Harcum College - Purple Patches Yearbook (Bryn Mawr, PA)

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'Turple 'Patches Market Tay in Lancaster HEN I came to Lancaster from New York where one markets ' e by telephone exclusively, the thought of carrying a basket to market was most distasteful and I was reluctant to join the procession that passed my windows on Wednesdays and Fridays. But before long my curiosity was sufficiently aroused and with a gay looking basket I soon became part of the parade. i The market is operated by Mennonite men and women. The men bring their products to market and are accompanied by the women who assist in selling. As they live some distance from the city they are obliged to rise at two oiclock in order to reach market by four in the morning. This, however, is only done twice a week. Some stalls temptingly offer golden brown cakes, iiaky pies, crisp sugar cookies and home made bread. Others are like fairy bowers, so bedecked are they with roses, phlox, gladiolas, potted ivy and ferns. At these attractive stalls one may buy exquisite bouquets of sweet peas, lilies of the valley, and, if one is particularly fortunate, some dainty tea roses. On all sides one sees numerous other stalls equally attractive, some displaying gorgeous hooked rugs and jars of red and gold preserves and jellies, silent testimonies of how these stern-faced women spend the long winter nights. One woman has taken advantage of the number of children who come to market and lures them to her stall with gingerbread men, sugar-coated camels, chocolate bears, candied birds and chickens coated with yellow frosting and stuffed with marshmallow. Anovice marketing inLancaster must observe the rules of etiquette here as she would in no other market that I know of. She must not inquire about the age of the eggsg if she does she is instantly recognized as a Hforeigneri' and is treated as such. A true Lancastrian knows the age of the eggs and if she is in doubt, passes on until she meets someone who does know. The Garden Spot of the Countryi' is enclosed in a severe looking building in harmony with its tenants. For a few hours each week, the gate to the garden is opened and its intriguing nooks and corners proudly displayed. Whatever the season one will always iind this garden bloom- ing with unusual flowers. K. KEELER. 11

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Turple Tatches N CLE HARRY and I are going to the bank to take money out of our letters of credit. We are discussing the advisability of getting enough to last us till we reach Harbin, we are exchanging commonplaces on people, experiences, and the events of the coming day. Uncle Harryis ricksha shoots ahead to avoid a long camel train,-mine stays behind for the same purpose-merely a difference in temperaments. Uncle Harryis coolie has acquired some of our Western aggressiveness, While mine is content to let nature take its course. Though I have been in Peking for a week this is the first moment that I have been fully con- scious of my surroundings. The camel train has passed on its dejected, lumbering way and I am jogging along at a pleasant pace in the general direction of Uncle Harry. The whole atmosphere seems yellow from the heavy dust and there is such a conglomeration of sound! One thinks that everything in the city is making a noise. I hear the insistent clanging of a bell on the ricksha of a high-class 'i Chinese gentleman who, clothed in a black robe and skull cap, with his hands in his sleeves, rides majes- tically on to his destination. Here is a vender of brooms, feather dusters and what not, who ambles down a hutung calling his wares in a sing-song fashion. Here are some coolies chanting a weird assortment of syllables as they haul a cartful of bricks which is much too heavy for them. I hear the different horns and calls of fiower venders, furniture makers, fan makers, lantern sellers. I see a coolie pushing along a wheelbarrow which goes squeak, squeak, squeak, squeak at every step. Again I hear the clanging bell of a ricksha. Now it seems as though all the rickshas were clanging their bells-I hear the soprano honks of two motor cars. There are some coolies squatting over a small burner just outside a bake shop and arguing gutturally-I am really seeing China, smelling China, hearing China. Oh here you aref, But where am I? Oh, we,ve caught up to Uncle Harry, of course! MARY LOUISE CHAMBERLAIN. Deep blues and purples and reds, Cover the crest of the hill, Twilight, the crafty artist, Has been splashing his color, at will. Now tired, weary, jaded, With Hngers, faltering, uncertain, r Over the canvas he draws The night, his star-veiled curtain. BECKY TARWATER io

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Tuerple Tatches S olztude I know I am alone and vet Whose finger scratches on my w1ndow pane Whose breath dlsturbs the dlm and slender flame Of my candle? Is It wmd 1n the dead tW1gS outslde my w1ndow9 Or have I a phantom for a guest tomght? I know I am alone and yet Whose shadow fl1ts so near me on the wall? Whose hand whlle passmg by has brushed my cheek In qulck caress? Is lt the bat that hovers 1n the rafters? Or would a Splrlt now commune w1th me? I know I am alone and yet 9 BETTY DAVIS HEN my grandmother was a young glrl there exlsted a charm mg fad of collectlng teacups Thev were often g1ven at partles as favors or lf one happened to be engaged to an unusually extrax agant young man there was always a pOSS1b1l1ty that when he called some evenmg he would brmg a present ln the form of a teacup It was not considered effemlnacy 1n those days for a man to wander through the shops and personally choose a glft for h1s sweet heart but rather as a thoughtful quallty 1n h1S affectlon though small lt IS very quamt My fav or1te cup IS a very frag1le one so th1n that the llght can almost shme through and dehcately sprlnkled wlth blue and 5 ellow flowers The mam attractlon however IS a dragon fly whose outspread wlngs touch the br1m of the cup and whose long body curves to form the handle Another IS decorated wlth tlny butter fl1es placed 1n qualnt prec1s1on and the one that grandfather gave grand mother IS a French teacup of whlte w1th small blueb1rds palnted here and there I suppose he chose blueb1rds for purely sentlmental reasons When I look at the cups I like to lmaglne the ladles wlth b1llow1ng hoopsklrts s1tt1ng 1n grandmother s stately parlor s1pp1ng tea That day must have been a pleasant one In whlch to l1ve wlth 1tS plcturesque settmgs and quamt customs REBEKAH SHOPE 12 3 9 9 . 7 9 9 I 3 , . . . . I My grandmothefs particular collection always lnterests me. Al- a - I '- . 7 u . . , , . - 5 3 g - . . . . , . . , .