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

Page 14 text:

So take it and browse, And be not affronted If our pens drowse, Or if they are blunted ; Yours to peruse, And yours to slander, Call it a goose, Or call it a gander ; We know you will use An absolute candor Concerning these leaves of nonsense we merrily place before you, Along with sweet lettuce, delectable, chosen food of the rabbit; Chew you as you read, O muse, with that sidelong, that breakfast habit; Though our book pall, we pray that these vegetables never bore you ! Balloons IF, in ten years ' time we have forgotten the details of Gresham ' s Law, or the terms of the Treaty of Utrecht, a trip to the public library will refresh our memories, but the homely details of our college life and our mutual reminiscences have nowhere been im- mortalized in print. This we undertake to do. Inconceivable as it now seems, the day may perhaps arrive when the excellent quality of Love ' s Pop Corn will be forgotten, and when we no longer remember the cigar store in Ardmore, which offers shelter to all those waiting for the bus, with the same unquestioning hospitality that characterizes the monasteries of the high Alps. No one, to the best of our knowledge, has ever seen an Ardmore bus schedule. We wait in the cigar store, in quiet faith hoping that a bus will soon be along; we send out scouts every so often to look down the Pike for the green and red lights of the bus. There is always a feeling of the greatest relief when it is finally sighted; the driver, when questioned, is always evasive about the schedule. And yet the Paoli Local is not very much more satisfactory. As we run to catch the train, we are invariably stopped on the wrong side of the tracks while a long and lumber- ing freight train passes by. As superstitious as African savages trying to ward off evil with Voodoo charms, we stand inactive, while the Local, beyond the freighter, pulls in and pulls out. In any case, we mistrust the Paoli. Only the most scintillating intellects among us have been able to master the succession of stations between Broad Street and Bryn Mawr, and the conductor ' s pronunciation of Wynnewood! has misled a number of us into disembarking there. It will probably remain an inscrutable mystery until the

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Hymn to the Huntress Hare O goddess of learning these chaste leaves we lay at your feet O vestal muse we bring you these heads of lettuce Anointed with cheese and oil, take them, these green remembrances Of love we have borne you at twilight, take them and eat. And when you have chewed Their haunting charm, When brain is renewed And heart is warm, And you know the glory The glory of lettuce, The same old story, The story of lettuce, Then, sorry sorry, But let us, goddess Out of our heads that have knocked together Make you a book to be yours forever. Ask us why, or ask us when We took upon us these powers of pen ; And we will answer by singing the praise Of nine hundred-sixty salad days. Short our answer, short the reason: One faithful herb remained in season. Desserts have come, desserts have gone, But the greenery has gone on. O sweet sweet so lovely lettuce! Bless the hour that did beget us That yon pristine crisp was ours, That it has preserved our powers For this great task of bewitting Eighty critics at one sitting, A supercilious knowing crew; And to please you, goddess, too, Would be for us no banking holiday Even if we wrote a mile-a-day.

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end of time, why it is so easy to get to Ardmore, and so difficult to get home. (An even deeper mystery, is the question of who collects the nickels from the pay telephones in each hall; not only who, but when and how?) In the village there have been many changes. In contrast to the dignified marble silence of the new Post Office, we can remember the old, and less resplendent building, that used to stand opposite the fire-house. It was a very convenient location, right next to the Five and Ten, so that we could attend to all our errands by going to the village and coming home over the back (or inland) route, and the overhead bridge. And in the old days, the Greeks, alias The Bryn Mawr Confectionery, alias The Meeting Place of the Main Line, was an establishment sans pareil. Now Meth ' s infringes on the Greek ' s clientele, and places such delicious looking papier-mache wedding cakes, and enticing cinnamon buns in the window, that Mike has been forced to redecorate with potted palms and aspidistras. While the village changes, the Inn goes on undisturbed. They have threatened us at various times with redecorating projects, changes in management, and other alarming plans, but whether or not these revolutionary schemes have been carried out, is a problem that can never be solved by the eye alone. The Inn looks the same as it did Freshman Year; the management ' s desk has been moved from corner to corner, and pink ruled order slips have been substituted for white, but the hot-dogs and hamburgers, the spinach and fudge cake, are of the same degree of excellence as of old. In the Lean Years, when we have given up our desserts for some charity, the Inn has been a Lambert Street Sugar Plum Tree, and we have wasted our substance there, and indulged our sweet teeth. In the spring, we have the 6:30 a.m. fire drill outdoors, and we waste hours sun- bathing. We take long walks, and the Circuit is a route that has proven so popular, that we feel it should be immortalized in map form. Rodni. Denbigh Dalton Wyndhar Vfey Sod Cu v« K