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

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Turple Tatchesi The Gomniutersf' a' HE Main Line paraphrase of the hackneyed proverb The Early Bird Catches the WOPH1,,, from the observations of a casual observer, might well be 'iThe Quick-Stepper Catches the Train. i' From seven--fifteen until nine every morning, commuters need not refer to their Walthams for the correct time. They need only glance through the window and, by the momentum of the people going toward the sta- tion, accurately judge the time. One or two ambling along the street indicate that it is a quarter after or a quarter before the hour, for they are the early birds. If the strollers are in closer formation, it is five minutes later. At twenty- Hve after or five minutes of, acceleration has set in and although no one is trampled on in the onslaught of black derbies and brown Stetsons, the kisses left at the cracks of the door are hasty-or entirely forgotten. Three minutes of ever increasing momentum pass while a friendly game of leap-frog is played along every curb, each commuter sincere in his desire not to be the one after the last to hop on the approaching Paoli Local. The ranks and files are thinning now and the ex-Olympians hold full sway. The train at the station is their goal. Not until the Peep- Peepi' of the starter,s whistle, do they display any indications of early training as short-stops in the Inter-Backlots Baseball Leaguef' The one after the last to board the 7:29 train finds himself it,' and the game begins again. Train chasers have no confidence in timepieces. Mr. Trotter may swallow his coffee with his eye on Big Ben but if he sees '6Miss Always- there pass by, he relaxes his vigil confident that he need not drain his coffee cup as one would who is the owner of an asbestos-lined throat. Should Mrs. Trotter, who is on sentry duty, announce that Jack Mara- thon has cleared the railing of his porch, Mr. Trotter overturns his chair in his mad rush, kisses his wife as he would a dead relative, and enters the mad race. In the evening the scene shifts to the city and everything is much the same except the amount of danger involved! There is not as much room in the city as in the suburbs, for racing, and, for some unexplain- able reason, the traffic cop is generally against one. If Mr. Trotter has paid the last premium due on his insurance policy, he blithely leaps over a few 'cyellowsi' and with his free hand holds back a persistent Ford. Otherwise he stands at City Hall until a sufficient crowd of similarly disposed people have collected, and together they charge across to the 5:13 express. - KATHERINE KEELER. 13

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Turple Taiches qJO6772.S' by BETTY DAVIS I wonder why we rnaldens plead Wlth Love to come and llfl us rest And deck our empty hearts w1th wreaths For hun who 1S no gentle guest We cannot smlle wlthout thls Love And 5 et when we belleve us blest VVe keep the nlght awake w1th slghs For LOX e IS not a gentle guest Dearest whX do I loX e X ou I llke brown eves and X ours are grey Are rnlsts of grev and speak love words That l1ps l1ke yours could never say I hke curled ha1r and yours IS stra1ght Is Stl a1ght and straggles down vour brow That IS so pale Oh Whv does fate I alwaX s felt that Is would loX e A man whose hand were b1 own and strong Were strong enough to grasp the earth But yours are th1n and whlte and long There IS no strength 1n them I know They do not want to hold the world Dearest I do love X ou so But Whv? QA Torzfrazt A broad straw hat Wlth velvet band A plnafore of blue A wee pug nose Wlth freckles crossed Llke leay es all specked YV1tl'l dew Two neat brown bra1ds stra1ght down the back The would be curls alas' A broad proud grrn as rf to say I III ten gears old and past BECKY TARWATER we l- 4 5 , . I 7 . 7 , . p , 7 ' . y , J 1 by P U I J S Uv , . , m Torce me to love you so? 7 7 1 9 f I , X , f ' , 'Q 7 . 7 r X , L , 3 I I 7 5 . , . 3 9 3 CC 7 Y 99 , .

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Tzzrjolei Tatches Teing Homesick T'S THE queerest feeling, not to be homesick this year. I can't quite make it out. Last year one had only to look at me to bring forth tears, many, many tears! And on those occasions, which were frequent, I would always find myself encountered by a dozen or more conforting people telling me not to cry, little girl. There's no reason for being homesickf, No, of course there isnft, but at the time one might just as well have told me not to die. Such advice sounded just about as logical to me! It was on those occasions that I felt very much in sympathy with murderers. I knew exactly how they felt before killing a victim. I wanted so much to kill all these people who tried to comfort me, when I didnit want to be comforted. This year things are different. There has been a great change. I feel that the school is mine. And why not? The teachers are not terrifying, as they were last year, I have my same nice room with the seven windows, and try as I may I havenit been able to squeeze out a single tear,-in fact-I ind it ever so hard to suppress loud giggles in the most unappropriate places. The only thing that worried me at the beginning of the year was the attitude of some of those new girls. I certainly did wish theyid get over being homesick. There really wasnit any reason for it, you know. J OANNE PENDLETON. I dreamt I dwelt in marble halls With high arched ceilings, Wide stairs descending And a thousand crystal tapers burning, Knights and ladies, music, dancing, Rustling silks, and gay plumed fans, Flattery and tinkling laughter, ruby wine. Outside in the cool dark garden I sat. Trim hedges sheltered drowsy birds, And the pale marble moon Shed a pale marble light Which cast fantastic shadows On the pale marble fountain And turned its little spray Into miniature waterfalls. Trees stood out like giant shadows, And the perfume of the rose garden Suffocated me with its sweetness. I was submerged as in a silver sleep of moon-mist, My identity hidden in the plashing fountain, I was a statue in pale marble. V I MARY LOUISE CHAMBERLAIN. 14, Q l l 4 l l