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

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Turple Tcztches I deal Guests HAVE built a little house. Because it is spring there is a soft fuzz of grass in the garden and blossoms on the roof. The East WVind comes and cries silveryf tears down my window panes. I welcome her but she cannot stay. Soon it will be summer. There will be butterflies in the garden and sunshine on the roof. The South Wind will dance merrily between the hollyhocks, right up to my front door, breeze in and play with my white curtains, and when he is tired he will waft out the kitchen door, taking with him the spicy smell of ginger cookies. Then autumn will come. There will be leaves in the garden and frost on the roof The VVest Wind will come sweeping through the trees, turning the leaves to scarlet and the grapes to purple. He will not come into my house for he likes better to blow dust down the dry road and dull the swaying golden-rod. Winter will come. There will be snow in the garden and snow on the roof. The North Wind will come and rattle the shutters with his long icy fingers. He will moan in the bare branches and try to frighten me, but I shall light a fire in my little house and its glow will mock the North Wind. I shall laugh at him and remember other winds. - REBEKAH SHOPE. To One I Loved You stole into my heart With the first November windg And you stayed there Throughout all the whistling cold Of Winter. Like a leaping, yellow flame You stayed there And tried to warm my frigid heart. But when the warm spring breeze Swept softly throu.gh my heart And melted it, it swept your flame away, And left my heart a cinder: A warm and crumbling ash. BETTY DAVIS, S

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Turple Tatches 0477, Experiment NN decided to rent an apartment and to experiment in furnishing it on a limited amount of money. As it was an efficiency apartment, of one room and bath, the one room served a two- fold purpose. In the evening a door was opened and out from the wall swung a hanging bed, which, when lowered to the Hoor made a most comfortable sleeping compartment. Early in the morning the room went through a complete metamorphosis, the exit of the bed being the signal for the entrance of the living room. Draperies of blue and gold print were hung and cocoanut shells holding tiny pots of trailing ivy hung from the window. A couch, the iirst of many purchases at an uantique' shop, was made more inviting by its new skirt of black sateen topped off with many gay colored pillows. Aquaint-looking mirror and chest of drawers were the next acquisitions. After they had received a new coat of red lacquer, they lost their quaint, demure look, becoming really arrogant and loudly clamoring for attention. A pair of reed chairs, quite subdued in color, succeeded in softening their clamor and reducing their arrogance to a gentle appeal. Bayberries hung from the wall, conveying an amateur attempt at artistic carelessness. One branch hanging between a pair of apple-green Sconces must have looked particularly realistic, because a little boy, visiting with his mother, inquired if they had grown there. Two rugs were next bought, one a lovely hooked rug, the other, by necessity, a rather unlovely Wilton. Bright colored hats were bought for the wrought iron lamps which, as if to show their appreciation for their new bonnets, shed a soft, golden glow over the entire room. As a desk was necessary and the wherewithal', lacking, a large flat-top trunk was enlisted, its identity completely concealed behind a cover of gay print. Brass Candlesticks proudly supporting a pair of blue candles, a sweeping pheasant pen, and a blue desk set, made this nook a most inviting retreat in which to send off neglected missives. An electric waflie iron was the one luxury indulged in because Ann hasarecipe for delicious waffles and is expecting her school friends to call. However, a word of warning is necessary, Ann may not be so fortunate in experimenting with waffles as she was with her apartment. ICATHARINE KEELER. Tearls The string is snapped And one by one, the pearls, Perfect spheres of a frosted rainbow, Drop off. And then- A lady sighs and stoops to pick them up Like broken bits of fragile dreams. BECKY TARWA TER.

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Turple Tcztclzes p SHOULD so love to be able to play some musical instrument, piano or piccolo, I shouldn't care. But alas, after eighteen years of attempts I am sensible enough to realize my limitation and stop attempting the impossible. Be Popular Overnight! the advertisements say. Send for our three-hour course of piano playing and surprise your friends. , How wonderful it would be if I secretly sent for the magic formula, studied it intensely Saturday night and then, the next afternoon at the musicale, if I walked nonchalantly up to the piano and did Chopin as he had never been done before! But such triumphs are not for me, for the advertisement always states Cin fine printj: Send only nine dollars and ninety-eight cents with the coupon below and the world of music is yours ! I have never in my life invested nine dollars and ninety-eight cents in music and I donit believe I ever shall. My family have always at- tended to that end of it, somehow, and now as they are disgusted and refuse to spend any more money on 1ny music I shall never be able to amaze my friends with my astonishing and sudden musical ability. I have looked carefully at all the advertisements, even those concerning saxophones, and they are all nine dollars and ninety-eight cents, or else it is necessary to invest much more in an instrument to play on. So I must always be the audience, it is-inevitable. I must always be the applauder of some child protege or Rachmaninoff. I can never have the magical power and joy of summoning the music fairies at my will, to soothe and exalt roomfuls of adoring listeners. I can never soothe my own troubled mind by running restless fingers over a keyboard. I am doomed, for I haven't nine dollars and ninety-eight cents. BETTY DAVIS Hero W orship Y EARLIEST admiration was pinned on the ashman-because he was so very tall, because he was so very strong, because he could climb up the dumb waiter and because he didnit look like anyone else I had ever seen before. My second hero was my brother. He would be Napoleon some day and lead armies, and fight bravely and win beautiful medals. He would come home and bend his knee to me and I would take his sword and kiss his forehead. My third hero was Uncle Fred who drove everywhere in a shining noisy red engine on four wheels trimmed with shiny brass. It was Uncle Fred who had the diamond which contained secret magic and it was Uncle Fred that all the ladies worshiped. VVhy not I? 9