I’m to be in the “mob” of Second Hall Play. It is to be J.M. Barrie’s “Little Minister”. I tried out for the part of the little boy, Micah Dow, but I didn’t get myself accepted, though the part lay between one other girl and myself. As a sort of sympathetic recompense, I was asked by the chairman today if I cared to be in the [...] and I said “surely” - so there you are.
Miss Chittendon is much gratified with the work I am doing for her, and wants me to play at a reception in N.Y. Saturday afternoon the 29th of March. She wants me to play that terrific 6#’s [Chopin] Impromptu that I’ve been
There! I reckon I’ve blown my own horn enough for awhile and will tell you some of the things that have happened recently at college. Friday evening we were given a wonderful lecture on the Yellowstone Park by Prof. Shattuch, of the geology department. It was illustrated with colored photographs and at times with moving-pictures of the party of Vassar girls that he took on a camping trip thru there last summer. Saturday morning I worked from nine until twelve-thirty in the library and then Glad came for me to go to the Inn for lunch with
her and Norma and Howard (Lyall) who was up here to see Glad. In the afternoon I went to German play - very good indeed, although I understood just about a dozen sentences in the whole thing. Saturday evening I went to a big tea given by one of the Sophomores for her visiting sister-in-law, and went to various and several impromptu parties varying all the was from mere “chocolate debauches” as Dr. Thelberg calls them, to a bridge-party across the hall - I served, not being particularly proficient in the act of bridge-playing. Well, anyway Freddie Mosscrop - whom you met at the theater one night - and Betty Cutter 1912 - who is
I can’t remember whether or not I told you that old Mrs. Murdoch died at Christmas time - anyway - she did.
Please tell me if you think of anything I can make - preferably embroider - for your birthday. It has to be started early here, you know, for my sewing [afaires] are few and far between, even if I did darn seven pairs of stocking Saturday afternoon. All kinds of love, dear, Muriel
Where's Dad? I’m going to write him tomorrow