Haverford College - Record Yearbook (Haverford, PA)

Page 131 text:

for 1911. His speech at the Captain ' s dinner was a horrible affair; — few of the fellows knew that he was attempting one — but he insists he did. With the opening of our last year the cricket prospects are bright. The class XI will have no changes and the first XI has made a good start. But, after all, the greatest cricket boast of 1911 is her undefeated Wogglehug team. On this historic team will be remembered the masterly playing of Rossie, Wink and Dick, Ronald Christie, Worthington and Russell, Cousin Will and Gib Smith — all of whom have left us. But the team is still strong, for Alan, Arnold, Jay, Dan, Towse and Shep still show wonderful form at all times and punch the ball over the ropes on Babbitt Field without the slightest effort. 123

Page 133 text:

(FI|P i txuttfavhxtxtt HS a class we have never been humbugs enough to hug any literary illusions to our bosoms ; there is not one of us who could tell a Muse from a mud-lark if he should meet them strolling arm in arm. But during the term of our pilgrimage here we have perpetrated various literary nimblenesses in the garb of poetry or prose. The more racy or the more impossible of these were privately circulated, the rest claimed public attention either in the classic pages of The Haverfordiaii. or in the more roman- tic and ungrammatical columns of the Weekhj and the Middle Barclay Squirt. Since there is scarcely one of us who at some time or other has not stirred up his brains in his inkwell and sat him down to dash off a sonnet or a roundelay, we must needs give lady Poetry the front seat in our recollections. Some time in Sophomore Year, Lucius Shero was bitten with a sort of moon- germ ; already, we may suppose, he had fallen under the spell of some terrestrial damsel. Forthwith he prayed in ponderous iambics that the moon might .sail serenely over the lady ' s head which was far far away. Astronomical conditions remaining unchanged, he addressed his next flight of poesy to Her herself, and in melting heroic couplets entreated her to hearken to his sighs. Arnold Post was next smitten with the phrensie. using the sonnet as the vehicle for his passion ; a vehicle which in his facile hands became as dainty and as supple as a one-legged wheel-barrow. His worst lines are: The .joy of nature ' s silence is so sweet. Which kept from parlous paths my toddling feet. his best : Last night I spent dreaming r)f heart ' s desire. And then 1 got up and built the kitchen fire. Alas! ' twas ever thus. But the subtle will ob.serve that there is not much dilTerence between Post at his best and at his wor.st. 125