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

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zAiice in Cditorial-J and {With apologies to Lewis Carroll) COLLEGE NEWS Editor-in-Chief : S. Jones (THE QUEEN OF HEARTS) Copy Editor: N. Hart (THE KNAVE OF HEARTS) News Editor: J. E. Hannan (THE DUCHESS ' COOK) Sports Editor: S. Howe Editors: C. F. Grant E. Mackenzie (THE KING OF HEARTS) F. Porcher G. Rhoads (THE DORMOUSE) C. Robinson D. Tate-Smith F. Van Keuren Subscription Manager: D. Kalbach Business Manager: B. Lewis Assistant Business Managers: M. Berolzheimer D. Canaday Alice was beginning to get very tired of her Geology notes. What is the good of a Senior taking Geology? ' ' she asked of the left whisker of Jim- my Rhodes, that bristled in its gray paint above her desk, I don ' t care if I ' m walking on — Ouch! said a Voice from the ink- bottle, you ' ve jabbed your beastly pen-point under my left scapula! I never took Biology, replied Alice, pulling her pen out of the ink with great care; there, squirming on the end of it, was a small black Devil. Alice gently pulled her pen-point out of his shoulder-blade. Thank you, said he, giving him- self a shake that spattered Alice ' s Geology notes with ink. Then, with a twist of his six-inch tail, and paus- ing just long enough to see that the curl in it was properly graceful, he jumped off the desk and would have THE LANTERN Editor-in-Chief: C. Bredt (THE DUCHESS) Editors: M. Coxe (THE MARCH HARE) C. Bill (THE MOCK TURTLE) G. Franchot (THE WHITE QUEEN) G. Rhoads (THE DORMOUSE) E. Thompson (THE FROG FOOTMAN) Contributing Editors: M. Kidder (THE RED QUEEN) E. Wyckoff (THE MAD HATTER) Business Manager: A. Holloway Assistant Business Manager: P. Schwable been out of the Lib in another moment, if Alice had not caught him by the right foot. Just a moment, please, said Alice, who are you, and why are you in such a hurry? Printersdevillanternnewsdontst op- me, he answered all in one breath, and wriggling free, disappeared down 29

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On only one occasion has Our Mute felt definitely her mistake in being born without the gift of song. The story is a sad one. In the guerilla warfare between the Sophomores and Freshmen over the Animal of 1935, Our Mute throughout the week played a distinguished part. She did not balk at sitting up all night to listen for odd sounds of hostile action; she rose at six on Saturday to patrol the Goodhart walk. At six o ' clock that evening, as the show was being cos- tumed, she strolled behind the build- ing to take a breath of air. Sounds floated toward her on the balmy sun- set breeze. She crept over to a light- ed window, and, looking in, beheld a cluster of singing freshmen rehears- ing loudly with last-minute abandon the precious animal song. Conceive her excitement as she drank in words and tune. Alas! conceive her horror, when she realized as all was over that, however she might reproduce the words, the tune had fallen on such barren ground as to be forever lost. In an agony of insufficiency, she forthwith fled the spot, never breathing to her classmates how near the victory had been. Her secret is her own until her death: then she knows there will be found the image of the Phoenix engraven on her heart. 28

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the steps, tripping over Silence as he went. This sounds like something new, thought Alice, as she hurried after him. She caught up with him just as he was disappearing through a win- dow of the large barn on Lower Campus. Alice just managed to squeeze after him, and landed in a heap, coughing furiously, for the lit- tle stall was so full of smoke she thought all the hay in the barn must have caught fire. Have a cigarette, said a Voice. Alice peered through the haze, and saw the person who had spoken — no less than her old friend the March Hare. I don ' t see any cigarettes. said Alice, looking sadly at the pile of smouldering butts in the ash-tray, from which all the smoke was coming. There aren ' t any, said the March Hare. Go on, Duchess. Alice was about to be angry, but her rage at the March Hare ' s rude- ness gave way to amazement as the other figures in the room appeared through the smoke. At the table, with a pile of manuscripts in her lap, sat the Duchess, the Frog Footman at her feet. The White Queen was perched on the window-sill, staring pensively at her finger-nails. The Red Queen was sitting on the table, looking aggriev- edly at the Mock Turtle, who was clicking his knitting-needles too loud- ly. The Mad Hatter and the March Hare sat on the sofa, with the Dor- mouse dozing between them. Need we go on with this? said the Duchess, glaring at Alice. Go on with what? Alice asked. The Soul-Portrait of the Amphi- oxus, the White Queen explained wearily. I think it ' s very — soulful. You would! snapped the Mad Hatter. I, for one, think it ' s quite — Quite what? asked the Mock Tur- tle, as the Hatter paused. Stark! bellowed the Hatter. One must think carefully before one speaks on such debatable issues. Oh, said the Mock Turtle weakly. Of course, of course; just what I was going to remark myself, mut- tered the Dormouse, as the March Hare poked him in the ribs to wake him up. The question is, how is it going to get in? said the Red Queen. Are we to bar things on the ground of incomprehensibility ? The question is, is it to get in at all? answered the Frog Footman, who never deigned to take his eyes off the ceiling. Alice thought him rather haughty. It ' s only incomprehensible because you don ' t know how to read it, said the March Hare, looking at the Duch- ess with contempt. Then why don ' t you read it your- self? As the Duchess spoke, the paper that had been in her hand flew through the smoke, and hit the March Hare in the eye. Because you won ' t let him, the Mad Hatter half rose from the sofa —