College of New Rochelle - Annales Yearbook (New Rochelle, NY)

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wrong! And when did something fail to go wrong around the Meet? Didn’t the other team have an extra practice, — or in some inexplicable way, didn’t they learn our most carefully guarded secret — our mascot? As we look back, we wonder how we survived, but the sweets of our cup come later, for we won the game. Spring followed close upon the Meet, and, before we realized it, Commencement was upon us. For the first time, we experienced the haunting witchery of Commencement Week, and we can glve it no higher praise than that it was a fitting ending to a year of joy. Sophomore year brought pleasures of various kinds. First, there was the hazing, but I will modestly pass over our exploits in this line (they were chiefly in the making of g ?en caps and gowns, and the mixing of onion and molasses concoctions) and tell of others. 1 his year we quaffed from the Horatian fount, and later we learned to love “the tenderest of Roman poets, nineteen hundred years ago.” We also retained our interest in Athletics, and Fortune smiled on us again on February 26. But the fickle jade completely turned her back on us on Field Day, and gave the Freshmen the victory. 1 was a sad ending to a beautiful Commencement Week, but the following week, with its final exams. and essays, was infinitely sadder. The half-way mark of our Junior year finds us so much more serious, as we possess a clearer and a nearer view of our goal. (This year, too, has destroyed a pleasant memory of Freshman year, the associations that clung round t he Physics laboratory. Truly the associations of a place must be very strong to counteract the influence of experiments there, every Monday and Wednesday from four to six, especially in tnese spring days.) As spring is peeping out and “solvitur acris hiems’’ is frequently heard, we realize that this year she is not so welcome, for her joy has a strong trace of sadness. Commencement comes too close upon spring, and Commencement, this year, means farewell to 1911, “our enemies in Freshman year, our rivals in Sophomore year, and this year our ‘p a l s - ’ ’’ If the others miss us as we ll miss them, our college life has not been lived in vain. Page Twenty-eight

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Junior (Ulaøø fetnry (SDfftrrrø Mary Simpson President Bina Stark Vice President Gladys Deering Secretary Maisie Brady Treasurer D ID you ever try to puzzle out the secret of the charm of Freshman year? Why is it that, staid Seniors and Juniors, with a conviction of “physical, mental and moral deve ] opment” strong upon us, the thought of Freshman year always brings a peculiarly tender smile and a feeling of regret lor something lost? Is it that Memory throws a glamour over all, and we see through a haze? Perhaps, but the charm is surely there, though elusive and fleeing analysis. Our Freshman year was truly a year of delight. Arriving too long after the founding of the college to suffer any of the disadvantages which are, perforce, incident upon the entering of untried fields, we nevertheless were fortunate enough to catch sight of the Shandian coat-tails of the first college spirit as it vanished around the corner of Liberty Avenue, to give place to the stately lady who now holds sway, clad in dignified “cap and gown” (and high collar) with the Stu- dent’s Hand Book strongly in evidence. Older and more serious grown, we revere the present tutelar spirit, but we rejoice tc have known, in the first fine rapture of college life, the dispossessed Lares. Where, otherwise, would be serne of our most cherished memories? There’s the first glorious night-spread in the Physics laboratory, then there the pilfering of silver from the dining-room for another spread, with the train of broken locks, sugar-bowls, etc., incident upon the act, followed by the indignation of the mistress, who sternly expressed the opinion that the Freshman president should advise her class to ostracize the culprit. (She little knew that the “prexie” herself was the culprit.) Last and best, our own particular property, Augusta Trigonometry ! This haughty lady departed the earth January 27, 1909, and was laid at rest ’neath the willows on the campus, with appropriate funeral Services (followed by “funeral baked meats” served in the Physics laboratory) . To be sure, Freshman year was not all sunshine. I remember one dark afternoon, just before the Meet, when only lack of travelling expenses preserved us to St. Angela’s. Freshmen are always packing up to go home, when anything goes Pdge Twenty-se7)en

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g jihømøn ' (ClaøB ijtøtøry (ifftrrrø May Kenney President Mary Keating Vice President Anna Donlin Secretary Anna Cody Treasurer Autøbiøgrajilfij of tit? (Clasa øf 1313 T HERE was nothing particularly remarkable about the day on which we first opened our eyes upon the College world. It was a sunriy September day, all tinted in rich golds and reds, and scented with sweet damp grass and over- blown clover. But there is nothing remarkable about that kind of a day; that is, in the ordinary run of affairs, leaving “us” and our birthday out of the question. We were very large, much larger than our older sister, and we were the center of attraction. The girls gathered around us, asking us all sorts of queer unanswerable questions, and taking for granted an astonishing amount of local knowl- edge. How, indeed, were we to know “49” from “39” or a haughty Sophomore from a pre-occupied Junior, for were we not just born into College? But we learned, oh yes, we learned! We learned all sorts of strange things about the Sophomores; among others that they could haze us, that College li fe ineludes some studying and a few tests, that the Boston Spa — well, the Boston Spa has certain unmentionable memories of green caps and — other things ! We were admitted into various societies and clubs. How we fretted over that awful examination for the Dramatic Society, and how miserably we stuttered and choked over the “durings” and the “beens” ! And then how proud we were later, when we acted, aetually acted in “Twelfth Night,” and covered ourselves with glory. But nothing else was quite as bad as the Basket-Ball game. Gracious! how we prayed and practised and prac- tised and prayed! In vain, for were not the Sophomores the complacent and acknowledged champions in the field? So we bravely consoled ourselves with the touching quotation: “ ’Tis better to have played and lost, than never to have Page Twenty-nine