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

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Turple Tczzfches of hearmg the nat1ve ch1ldren speak raprd French Canad1an as they gaze at me and my companrons wh1le we v1rtually buy the l1ttle squatty stores out of stock Thxs co1n ghtters wrth the romance and adventure of Quebec for me EX erx where memorles confront me and often the warmth of remem brance warms the recesses of mv heart where they are stored Does th1s seem unusual when each sc1nt1l1at1ng co1n seems to say to me I am the rose s soul The breast of the orrole I am the rarnbow s arc The star on the breast of the dark W1th the first blush of morn I am each day reborn? CA'r11ER1NE HARTMAN vfllmost cz from HERE IS somethmg about the word tw1n whlch always causes shlvers to run up and down my back It 1S not that I have any speclal d1Sl1kC for the word It IS I suppose as good as any other word 1n our language but lt 1S the memor1es wh1ch It br1ngs to me that cause my dlstaste for lt When I look back on my ch1ldhood I see two very l1ttle grrls of almost the same SIZE one perhaps a trrfle taller than the other Both are wearmg' Wh1t6 dresses and p1nk bows are perched on the top of therr freshly Saying What lovely twms' Two frowns 1mmed1ately gather on the clnldren s faces and they look exceedmgly unpleasant The lady passes on unmlndful of the great cr1me she has commlttcd 1n callrng the ch1l dren tw1ns for you see there was exactly fourteen months between these two l1ttle glrls and both secretly revolted at the thought of havmg any closer connectron than that of srster w1th the horrrd l1ttle g1r1 beslde l1er who drew half of people s attent1on away from her That IS only one mstance of what I suffered 1n my chlldhood from the rnnocent word tw1n Sxnce I have grown older I have garned a l1ttle self control 1n th1s respect and I can even smlle sweetly when people call me Helen but under my SIHIIC 1S st1ll hrdden the dlSl1kC of belng contrnually confused w1th someone else Perhaps It IS the feehng that I lack 1nd1v1dual1ty or maybe only the same feehng wh1ch one of the horr1d l1ttle g1rls suHered but whatever It may be I should never w1sh anyone the mrsfortune of bemg almost a tw1n LOUISE WILSON 10 . . - . , C , ' , . T 1 ' ' - , . 'it 3 ' 5 . 3 ' s 9 C a A S 93 ' ' if ' 33 ' , . . . Q . . , , 9 1 . , I 1 , . , . . I combed heads. A lady is smiling sweetly, patting the1r heads and , cc . ',, . . ' 9 ' o , . . . . . - S y . , . , . . . . . , . 3 s ' gg - ,, . . u . , - 9 .. ,, . . . . . . I 9 cc - - . ,, I , . . 9 9 ' ' SC ' 3,

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Turple Tatclzes My 6Diary I POEM which I especially love, by Sara Teasdale, expresses exactly my conception of an ideal diary: Into my heart's treasury I slipped a coin That time cannot take Nor a thief purloin,- Oh, better than the minting Of a gold-crowned king Is the safe-kept memory Of a lovely thingf' A diary does not mean to me a mere leather-bound book in which one records the daily events of one's life. My diary means ininitely more to me. It is a treasury, in my estimation, not only unbound but unbounded, more spacious than any book can be. It is a secretly guarded recess in my heart which is already filled with many golden coins, golden memories, if you like, untarnished by the hand of ruthless Time. . In my treasury I have accumulated precious coins from various placesg some are old, others new, they vary in size and value, but all add to that invaluable hoard which glistens with the radiance of joy, or weighs heavily with the gravity of sorrow. It is with an almost miserly love that I delve into the depths of that golden fortune and fondly pore over the innumerable dates. One coin which now attracts my eye, dated 1921, brings to my vision the massive peaks of the White Mountains. It recalls a trip to Mt. Washington with its snow-capped summit, the mirror-lakes below. Rising above the trees, outlined against a turquoise sky, I clearly discern the rugged features of the Great Stone Facef, If you have never seen this gorgeous play- ground of Mother Nature's in New Hampshire, you can scarcely appre- ciate the ardor with which I feel the golden touch of this coin. Here and there I see the familiar edges of various coins which glow with the excite- ment of a visit to Washington, with the eagerness of school-life, with the beauty of the scenes of The Wild Rosef' and the remembrance of the golden days of vacation. G-littering beside a golden heap, I see a coin whose stamp is obviously foreign. As I hold it before my eyes there is reflected all the beauty of the Canadian woods, with their rivers, its rapids, and waterfalls. I can point out almost every landmark along the banks of the Magog as I paddle by again, in a gliding canoe. On my right and left are birch and pine forests, with barren spots here and there marking the sweep of a forest fire. Now cleared lands come into view and finally a village appears. I feel again the comforting assurance of rest after a long day's paddle, and the refreshing amusement 9

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Turple Tcztches The Loneliness of Tuck f C ITANIAU and Oberon,'-the very words suggest moonlight nights, silver wings, soft music and toad-stools. But Puck makes us think of a delightful mingling of a dew-drenche bank of cowslips and a blue bowl, full of cream, on a warm hearth, in other words, all the fascinating beauty of fairy-land, . with just a touch of common mortality, so slight a touch, and yet so charming! This, to me, is the loveliness of Puck. What a figure this Puck must have been in the court of King Oberon, as he stood in the center of a fairy ring telling of his mischievous experi- ences during the day, making the little king laugh until the courtiers feared he would split his royal vest! Yes, Puck must have had a delight- ful sense of humor, which is quite unusual for fairies, for although they are always gay, they really have nothing to laugh about. But it would be very unfairy-like not to be happy and so like us mortals, they just are. But Puckis gaiety is a really true appeal to the sense of humor, more human than fairy-like. ' We shall never forget his merriment over his mistake in putting the juice of a certain herb, given him by Oberon, on the eyes of the wrong lover, thus causing a most serious entanglement of heart-strings. This however, was a very convenient mistake, for without it, there would have been no plot and a play without a plot has not yet been invented! But Puck could never allow this sad situation to be overdone, and so with his comforting words: Jack shall have Jill, Naught shall go ill, The man shall have his mare again, and all shall be well, the sad lovers are placed again in their right channels, and all ends well, thanks to Puck! As a household fairy, he must have been a gem! Think of plac- ing a bowl of cream by the hearth, and going to bed with the satisfaction of knowing that by morning one's corn would be threshed and in the barn, or one's house swept clean-all for the price of a mere bowl of cream. j Yes Puck, we love you best, because you so delightfully mingle the beauty of far-off fairy-land with a taste of mortality. You fas- cinate us with the curious quaint combination of fairy loveliness and house-wife carelessness, when you say: I am sent with broom before, , To sweep the dust behind the doorf' - ' BECKY TARWATER. 11