Vassar Faith.

Vassar Faith.
544.1

With my faith in the destiny of woman’s higher education thus rudely shattered,
I rested for a moment near an open window of
Main, from which floated the clear tones of a musical
Freshman, who seemed to be practicing the class hymn:

“Oh, Martha’s back from Vassar,”
Said Farmer James McCassar:
“O Martha, come into the house and mix a batch of bread.”
But Martha’s accents fluttored
As she murmured, as she stuttered:
“I have studied the satanic Ways of bacilli organic,
And it throws me in a panic, Pa, to mix a batch of bread.”

Chorus:
At Vassar-oh, at Vassar-oh,
That’s what we learn at Vassar!
We love our Alma Mater so
We do not like to sass ‘er.
We have a superstition
That for female erudition
There’s nothing like the damsel with the dear old Vassar V.

“Oh, Martha’s back from Vassar,”
Said Farmer James McCassar:
“O Martha, go out to the barn and milk the brindle cow.”
But Martha cried: “Oh, bother!”
As she faced her poor old father,
“With golf I love to tussle
And with basket-ball to hustle-
But I haven’t got the muscle to subdue the brindle cow.”
Chorus: At Vassar-oh, at Vassar-oh, etc.

“Oh, Martha’s home from Vassar!”
Cried the angry James McCassar:
“O Martha, take yer study-books and don’t come home no more!”
So the maiden in contrition
Got a typist-girl’s position,
Wed a millionaire named Harris
Who, lest poverty embarrass,
Made his wife a millionairess.
And she’s ne’er been heard of more.

Chorus:
At Vassar-oh, at Vassar-oh,
That’s what we learn at Vassar!
We love our Alma Mater so
We do not like to sass ‘er.
Learning’s road is rough and stony;
But for golden matrimony
There’s nothing like the maiden with the dear old Vassar V.

“Oh, Martha’s back from Vassar,”
Said Farmer James McCassar:
“O Martha, go out to the barn and milk the brindle cow.”
But Martha cried: “Oh, bother!”
As she faced her poor old father,
“With golf I love to tussle
And with basket-ball to hustle-
But I haven’t got the muscle to subdue the brindle cow.”
Chorus: At Vassar-oh, at Vassar-oh, etc.

“Oh, Martha’s home from Vassar!”
Cried the angry James McCassar:
“O Martha, take yer study-books and don’t come home no more!”
So the maiden in contrition Got a typist-girl’s position,
Wed a millionaire named Harris
Who, lest poverty embarrass,
Made his wife a millionairess.
And she’s ne’er been heard of more.

Chorus:
At Vassar-oh, at Vassar-oh,
That’s what we learn at Vassar!
We love our Alma Mater so
We do not like to sass ‘er.
Learning’s road is rough and stony;
But for golden matrimony
There’s nothing like the maiden with the dear old Vassar V.

Sullivan Scott man chart
When she journeyed from Vassar to stay
Looked calmly around
O’er the practical ground
And asked in a logical way.
“Does feminine intellect pay?”
But, being a maiden of mind,
She started, in humbleness frank,
Doing odd jobs and chores
For confectioners’ stores
Till her salary grew,
And the first thing she knew
She rose to responsible rank
And they made her cashier of a bank.

O say, little birdie, O say!
Does feminine intellect pay?
Can a maiden so frail Compete with the
Male In practical work of the day?

And while at her desk as cashier
A burglar named Horrible Hank
Walked into the place
With a mask on his face
Intent upon robbing the bank.
(His criminal record was dank.)
But, ere he could call for his pals,
The maiden seized Hank by a limb,
And, by using jiu-jits’,
Soon reduced him to bits,
Then, spite of his squeals,
Hung him up by the heels
(A trick she had learned in the gym.),
And that was the finish of him.

So, because of her coolness and nerve,
To the President’s son she was wed.
She was easily boss,
For when he was cross
She spanked him and sent him to bed.
(He was proud of her muscle, he said.)
And seventeen children she had
Who grew to be hearty and hale.
Some went to Vass-ar,
And some to Bryn Mawr
To carry the fame
Of the family name.
(But some, who were hopelessly
Male, Were silently packed off to Yale.)

O say, little birdie, O say! D
oes feminine intellect pay?
Has a maiden a minil
Of the practical kind
In the difficult tasks of the day?