Bryn Mawr College - Bryn Mawr Yearbook (Bryn Mawr, PA)

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Quality Street J irT FT | Sophomore }ear the histrionic powers of ' 27 stood with reluctant feet between the shoals of Freshman Revue and the oncoming tide of Varsity Dramatics. Quality Street, our one offering in the name of Thespis, was selected by the play committee for its universality: there was room for almost everyone, what with the principals, the school and the ball. An appeal to romance, the News said. Romance itself, we thought. Need anyone ask why? All our favourites were there, set off by crinolines, epaulettes and curls. (Do you remember how Algy ' s behaved, not according to Barrie?) Quality Street was a real play — a moon, tears, laughter, wallpaper, chandeliers and a Mozart minuet tinkling sweetly off stage. Our emotions were purged, not by pity and terror, but by the sparkle, the charm of the actors. tut jbii LjLL- [25

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I wish you what is interesting — interesting because of the very things that also make it hard — and hard next year and the years to come. I hope there will be no hiding behind families or fortunes or personal ease. I hope that each one of you will put herself to the test of earning her own living for a round year at least, that each one of you will be tried in the fire of difficult responsibility, will not only bear but seek searching criticism, will learn how unmeaning success or failure may be. Like each preceding, the present generation thinks great things of itself. Who is like unto me, said the cub in the pride of his earliest kill. May I totter back twenty years from now and hear from the middle-aged alumnae of 1946 whether their creeds still commence with a non credo or whether they have found an object worth their constancy. By that answer, not now but then, the present generation will stand or fall. [24]

Page 32 text:

The Courtship of Miles Standish Priscilla. — Good evening, John. What have you been doing today? John. — Oh, just a little real estate transaction with the Indians. I ' ve just bought half the country south of the Potomac. There ' s nothing like the south, Priscilla. Why didn ' t you and I get off when the boat passed Maryland? Priscilla. — Really, I think that would have been most irregular. John. — Be that as it may, I ' m here tonight in the role of presidential spokes- man. You know Miles Standish, that big, strong, silent man. He ' s a sure-fire investment — if you ' re not sure, check up on it. That man is constitutionally perfect, has life insurance and is on the pension list. He ' s here to make Plymouth safe for big business. And he never says a word. That man will be president some day. Priscilla.— Why John. — And as I was saying — let ' s see, where was I? Well, of course, I don ' t believe in the future of New England; there ' s no dirt in New England, nothing but a lot of rocks like the one Miles picked to land on. Priscilla. — Why don ' t John. — I ' m going to settle in Maryland, where a man can be a plain dirt farmer and a Democrat in spite of everything. Priscilla, it seems to me that you would be a fine woman to Priscilla. — Why don ' t you John. — But be that as it may, Miles Standish isn ' t going to Maryland. No, sir! Silent Miles stepped off that little schooner and he said, This is going to be my home state. Did he ask King George for it? Did he ask the Indians for it? Did he measure it with a rule to see how much belonged to him? I ask you, did he take off his paper collar and measure it? No, sir ! he set his jaw and said, I ' m Miles Standish and this is my home state Priscilla. — Why don ' t you speak John. — While I ' m working night and day to cut short the red tape and become a millionaire by speculating on land with the Indians Priscilla. — Why don ' t you speak for John. — As I was saying, while I ' m dreaming of my Maryland, cousin Miles just settles down on his rock, and what does he do? He just starts raising melons with his dear old father. While I ' m being a pioneer, a propagandist, a protagonist, he just sits back guarding the melon interests. Priscilla. — (desperately). — Why don ' t you speak for yourself, John. 26