishments or differentiating characteristics, she addressed the following hopeful
advice which I have embodied in the following miserable rhyme:
114 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE
Miss Thomas, one day,
Found out she must say
Farewell to our class that was going away.
*T was in chapel that first
The thought on her burst
All unprepared she prepared for the worst.
“Miss Maddison here
(I forgot it, I fear)
Says that this chapel’s the last of the year.
In looking at you
I feel that it’s true
That we never can tell what classes will do.
Other ones have gone hence
Who here had no sense,
But out in the world they’ve been simply immense.
So you never can tell,
You may turn out well,
As a butterfly bursts from its hideous shell.
Then try no high flight,
Perhaps marriage is right
For a class such as you that isn’t too bright.”
It seems to me that there is only one thing left for us to do to heighten this faint
THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE 115
praise. We have worked our little fingers to the bone trying to make an original and
unique dent on Bryn Mawvr’s surface, and if we have not succeeded in the slightest degree,
what impression can we hope to make on the hard, hard world? We are, I think, like those
quiet souls who make little stir during their lifetime but who win eternal fame as soon as
death calls attention to their deeds. So, my classmates, the only thing for us to do if we
would be appreciated is to die as one man in the glorious cause of our own fame.
HIC JACIT
1912
Her death revealed that she was great.
We love her, but, alas! too late.
: Frances Hunter.
116 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE
(Sentor REcEPTIONS)
Senior Receptions or anything, before the fourth?” I had just finished reading
Ruth George’s story in the June Atlantic entitled, ‘When Straits Them Press.”
“Ah,” thought I, “Ruth George was once editor of a class-book.”” I hope that all of
the present class-book committee, when writing for the Ailantic, will select titles as evidently
the result of experience. Experience that the Atlantic recognizes is worth following. Experi-
ence of every kind is, I am told, fraught with meaning.
This worries me. I don’t believe I can write on Senior Receptions from experience,
for although an alumna of three-weeks standing, I can’t find the “meaning” of them. Of
course, I enjoyed them—what gregarious, omnivorous creature wouldn’t? At the same
W esi Maysie’s telegram came saying, “Can you possibly write another article,
THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE 117
time, they don’t seem to have great significance in the world-machine. Their proportions
dwindle in the eyes of one whose position is much like that of “the beast with eyes before
and behind.” The scene of their splendour is now consecrated to convalescents. Its eloquent
silences are broken, not by the Amazonian tramp of “Ten Seniors” with the dining-room
ahead of them, but by the frank converse of two whose interests are above the marron.
Truly “the old order changeth, yielding place to new;” and it began to change with the first
reception.
Henry was distinctly of the old order. He had the very tendencies of a Solomon.
But Henry disappeared before the first reception, leaving a new order concerned with nothing
higher than punch.
‘The dresses that appeared at one half the receptions were of an old order compared to
those that appeared at the alternate half. I might add that the writer found it advisable
to be present on only one half of the evenings, but was lured further by the “sweet uncon-
sciousness” of D. Wolff.
Receptions of the old order were little more than “nibbling flocks who stray;” not so
these. They were conducted on the unique plan of “stage-coach.” The “Ten Seniors”
nearest Miss Thomas arose and left the room seeking what they might. devour. The other
fifty rushed to take their places, and the slowest had to be “It” and sit on the high-chair.
This game was designed for the diversion of those who didn’t understand the tariff, were
“on the fence” regarding suffrage, or suspected that Bryan was the coming Presidential
candidate. The only difficulty about it was that Miss Garrett couldn’t appear until the end
of the evening, since her high-chair was the main feature. It was a lovely game though,
for it gave you such an appetite!
Of course, Mary Peirce and Catherine Thompson never played it; they could qualify
for the dining-room without it, and Miss Thomas always sent them out in the first relay.
Until they returned, we discussed some inconsequential matter like Counterpoint versus
General English, or Phi Beta Kappa versus a $1,500 Organ, as illustrative of Impossible
Probabilities and Probable Impossibilities. Occasionally we condemned Self-Sacrifice and
Ann Catherine in favor of Self-Development and President Thomas. These, in any case,
1
118 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE
were nothing more than matters for scintillating repartee, intended to fill in the time until
Piggy Peirce should return in a good humour. Then we discussed suffrage. (By the way,
we found that Zelda should have been fed at the same time as M. P.)
This done, the conversation progressed safely enough, except one awful evening when
a storm threatened to keep us all night at the Deanery. Miss Thomas sent for Miss Garrett
and told her to talk to us about anything at all until she should return, then rushed upstairs,
on a pretense of bringing Miss Garrett her flowers, but in reality to tell the maids to make
ready all the guest-rooms and telephone for all our boudoir-caps. Meanwhile Miss Garrett
welcomed us cordially.
“TI came down,” she murmured, “because I thought I heard sounds of the Seniors
leaving.”
Carlotta graciously responded for us.
“We found that we couldn’t go, Miss Garrett, because it was raining.” The conversa-
tion went on in an atmosphere of domestic calm. While some of us were wondering whether
the Deanery would have eggs for breakfast, Miss Thomas returned and told us regretfully
that 1914 had come with goloshes and taxicabs insisting that we go home with them. They
couldn’t be pacified. _Wehad togo. We shall never know what the Deanery has for
breakfast.
**Who doth ambition shun,
And loves to lie i’ the sun,
Seeking the food he eats,
And pleased with what he gets,
Come hither, come hither, come hither,
Here shall he see
No enemy
But winter and rough weather.”
Anna C. HEFFERN.
THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE 119
O Taylor Hall, O Taylor Hall,
Thou nursery of our Inspiration,
Witness of countless hopes and fears
And home of the examination—
Still upon thee the sun shines on,
While we, alas, shall all be gone.
The verdure of thy gleaming towers
Is due, we know, to copper oxide.
Thy height, triumphantly displayed,
We’ve measured, with a sextant fox-eyed.
Romantic mysteries, hid of yore,
Are mysteries to us no more.
120 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE
Thy voice melodious, in the dawn,
No more will rouse us from our slumber,
Nor break upon the evening hour,
Dismissing suitors without number.
Thy timekeeping for us is done,
The hour-glass now has nearly run.
No more with raptured gaze we'll spy
Upon thy boards the yellow ticket,
(Sweet token to a working girl),
No more in memory books we’ll stick it.
Others may pounce upon it still,
We shall not feel the slightest thrill.
Our musings on the fate of Shakespeare’s
Second-best bedstead now are ended,
And why, on the horizon’s edge,
The moon should be so much extended.
Others can lightly muse and dream,
We are borne out into the stream.
No more in haste we'll fly from meals
To meetings—Ah, how we adore ’em—
Nor blissful hours of ease put in,
While zealots round beat up a quorum.
No respite from our doom appears—
We are cut off, with ruthless shears.
THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE 121
Papers and handkerchiefs of ours
No more will beautify Minerva.
Alas, the organ’s tuneful notes
Will guide no more our moving fervour.
Organ, and orals, fade at last
Down the dim vista of the past.
But stay, my Muse, Shame bids thee halt.
Let us not think of themes like these.
What though we leave these pleasant walls,
Taylor stands four-square to the breeze,
Classes may come and go at will,
Taylor at least is standing still!
To other hands we gladly leave thee,
Chapel and towers and steps to own,
Whatever we may leave behind us
Some memories are ours alone—
Then while time lasts, let’s rouse a cheer
In praise of all that happens here.
Nora Cam.
122 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE
Emotions J have Missed
ke me state right at the beginning that I very reluctantly
missed the calm and peaceful emotion I might have enjoyed
had not Maysie telegraphed me to write this article imme-
diately. As it is, I scarcely know what to write about, for I believe
I was, during my entire college career, animated by what Mrs.
Wolff considers the motive power of the academic machine—the
fear of missing something—and consequently managed to be pretty
generally “on the spot.” But with the aid of several of my little
classmates, especially Dorothy, who contributed some choice
examples of emotions she very nearly missed, I have compiled
the following account of what might have been of lasting value in
my psychological life.
I do not intend to pay much attention to emotions I was
forcibly compelled to miss. Somehow the loss of these has not
quite embittered my life, though I am accustomed to shed tears
over the treachery of those friends of mine who stole my alarm
clock on the pretext that Lorle’s cold was really too bad to permit
of her mowing daisies in the early dawn. I am told there never
again will be such a sunrise. And I’ve never quite forgiven the
person—I can’t remember who she was—who literally kept me
THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE 123
out of Rush Night—that last joyful Rush Night when Julia was strangled by the embrace
of a loving Sophomore but revived gloriously “‘to save dark blue, girls.” These two losses I
lay at the door of fate, as also my failure to make the hockey team and the Hinglish Club.
What I really regret with awful bitterness are the things whose accomplishment really
lay within my power. I have never picnicked on the highest tower of the Lib, though
Maysie and I once planned to view Lantern Night from that elevation. We never got there—
perhaps the door was locked, anyway. But think of the untasted joy of throwing orange
peel upon the heads of students hastening to the grindstone. As a grad, one does not throw
orange peel. And then I never rang Taylor bell, notwithstanding the frequent invitations
of a lab boy who used to be bell-ringer. Why, even Mary Alden and Biffy rang Taylor for
some occasion—a, vocational lecture, I presume. But then they did not carve their initials
upon the place where one should carve, and without that the rite is not complete, so the lab
boy said. Apropos of science, I never took geology or even climbed daily those three flights
of stairs.
Another academic emotion I missed was that of not getting my degree. I can’t see yet
why I missed it, for I had the traditional book out of the library. However, Miss Jones
assured me that my degree wasn’t worth any thing—not even twenty dollars—till the
book was returned. I did find the book, but 52 looked considerably less neat afterwards.
Now we're speaking of neatness, I should like to mention that jolly, messy, rainy-day
picnic in 52—not that I missed it; that would have been difficult—but Pinney did, so I just
thought I’d put it in. I remember some picnic emotions I did miss, however, and those
were ones I might have had over food pilfered from President’s receptions and brought to
studious stay-at-homes. Unfortunately I attended all seven.
As for dramatic emotions, I am assured that I missed a great one in not seeing Les
Femmes Savantes, and that just when I was being admitted to their company. Moreover,
I never registered with an agency or received thrilling circulars or finally accepted an impos-
ing situation.
Beattie tells me I can never know what I missed by not staying up absolutely all of one
night. Somehow I never did my packing or studying at that time. I am afraid that’s why
124 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE
I never got into the Infirmary. I’m very sorry—to be sure I have another chance next
year. But I'll never again have a chance to get into Senior picture and have my hair blown
about by a regular hoop-rolling wind. And, alas, I missed the thrill of cheering the last
Anassa! Why should that fatal absentmindedness or rather that persistent cheerfulness
attack me just when I might have been enjoying a most pleasurable melancholy moment.
Anyhow, I wager that’s an emotion ninety-five per cent of the class missed with me. Who
cares if we can’t cheer Anassa any more? I propose an alumne variation of our beloved
“German yell.” “As Bum Alum—Hip, Hip, Hurray! We're going to have our little say:
Ta, Ia, Ia—”’
Lorie StTEcHER.
THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE 125
Mamie’s 161st Chat with her Friends; or, The Establishment
of Dualism; or, The Last Class Meeting of 1912
HE one hundred and sixty-first meeting of the class of 1912 was held on Friday,
June 7, 1912, at ten o’clock in Pembroke West. (We found to our amazement
that we had outgrown Pembroke East as we doffed the torn gown of the Senior
and donned the imposing one of the A. B., alumna of B. M. C.)
Mary Peirce, president, in the chair.
The meeting having been called to order (with little effect) by a loud rapping of the
gavel on the mahogany table, the first business before the meeting was the reading of the
minutes of the previous meeting.
Amid much noise, it was moved and seconded that the minutes of the previous meet-
ing be read. Carried. The minutes were read and accepted.
The chair then, in stentorian tones, denting hard the table with her gavel in feeble
efforts to make herself heard, commanded all delinquents who had ordered pictures of
various individuals in the class, to go and get them from Katharine Shaw, as it wasn’t
fair to make K. decorate her paternal plate rail with pictures of her classmates, even if
they were “hers in 1912.”’ (Reference—Hoby’s eighth letter to Willa concerning 1911
class book.)
At this point, the class treasurer in a meek voice asked the chair to tell people to pay
their class dues. The chair, shocked to find that “class spirit”? could have sunk so low,
sternly commanded them to do so—immediately and at once.
The secretary proceeded, amid groans, to give out Garden Party bills, whereupon
several “birds that catch the worm” attempted to pay her on the spot and one misguided
damsel murmured, “I don’t see why my bill should be so large. Gert’s isn’t.” (Char-
acteristic as an outburst of two-ism.)
About this time, the not unpleasant noises compounded of the sounds made by bee,
cricket, frog, and Catherine Thompson (who says that people always “pick on her” for
os Se
126 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE
making noise in class meetings, but when she doesn’t talk they make just as much noise
and never pick on anybody. Who said this wasn’t a rummy world?) swelled to a wild
murmur. The chair had brought up the question of reunion. A loud voice moved that
the reunions be held in Pembroke East, several seconded, the chair rose to the table and
counted quickly. East had won the day.
The class dinner! A louder wail than before. “Have it in Radnor. If you don’t,
we'll never have a chance to sit in those new dining-room chairs!’
“Oh, Denbigh’s such a nice hall!”
“And we gave all those strawberry festivals for
“You know nobody will ever come back—except just prides to fill Den
“Well, we had that class supper Nag
“T do want to sit in those chairs
and that breakfast on May Day in Rock and everybody had a fine time.”
“Yes, but those chairs are ate
“Denbigh has a nice dining-room and
“You can hear toasts in Rock
“In Denbigh, too!”
“No, you can’t!!””
“Yes, I heard one last night on the proper way to bring up children.”
“Well, you shouldn’t listen.”
“You can’t hear, anyway.”
Z-Z-Z-E-Z - = = -
Chair—“T don’t care if this is the last class meeting. I’m hoarse and the table is black
and blue. If you don’t keep quiet, I’ll adjourn this class meeting—until next year.”
Silence, or rather a cessation of hostilities for a moment, while the chair proceeds to
take a vote. Result: Rock 9, Radnor 14, Denbigh 21.
“Denbigh has it.” (Loud applause.)
“Well, Denbigh is a nice hall,” resigned murmur from defeated Rock- and Radnor-ites.
The real business of the meeting at last began. It was moved and seconded that the
99
2”
.
2°
3°
3°
.
THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE 127
class baby be the first girl baby born to a member of the distinguished class of 1912, who
was privileged to bear upon her shoulders the yellow and white hood of Bryn Mawr, who
had been, as Daddy Warren said, ‘“‘a degree-taker.” Loud applause greeted this stroke of
genius, which was carried unanimously (if such a thing can happen).
Yet not for long did peace reign in the camp of the—well, certainly not Philistines?
1912 always has two of everything—two songs to everybody on every occasion, two plays
at once, even two stage managers!’’ The motion was therefore amended to read: ‘‘The
first girl baby, etc., or if the first be girl twins, both shall be chosen.”
On such a subject the chair should be open for discussion, agreed the holders of ideas,
so Babel began.
“Listen to me, girls,” cried D. Wolff with sangfroid and éclat, “there are three kinds
of twins, 2. e., two girls, two boys, one of each. Now if the twins should be boys, let’s
have both, for two boys equal one girl. (Laughter.) Or if one girl and one boy, have the
girl, for one boy by no means equals a girl.”
Murmurs—“That’s not fair. Let the boy: be an associate class baby
Zelda, who had been taking great interest in the discussion, interrupted vehemently,
“No, suh! And have that boy teased all his life for being a Bryn Mawr class gurl baby.
We have no right to brand a human being like that.” And having majestically vindicated
herself, she returned to her interrupted conversation with Florence ‘while the rest of the
class stated their views like a “well-trained mob,” 7. e., not in concert, but in individual,
spontaneous outbursts, continuous and unending, as “no one has to stop because her
neighbour does.”
Disgusted pessimist in the corner: “I bet nobody has twins! I move that this class
behave itself for the rest of the meeting.” Carried (by unselfish but ill-disposed-to-peace
members). Note the German order!
Hub-bub reigned supreme again.
Pessimist—“‘I move that the disorderly members be sent out.” Carried.
After which there is quiet for fully twelve seconds, the disorderly members not wish-
ing to miss a proposed discussion concerning triplets.
1?
beri liek
128 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE
The chair announced in the lull: “Members of 1912 are invited to join the Woman’s
University Club of New York City immediately, without an initiation fee, which otherwise
will be fifteen dollars.”
It was moved and seconded that the baby be given a silver porringer. Carried.
Thereafter, the time of reunions was discussed. Napoleon, alias Jimmy Valentine,
suggested that if the second reunion be May Day, 1914, we might be allowed to give a
stunt—‘“and 1912 never knows itself so well as when giving plays or doing stunts.” To
this statement all the actresses gave their unqualified approval, but the friends (I mean the
special friends) of 1914 objected. They thought it would be “too perfect for words” to
have the reunion at Commencement, for then they could see 1914 commence.
It was moved and seconded that the years of reunion be the first, second, third, fifth,
and every five years afterward, particular stress to be laid on the first, third, fifth, tenth,
ete. Carried.
It was moved and seconded that the question of the second reunion be left to the
permanent president. Carried.
Thereafter, Dorothy Wolff promised to give one hundred dollars to the Loan Fund if the
class would raise two hundred. Nearly one hundred and fifty was immediately subscribed.
Nominations for a permanent president were then in order.
Result of nominations: Peirce 43, Haines 1.
It was moved and seconded that the nomination be declared an election. Carried
unanimously.
Nominations for a permanent secretary and treasurer were then in order.
Result of nominations: Haines 15, Shaw 8, Crenshaw 8, Watson 8.
Result of election: Haines 21, Crenshaw 10, Shaw 7, Watson 7.
Julia Haines was thereupon declared elected.
There being no further business to come before the meeting, the illustrious class of
1912 adjourned until June, 1913.
Note.—Every member of said class promised to write Julia everything momentous
every three months. So in future, tell it to Julia.
Louise Watson.
THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE 129
“4810 Classem yrophectam’”’
orn prophecy is a tradition and so there is every reason why 1912 should have
one. Why struggle as we did about Garden Party to be original? In that matter
we were agreed upon one important point; we did not like it the way it was, so we
appointed a committee to “scientifically investigate.” It found the only true 1912
solution, and Jean explained that the one thing to do was to invent a new tradition which
would drown the old one—in the cloister fountain preferably. However, we did not
succeed in setting an example of originality to the other classes, but bent to our Fate and
depended merely on our nice lucky light-blue weather for novelty. Perhaps that was not
the way to start a tradition anyway. It ought to grow up spontaneously like the Christmas
tree tradition in the cloisters. We did not need that little ceremony, but as soon as it had
happened everyone recognized its fitness and accepted it. We only regret that 1912 will be
gone when it will be customary, the night before Christmas vacation, for the Freshmen and
Sophomores to go out and trim their sister classes’ trees, providing their special friends with
nice presents, and, in general, demonstrating their devotion. The upper classes might
join in the ceremony and reciprocate by trimming the underclass trees in a wholesale, but
beautiful, manner. It might be well, too, to have the classes sing appropriate Christmas
Songs as they march around their trees while admiring parents watch from the roof. But all
this will come naturally and I must not stunt its gentle growth by the free play of my
sportive imagination. :
I have nothing to substitute for the Prophecy; I mean simply to disregard the
convention, merely because I can think of nothing that the class might not do, and what
I might suggest would be sure to seem tame beside the reality. When we consider the events
that happened around us daily in our last year at college who will say that anything is
impossible. Some of these things were tempered for our undergraduate ears by assuming
the name of myths. But that no longer deceives us. They are true, every one; as true
as that the Pembroke cook is so fat that she was put up on the top floor in the kitchen
when the building was being built, and by a mistake the stairs and elevator were made so
a ae
1380 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE
small that now she cannot get down and has to stay there forever and cook roast beef and
tomato juice toast. They are as true as that Dr. Smith and Miss Parris are a bashful
br.degroom and a blushing bride, and the romance has been going on under our jesting, but
unconscious, noses for years. As true as the professors’ gym, or Dr. B. and the lamp-post,
or Miss King and the monastery; but I need not and dare not elaborate on them here.
However—a word of advice in your ear—expect the impossible and do not be surprised
when it happens.
“Tf it comes from light blue
It must be true.”
Mary ApEn Morean.
THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE 131
Now that Hoby’s vocation
Is collaboration
With Bishops, the Lib is in sad degradation.
When Hoby was here
We trembled with fear;
We dared not draw breath lest her form should appear.
With echoing hush,
And sibilant shush,
Each attempt at disorder she sternly did sqush.
Our library proctor:
Scrib’s sneezes they shocked her,
And now that she’s left us, our state none can doctor.
132
THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE
On heels, not on toes,
Each heavy foot goes,
At the thundering tread nervous heads turn in rows.
And every chair creaks
With nerve-racking squeaks;
When a student’s loquacious, right loudly she speaks:
“T can’t get a drink
Except maybe some ink,
Because my last penny I dropped down a chink.”
“Oh, come to the Pike!
This Lib I don’t like—
It won’t take much time if we steal Pritche’s bike.
“Some ice cream we'll buy;
Glocker’s price is too high,
So we'll get it at Edward’s and charge it to Spry.”
“Come, Mary, old sport,
Leave that beastly report;
We have chocolate and strawberry, more than a quart.
“Ask Winny and Lill,
Or any old pill,
To come to the cloister and gobble their fill.”
THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE 133
When you work for a quiz
Enter Taby and Liz
Showing sad Trans-Atlantics Miss Thomas’s phiz.
“Note the Byzantine ceiling;
The Cloisters revealing
The true Gothic gargoyle all writhing and reeling.”
Around the paved walk
Pale suitors do stalk
With students, embarassed, attempting to talk.
I blush when I say
That last Saturday
On the brink of the fountain a bathing-suit lay.
Who could it have been?
She must have been thin,
Or how in the world could she ever get in!
Our books while we sleep
Are reft from our keep
And down in the cloak-room are piled in a heap.
The chairs all do squeak,
The stair’s made of teak,
On poor Batey’s head the tiles they did leak,
134
THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE
And so, from that hour
The door to the tower
Miss Jones has kept locked: the key’s in her power.
How thrilling a thing
To hear Mr. King!
With “Hamlet remember” the cloisters do ring.
*Twas here that Vashti
With horrified cry
Saw the janitor creeping with fashlight more nigh.
Her shriek of dismay
Brought Polly that way,
Who in well-chosen language soon drove him away.
The glaring high-light
Monty thinks is not right—
It gives one fatigue and is bad for the sight.
She hovers about,
Turning every light out,
Till in comes Miss Jones and puts her to rout.
1
“Would we,” some one cried,
“Have a Faculty Bride
If Miss Parris’s office hadn’t Smith’s alongside?”
THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE
135
My transitions are queer,
I have bored you, I fear;
Yet bear up a moment —the end is now near!
No more for long hours
We'll water the flowers
Of Intellect’s plant beneath these tall towers.
Lib, we bid you adieu!
We loathed you, it’s true,
But in you we learned the little we knew.
Frances Hunter.
136 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE
@Goodbype, 1912
si EAR, dear girls,” as Mrs. Pankhurst would say, if this title sounds sentimental,
don’t blame me. I got it from Mary Alden, and you know she is incorrigible
when it comes to tears.
Well, as I was about to say when your smile so rudely interrupted me, 1912’s goodbyes
have had a long and checkered career. My own just awful premonitions of parting came
the end of Sophomore year. I realized that I was no longer so young as I once had been,
my friendships were all formed, the half of my college course lay behind me—in short, I
was on the top of a pleasant tableland, with a slow, sunny slope running up to it, and an
awful rocky declivity ahead. You know those scenic railways that slide you up a well-
oiled umbrella-top of a hill and then leave you eyeing the concave agony below. Well,
that was me in the spring of 1910.
However, the plunge once taken turned out to be not so plungeful after all. Life
showed no immediate signs of flagging. Not so you’d notice it. We did get a bit worked
up by Spring over getting our rings and saying goodbye to 1911. But as an example of
what kept happening, take our Junior-Senior Supper Play. The curtain went down with
emphasis and finality on the ““Romanesques”; 1911 patted us on the back, said “how
sweet,” and prepared to grow miserable—when out whisks a new set of programmes, up
goes the curtain again, and Julia and Maysie, all resplendent, proceed to “take advantage
of the better side of Barb’s nature.”
This Fall, I acknowledge, was pretty bad. 1912 tumbled out on the station platform
promptly at 3 p. m. Monday, and embraced each other with choking voices (can a voice
embrace?), reflecting that they would never meet this way again. However, eight months
of meeting-before-parting cannot all be maintained at this level, and by, say March, I
for one was beginning to feel pretty well acclimated. The rigours of Senior year were, as
Dr. Barnes would say, not so rigid after all. “‘Goodbye, hockey,” was, of course, a bit of a
wrench—but then nobody can say there was anything plaintively reminiscent about that
THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE 137
cup—can they, Carmelita? My own emotions during the games were rather kaleidoscopic,
for by some fine frenzy of our captains, I was ricocheted back and forth between upper
and lower field, bidding each goodbye three times.
Water polo was another academic emotion. How we wept when we reflected that
each practice was bringing us nearer the end of the season! Ah, Terry, Terry, what in
after years will ever make up to us for those lost bright moments in the pool! And then
the match games. To think that we shall never again feel Cox swimming over us when”
_we have the ball. And Freshman Goodhue; good little Goodhue, what cosy times she
and I did have together. Yes, here too “all is vanity and a striving after wind.”
Basket-ball and tennis were real goodbyes too (though Varsity matches thick amongst
the midst of Commencement week did seem a trifle anticlimactic)—and as to Track—well,
I just can’t bear to think of it. When I shut my eyes and see Fanny’s face that noon—
poor, poor Fanny with her future all behind her—I just double up and cry. Ah, why must
man outlive his strength?
Dramatics was another thing hard to leave. So, true to our tradition, we didn’t leave
it. Ask Mr. King. How about that last night after Commencement, Julia, in front of
the Library steps? ‘Devilish good advice” that was, about “If Villon were the king of
France”—eh, dollies?—with all the “cullions and cutpurses” (and Samuel Arthur) gath-
ered round.
Singing? Well, of course, Taylor steps can’t last forever, but then there are others:
the aforementioned Library ones (for particulars apply to Miss Park and the grieved par-
takers of Alumnz Supper), the Gymnasium ones (apply to Gym Jenny), and finally our
front stairs at Rumson. Those last almost reduced my mother to retiring by the banisters,
but she enjoyed it—and you should have heard my alto.
But to return to the real subject of 1912 goodbyes: I wonder how many of them really
were said that last week—counting “repeaters”? By about 12 p. m. Friday if anyone had
forced her way into our room and asked for a ham sandwich, I know Gentle Gracie and I
would as one man have “poked our hand up and cast our eyes down” over the packing-
cases, murmuring, “What, must you already? Yes, the address-book is at the bottom
ie he the Hie he ie ee
fa fi i Die i i Me
138 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE
there. Well, goodb——” As one classmate remarked to me yesterday, “My great Com-
mencement emotion was exhaustion.”
But the chief reason for the mitigation of “goodbye 1912” was, I think, our thorough-
ness. As Barb would say, we do nothing by halves. Of course two farewells are better
than one. So the course of your parting was about as follows: (a) On Friday evening
you hastily made the rounds of Radnor, Pem. and Rock, wrung Miss Norton’s hand in
Denbigh, and dropped into bed with your plethoric trunk and your gaunt room staring
you in the eye, full of the devastating certainty that this was the end of Bryn Mawr for
you. (b) On Saturday morning the sun arose much as usual, everybody came to break-
fast, and you repeated your last messages with just a shade less of empressement, but
mighty heartily nevertheless. (This was before you went to check your trunk at the
station.) (c) On the way down you met one-quarter of Radnor, one-sixth of Rock, and
three-fifths of East and West, all bound on the same errand. So you said it again. (d)
Then you wandered down the Pike (the shops were all still there) and paid a few farewell
bills. Returning via the Post Office you met Scribby, Isabel Vincent, Margaret Thackray,
and of course Polly, registering their addresses. And (e) as the 10.50 pulled out, you got
there just in time to receive the encumbered (but thorough) embraces of the (approxi-
mately) 33'/; per cent of the college hitherto unaccounted for. (f) Somewhat exhausted
with this and with finding M. B. A.’s trunk check, Catherine’s key, your own cloister chair
and Fairy’s summer sewing, you returned to a most invigorating lunch with Miss Norton.
(Pokey was there too: trust Pokey.) (g) At 2.20 you finally took the train. Nineteen
other solitary 1912’ers also took it. From Haverford to Narberth you exchanged promises
to write. (hk) At Broad Street some of them really left; but eight new ones appeared,
and informed you, yes, they too were going to Dorothy’s or Beattie’s as the case might
be; and, you bet, they weren’t going to miss Eaglesmere after that, either.
So it goes, 1912. Shall we ever succeed in getting our goodbyes really said? I trust
not. So far even the big city refuses to swallow us up. You should have seen Miss
Parris’s wedding: Why, Bryn Mawr was that wedding. I happened to be a little late
myself (Miss Parris was just saying, “I will’), but as I broke through the barred front
THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE 139
door and the expressive faces of the congregation turned toward me, at least, every third
expression was a Bryn Mawr one.
Perhaps next winter, however, we shall achieve some genuine goodbyes. There is to
be a bang-up reunion in the Spring, you know, and that will be a fine time for them.
Then before that there are to be Terry’s and Jean’s and Carmelita’s “coming outs,” and
all the class is invited to attend them in rotation, en masse, and bid our little debutantes’
“bon voyage.” On the way back we must be sure (if we are History Club) to spend the
night at Mrs. Smith’s, and give a few parting words of advice to Clara and Tacky and
Rosalie and Mary Brown—not to mention our esteemed Norah and Lorle and K. Long-
well. Also what about the Secretarial Christine? Yes, this last sad severing of con-
nections does look like a life-sentence to me. But then, alumnae 1912, cheer up! After
all, at the end, one of us will have to outlive the others. And then, at her fiftieth reunion,
bereft of all college associations, she can totter feebly back from Varsity basket-ball, sup-
ported at either arm by the victorious Class Babies; and, gathering the Class Grand-
children about her knee, bid them quaveringly look up at the green shade of a certain
sturdy oak “and remember that that’s how you worship Bryn Mawr.”
Dorotuy S. Wo Fr.
140 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE
Athlette Record
Freshman Year
Tennis PINNEY Indoor Track
Puke HartTsHORNE
‘ Captain—Fantus CosTELLOE Captain—Brown, M. W.
Singles
dia Farizs CRENSHAW
Haines pound ven noiagad
Cc on by ARIES
ions McKeEtvry
Douhins Swimming Meet se ,
Fares Captain—F aries cama
NY a, ScrRIBNER
Ay CosTELLOE Bartow
ap MEARKLE CostTELLOE
VENNUM PEIRCE
SouTHwIck Epoxrtron Won by 1909
Price Wo.rr Individual by Emerson ’11
f TERRY
boil Faries
‘ARIES
Won by 1909
Won by 1909 Basket Ball
Class champion—F aries Water Polo Captain—ScripTUuRE
HuntTER
Hockey MEarRKLE aba
TERRY
Captain—CostTELLOE EDGERTON Cusse: C.
ScrIBNER ‘ Soutuwick BarBeER
Hanes Trrry CHAMBERS
Cuase, C, CosTELLOE ScrIPTURE
Brown, M. W. CHAMBERS SouTHwIick
SHAw Cuasz, C. PRESTON
GaRRIGUES Won by 1910 ARTHURS
THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE 141
Tennis
Captain—F aries
Singles
Faris
SouTHWIcK
Corwin
Doubles
Faries
GARRIGUES
SouTHWIcK
Wo.urr
Corwin
THACKRAY
Varsity
Faries
Won by 1913
Class champion—F aries
Hockey
Captain—C, CHAsE
Cuasp, C.
ARTHURS
SouTHwIckK
CHAMBERS
McKeEtvry
GARRIGUES
Sophomore Year
PINNEY
HarTsHORNE
Mrap
Faries
CRENSHAW
Won by 1910
Swimming Meet
Captain—PInNEY
BARBER
EDGERTON
Wo.rr
CHASE
MEARKLE
SouTHWICK
TERRY
Fares
Won by 1910
Water Polo
PEIRCE
BARBER
EDGERTON
Wo.rr
FariEes
CHASE
PINNEY
Won by 1913
Indoor Track
Captain—CrENsHAW
ScrIBNER
CHAMBERS
PINNEY
ScriPTURE
McKE.Lvey
CRENSHAW
Cuasg, C.
Lams
PEIRCE
Won by 1911
Individual by Emerson ’11
Basket Ball
Captain—CHAMBERS
PINNEY
VENNUM
CHAMBERS
CHASE
BaRBER
ScrIPTURE
Lams
ARTHURS
SoutTHWwIickK
Won by 1910
142 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE
Tennis
Captain—F aries
Singles
Farres
Corwin
VENNUM
Doubles
Faries
Corwin
VENNUM
Wo.rr
CHASE
PEIRCE
Varsity
Faries
Won by 1913
Class champion—F aries
Hockey
Captain—Cuasp, C.
CHAMBERS
Haines
CHASE
Wo.urr
McKetvry
Pinney
Faries
ScrIPTURE
CRENSHAW
Junior Year
HartTsHORNE
VINCENT
Brancu
Won by 1911
Varsity
CHASE
Faries
CRENSHAW
Swimming Meet
Captain—ScripTuRE
TERRY
ScriPTURE
Wo.rr
BarBeR
CHASE
PErIRcE
STECHER
EpGERTON
Won by 1913
Water Polo
Price
CuHaAsE
ScRIPTURE
TERRY
EpGERTON
Hurp
BarBeER
Wo.rr Won by 1914
Indoor Track
Captain—CRrENSHAW
Hurp
PEIRCE
CHASE
CRENSHAW
ScRIBNER
Faries
BARBER
» McKetvry
Won by 1911
Individual by Emerson 711
Basket Ball
Captain—CHAMBERS
TERRY
PInNEY
CHAMBERS
CHASE —
ScriPTuRE
CRENSHAW
BarBER
ARTHURS
Watson
Won by 1913
Varsity
CHAMBERS
CHASE
THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE 143
Senior Year
Tennis Varsity Outdoor Track
Captain—F arms Captain—Cuasp, C. Captain—CrENSHAW
Singles Fantes CRENSHAW
Farres CRENSHAW Faries
Corwin Hanranorne THACKRAY
VENNUM Pinney McKetvey
Cuass, C. ByRNr
Doubles ; HamMer
Posaint Swimming Meet stesaail
VENNUM Captain—Trrry CHASE
Prrrcre Tene HarTSHORNE
Wo.rr Rica BarBER
THACKRAY Cora HunrtER
Won by 1914 ‘Wiaeu Won by 1912
Faries Individual by Crenshaw 12
EDGERTON College record in 60-yard hurdle broken
Hockey Perce World's cooler in standing high jump,
Captain—Cuase, C. pind go pam (yg Mr non
Hares nomi Basket Ball
TERRY :
Cuasz, Cc. Won by 1914 rab ticy
ARTHURS neni
Bias Water Polo Vunnum
Soren Prirce CHASE
Panis ScrRIPTURE ScrIPTURE
Ponce’ TERRY CRENSHAW
Socuiebians CHASE BARBER
HARTSHORNE BarBER ARTHURS
CRENSHAW CreNnsHaw Varsity
Hunter Fates Captain—ScripTtuRB
Won by 1912 Won by 1914 ScrIPTURE
THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE 145
Class Addresses
Rove Paris ge oi ee oe orgie say 905 Magnolia Avenue; Long Beach, California
MAny’ BOGUBZALDENS foc 5 ee OSU Hs 50 Meigs Street, Rochester, New York
Ann CATHAHUSE ABUHUORA, 65600 055 ae 7 East Preston Street, Baltimore, Maryland
Hee, Dosorer BARBER... 2. co ee ets ouccee 4 483 East Sixteenth Street, Portland, Oregon
Arima RR, PANOAIW oi CO Gi ds i a ue Bryn Mawr, Pennsylvania
JANW! BUARH WOO 8 isis sk koe opel orbew decuua wae 802 North Twenty-fourth Street, Philadelphia
SADIN MLUIROWREY ous so cok ela Sao eee one ue 1712 North Seventh Street, Philadelphia
ZELDA NUAIIBON SHRANOR 02:06, uc cio eumuuuer ees od eee Baltimore Hotel, Kansas City, Missouri
Auice Lucite Brown (Mrs. Samuel Martin)....................... 909 Grant Avenue, Denver, Colorado
Manion; Hasrings BROWN... 000 Soo ENC es Oa 588 Grand Avenue, St. Paul, Minnesota
Many WIMARTH BROWN. . 200 coo Ucn Cae ee ane 1216 North State Street, Chicago, Illinois
LAURA, PAWEENBON: BYRNE. i500 00 8 oc 0 2G uy ee a ea re Ellicott City, Maryland
NORAH CAME tn oi. ee Sa a ey ae Paulers Pury Rectory, Towcester, England
Guapys ExieAnare CHAMBERTAING oo oa es ae ey R. F. D. 2, Bridgeton, Maine
AGNES CHAMBIBS ee eat 18 West Franklin Street, Baltimore, Maryland
CARMUNITAP CMSB noc res oy ea ae 201 South Thirty-third Street, Omaha, Nebraska
DOROTHe CHAR ese eee es ee a ea ee a 516 Belmont Avenue, Chicago, Illinois
PAULING CuABEM G00 o.oo ee es 603 West One Hundred and Thirty-ninth Street, New York City
Heten Margaret Courter (Mrs. Newbold Le Roy Pierson, Jr.),
Crooked Pines, Hamilton Avenue, College Hill, Cincinnati, Ohio
Mancaner Teumncit ConWiIns 6.60 668 cae. 247 St. Ronan Street, New Haven, Connecticut
KARTS Cosimrnon eee es ee a ees Ford Place, Arundel, Sussex, England
FANNY GRAVE CRENBHAW: 6 208 Ris Se asia ee leis 0s 919 Franklin Street West, Richmond, Virginia
TIOBALAR DAW ee ee a ese oes Caer e WiNcas Catskill, New York
Gusapya: Rogen es ok re ha nd eed 802 Central Park West, New York City
GERTRUDE VIARU PLOOCK. Vos Ls acs Glenside, Pennsylvania
WEARGARIT PABUAN CC oe a ri ee eae 1509 Ridge Avenue, Evanston, Illinois
VAGABITR BARIOR Soe ers Goce wont ee weuae sts ale 7806 Cresheim Road, Chestnut Hill, Pennsylvania
MiAny Grernune FeNbaii. oo es es 141 West Lanvale Street, Baltimore, Maryland
ADA: FORMAN GG ees cae eons cb seks evameeews 1407 Garfield Avenue, S. Pasadena, California
CLARA) AN UGA e cee eta ce sina hy sean pipes scauiels 805 Walnut Street, Martins Ferry, Ohio
Marearet Garricurs (Mrs. John Ashby Lester).............-- The Hill School, Pottstown, Pennsylvania
Pe ee ee
146 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE
Class Abdresses—Continued
Pruorence Manresa Gunny oes eee on 526 Park Avenue, Johnstown, Pennsylvania
Guiacn Rix GORDON: foro ae ee ae 516 Commonwealth Avenue, Newton Center, Massachusetts
Eran Griscom (Mrs, Jobn Briscoe) ye ee The Colonial, Bangor, Maine
ADnLn GUCKUNEMIMMR 6 ibe eee ee ss 5605 Irwin Avenue, Pittsburgh, E. E., Pennsylvania
JULIA LoRing Haas oes eee 228 East Thirteenth Street, Indianapolis, Indiana
CaRiIstine Ports) HAMM oO Cl es gel Care of Mr. George Rice, Pottstown, Pennsylvania
ANNA (HIARTSHOBNE, Gio oe co eet US i ean ge ama Brighton, Maryland
ANNA CONBTANCK Himmmmn co ee hs 4519 Kingsessing Avenue, Philadelphia
AY MOSHING, (CU ea a ee ee 16 Gobancho, Kojimachi, Tokyo, Japan
AUIIA CAYLOR PLOUBTON: (20 coe ee 1608 West Sixth Avenue, Pine Bluff, Arkansas
IBHATRICW TOWSON yo uc ee tt ee 109 North Thirty-fourth Street, Philadelphia
Miny Hone OO i ae oe 2007 Grand Avenue, Des Moines, Iowa
Prenows Ponting ee oe ee ea Hillcroft, Adams, Massachusetts
Bivanurn Caéning BORD 2) ee ea 1120 East Forty-ninth Street, Chicago, Illinois
E1azapera Henrmrra JOHNSTON... ...5..200.2.0 0.00068. 36 North College Street, Carlisle, Pennsylvania
GLADYS JONMS) OS ee ae a ee a Hazleton, Pennsylvania
TGOCUS ISENISGON | ee Be ee ee Ne ee ee 1120 Tremont Street, Galveston, Texas
TOunn EMERSON VAMB CE ee op ee ei or ee eel ee Station H, Baltimore, Maryland
Pistmn 'Sopnre LACT ye ee oe ees 803 Park Avenue, Pekin, Illinois
Fiorence Stem Leoroip (Mrs. Lester Wolff)................20.2. 1428 North Broad Street, Philadelphia
FRimpneca Runshaw LMwiss ie i ea. 1813 St. Paul Street, Baltimore, Maryland
GERTRODe PTE WINN er ee ee bee) ene 1246 Ridge Avenue, Evanston, Illinois
IRLORENCH May DOnR Cee coe ie OO es cae ee Paducah, Kentucky
Karuertne CavenaGH LONGWELL..................... 206 Homewood Avenue, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania
EMONORA (UGAS Se ern eh BO ek ots bes Be rae 2344 Sheridan Road, Evanston, Illinois
Many Arion Moksivey Cec lor ee oe es eee Spuyten Duyvil, New York
PPL YOtIs VE Mesa er ee ee EAC oe 530 Clinton Avenue, Brooklyn, New York
RACH BL MARSHATI Gl et eg Fae a ee Sexton, Kansas
WEARION Lorraine Mingnn 06ers ae 1810 Hinman Avenue, Evanston, Ilinois
Ror Mmargie. 3 6.0036 ih. MU eee ek ool) ii eed 2217 South Aldrich Avenue, Minnesota
Rise Miya er eek ae he, 1765 Pryntania Street, New Orleans, Louisiana
Prantl Boring Marrero 8 0 eo ee 1818 Arch Street, Philadelphia
Hazen, Mancarer Monreomeryr oe Use hoe be a Bryn Mawr Club, New York City
THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE 147
————— ===>
Class Addresses—Continuen
Mant: LRU ee i 1362 Astor Street, Chicago, Hlinois
Acnes Enmapern. Momnow....- 2.002.060 o oes cccccescec ce. R. F. D. No. 2, Box 20, Sharon, Connecticut
Mancammr Wien PROR. ooo ico ee 234 Summer Street, Bristol, Connecticut
Many: Painom oie) PEREIRA 9 en Bia SA Rain Soe 0 1 ei uh ed Haverford, Pennsylvania
ELizaBETH Eon i) | Ogee OP ui py a ayy. Sarkis URN iis Dongan Hills, Staten Island, New York
Mancanwe Jumxig Pureron..... 2.3.6.0. 819 North Charles Street, Baltimore, Maryland
Henrietta Bronston RUNYON................0-.¢cceceees 1820 West Grace Street, Richmond, Virginia
Mary. Bi ScgreN mn) vo ce ee ile Uae Es 258 Riverside Drive, New York City
Wiarewets See ce ee eas 130 West Seventieth Street, New York City
Dow May Sian, poo ok ee a 309 South Fifth Street, Reading, Pennsylvania
RATHERING ESRI RAW 8 oe Re ee: Glenshaw, Pennsylvania
MARTHA SHEEDOM ee OA a 6315 Walnut Street, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania
Tuma Bronerrm Saroes. 0.6000. a aes 1623 Woodland Avenue, Des Moines, Iowa
JAN FRANCES SOUTER WICK: 6200000060 (oo, 31 Pierrepont Street, Brooklyn, New York
GUADYS, SPR ek rs ae aceite een ae 0 1101 Forest Avenue, Evanston, Illinois
Lonim Srncumn 00) oo a ee 72 West Johnson Street, Germantown, Pennsylvania
CYNTHIA JARDEN, STHVENE?. 260060) a 206 Ridgwood Road, Roland Park, Maryland
SHAN, WEDDERBURN) STIRLING 00) 0035 506 ha ee 1616 Prairie Avenue, Chicago, Illinois
Aricn STRATTON ies. Ga ol ee 305 North Thirty-fifth Street, Philadelphia
Haren Himnon Part ee ei The White House, Washington, District of Columbia
CATHARINE LOUIsH THRRY. 6.066000 310 West One Hundred and Fifth Street, New York City
MARGARET THAGCKRAW 082 GE A ie ge oth eee Westmont, Johnstown, Pennsylvania
orien: VEARION PROMAB oy ee Ue NOE eta Nee 302 Walnut Street, Philadelphia
CATHERINE REICHENBACH 'THOMPSON.................205- 312 Frederick Avenue, Sewickley, Pennsylvania
Marsonm La Monta THOMPSON GE: ONe6 50 be ee ed Hamilton Court, Philadelphia
GERTRUDE. AMY VENNIR i so Ss es Vee 306 West Seventy-fifth Street, New York City
BEARY DIGGMAM FON OM yoga) Ob. Sut be doa tae Wointady cece peg es Gi giees phat coeds - Onarga, Illinois
Isanet, DARLINGTON’ VINCENT .0 6 a 1055 Fifth Street, Minneapolis, Minnesota
MAnsogii FANNIE: WALTER Oo poU Ue ees ie! 115 West Fifty-seventh Street, New York City
Marearet Dovetas Warner (Mrs. Donald Pritchard Smith)...... 60 Hodge Road, Princeton, New Jersey
LOUWISW: WATSON] 2c oe es es a wal ok The Macon, Portsmouth, Virginia
CARLOUIA: WEEE eee ey es Ree 92 Avenue Henri Martin, Paris, France
12 East Seventieth Street, New York City
148 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-TWELVE
L’ Envot
Our book is done! A Comedy at best,
Some tales retold, dull mirth, ill suited jest.
We wager that a score of you have yawned,
Or sighed to see our antics so prolonged.
And yet we’ve played to please ourselves—Goodnight,
Follies of ninetcen twelve—the Finis write.
M. B. A.
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ESTABLISHED 1865
Bi
Peabody, Houghteling & Co.
Dealers in Railroad, Public Cor-
poration and Industrial Bonds and
Chicago City Mortgages, consti- |
tuting a most conservative class of
SECURITIES
Big
INVESTMENT BANKERS
WY
105 SOUTH LA SALLE STREET CHICAGO
Caterer and Confectioner |
|
|
PROGRAMS
BILL HEADS
TICKETS
LETTER HEADS
ANNOUNCEMENTS |
BOOKLETS, ETC.
JOHN Bs Bape weit
Printing
915 Lancaster Ave., Bryn Mawr, Pa.
(Next to the Public School)
HENRY B. WALLACE
Successor to Charles W. Glocker, Jr.
22 and 24 Bryn Mawr Ave.
Telephone
The Agnes Irwin School
2011 DeLancey Place
Philadelphia
Will open for the forty-third year on
Thursday, September 26, 1912
Sophy Dallas Irwin, Head-Mistress |
HENRY R. HALLOWELL & SON”
Hot-House and Imported Fancy Fruits |
The Real Estate Trust Co. Building
Broad and Chestnut Streets
Philadelphia |
| All kinds of Repair Work, Cleaning and Pressing, Suits Remodeled
|
|
F. W. CROOK
} Ladies’ Tailor
Maker of SUITS, COATS and RIDING HABITS
_ 908 Lancaster Ave., Bryn Mawr, Pa.
Bell Keystone Telephone |
JOHN S. TROWER
Caterer and Confectioner
|
| 5706 Main Street Germantown, Phila.
Phones: Bell, Spruce 4387
Keystone, Race 20-47 |
FRANK L. POLITES
| === Flower Shop=== |
| 1418 Chestnut Street
Philadelphia |
| MISS ETHEL WALKER’S SCHOOL for GIRLS —
Lakewood, New Jersey
Prepares for Bryn Mawr and other Colleges.
Special facilities for riding and all outdoor facilities.
Particular attention given to girls under fourteen.
| Head of School, Ethel M. Walker, A.M., Bryn Mawr College. Address, Box 170
| )
ole
R a % R
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Works of the !
Chicago Malleable Castings Co.
a a es AR cee aaa ae 5
ee, cat eee Onee ; *
CHICAGO, ILLINOIS 7
Me o
oem emote
The Bryn Mawr Ladies’ and
Gentlemen’s Tailors
Cleaners and Dyers Gloves Cleaned
CHAS. SNYDER
.§ Bryn Mawr 38-A
Phones: } Bryn Mawr 175-A
807 Lancaster Avenue |
Interstate Iron & Steel Company
Makers of
BAR IRON
AND STEEL
East Chicago, Ind.
Works {ierenriaee. Ohio
Chicago, Ill. —
|
|
|
|
|
I
|
}
HOSKINS’
SOCIAL AND BUSINESS
| STATIONERY
, 904-906 CHESTNUT ST., PHILADELPHIA
ALBANY, N. Y.
MAKERS OF
CAPS, GOWNS 4x2» HOODS |
TO THE AMERICAN COLLEGES
FROM THE ATLANTIC TO THE PACIFIC
Correct Hoods for all Degrees
Rich Gowns for Pulpit and Bench
| COTRELL & LEONARD
|
|
|
|
— Ohe Bryn Mawr National Bank
Bryn Mawr, Pa.
| Capital, $50,000 Surplus, $50,000
Undivided Profits, $22,746.72
A Regular Banking Business Transacted
We Pay Interest on Time Certificates of Deposits
| Z , President . H. RAMSEY, Vice-President
| JESSE B. MATLACK, Presid W. H. RA Vice-Presid
1 J. W. MATLACK, Cashier
Batter! Ki
| e °
_ Confectionery: of the Best Quality
| LADIES’ LUNCH ROOM
| 1227 Chestnut Street Philadelphia
Ghe
HANSBURY STUDIO OF PHOTOGRAPHY
914 Chestnut Street
Philadelphia
Special Rates to Bryn Mawr Students
|
Hye. REESE
Dealer in the Finest Quality of
Beef, Veal, Mutton, Lamb
AND SMOKED MEATS
1203 Filbert Street
Bell Phone: Filbert 29-49 PHILADELPHIA
Keystone Phone: Race 253
Prescriptions compounded by Graduates in
Pharmacy only, at all hours, and absolute ac-
curacy guaranteed.
Night Bell promptly answered. Prescriptions
delivered promptly by railroad or messenger.
FRANK W. PRICKITT, ROSEMONT :
pido: Se in a BRYN MAWR } —
Tl
|. About Prescriptions |
Saued Fridays i in One Week
_ Fitzgerald’s Terminal Market |
| EAST WALL PHILADELPHIA
Sea Food in All Varieties
| Special discount to Hotels,
Special attention to sub-
Institutions, etc.
urban patronage
a a a aerial
Re Re
Wy WZ
Wy WZ
: AR :
WY WZ
& fe
WZ i WZ
| | DUTCH&co.| |
ug WZ
4 Ww
WY Furnishers of YZ
Wy WZ
Soe he
| Blazers os Old Clothes u
N14
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Bi for petite and tall ee
£ oung ladie a
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NV Wy
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ANA INNS Se SN
DOOOOO00000 eomapereesquenaty a
LADIES TAILORS
and
HABIT MAKERS
DOOOOOOOOROORRoooooponoao
1126 Walnut Street
Bell Phone
Walnut 3185
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“TRNKA & KOLAR.
Philadelphia |
Summer travel Risks |
IN ANY PART OF THE WORLD
Loss of Personal Effects from any cause —
Damage to Automobiles
Personal Injuries or Loss of Life
Insured at Little Cost
LONGACRE & EWING
558 Bullitt Building
141 South Fourth Street
Philadelphia
Philadelphia’ S|
Favorite
|
|
CHOCOLA TES
9
1316 CHESTNUT STREET
|
|
| Bell Telephone
Spruce 5763
Marjorie A. Kelly
Millinery Importer
1728 Chestnut Street
Philadelphia |
|
|
|
The W. W. Sparks Scenic 5 Studio
The Only Building in the City devoted exclusively
to Scenery and Theatrical Decorations
Builders and Painters, High Art Theatrical Curtains and Scenery
Bell "Phone, Market 1357
432 N. Third Street
Philadelphia _ |
|
|
Dewelers and Siluersmiths
O°
4.E. Caldwell & Cn.
Designers and Makers of
Class Rings, Emblems
| and
Fraternity Jewelry
Makers of the Bryn Mawr 1912 Rings and
Class Cups and Saucers
O
|
| Estimates and Designs submitted upon request, —
|
| without charge.
| . |
|
|
|
|
| 902 Chestuut Street,
|
Loving Cups and Trophies —
Philadelphia |
P. N. Degerberg
|
Ladiew Cailur
al
Apron Skirts
Habits
Auto Coats
1612 Chestnut Street
Philadelphia
~amPICK’S— |HAESELER|
$35 PORTRAITS.
| HIGH CLASS PHOTOGRAPHS
SUITS “AND COATS, “PEAIN’ 7 | |
AND FANCY TRIMMED. | Special Rates for Students, Classes and |
WAISTS, NECKWEAR, JABOTS, || | College Clubs |
COLLARS AND FRILLS. |
W. H. EMBICK & SONS | Haeseler Photographic Studios |
|
| :
1618-20-28 Chestnut Street | | 1513 Walnut Street |
Cut Flowers Telephone 252 A Decorative Plants | Wenger
John J. Connelly | Robes de Promenade
Wiss kee in every line the artistic spirit
it of the Parisian creators—so much so as
LC) | || to suggest the delicate refinement of specially
| imported tailored gowns.
ON’T you let us show you all the new |
eC bol Paris ideas? The pleasure is ours!
e M. WENGER
INCORPORATED
| Lancaster Avenue Rosemont, Pa. | | Woman’s Tailor and Furrier 1229 Walnut Street
RAE LE | Eee etal ine aa
| Gilbert & Bacon
1030 Chestnut Street
1328 Walnut Street
Leading
Photographers
SPECIAL RATES
to Bryn Mawr Students
Bryn Mawr College Yearbook. Class of 1912
Bryn Mawr College (author)
1912
serial
Annual
186 pages
reformatted digital
North and Central America--United States--Pennsylvania--Montgomery--Bryn Mawr
9PY 1912
Book of the class of 1912 : Bryn Mawr College.--
https://tripod.brynmawr.edu/permalink/01TRI_INST/1ijd0uu/alma99100332675...
BMC-Yearbooks-1912
Copy and paste one of these options to share this book elsewhere.
Bryn Mawr College Yearbook. Class of 1912
Bryn Mawr College (author)
1912
serial
Annual
186 pages
reformatted digital
North and Central America--United States--Pennsylvania--Montgomery--Bryn Mawr
9PY 1912
Book of the class of 1912 : Bryn Mawr College.--
https://tripod.brynmawr.edu/permalink/01TRI_INST/1ijd0uu/alma99100332675...
BMC-Yearbooks-1912