912, The Wellesley College Press Board was organized
by Mrs. Helene Buhlert Magee, of the class of 1903. The board
is the outgrowth of an attempt by the college authorities, in 1911,
to regulate the work of its budding journalists. Up to this time
the newspapers had been supplied, more or less intermittently and
often unsatisfactorily, with items of college news by students
engaged by the newspapers and responsible only to them. The
college now appoints an official reporter from its own faculty,
who sends all Wellesley news to the newspapers and is consulted
by the regular reporters when they desire special information.
The Press Board, organized by this official reporter, consists of
seven students reporting for Boston papers and two for those in
New York. At the time of the Wellesley fire, this board proved
itself particularly efficient in disseminating accurate information.

V.

But it is not the workaday Wellesley, tranquilly pursuing her
serious and semi-serious occupations, that the outsiders know
best. To them, she is wont to turn her holiday face. And no
college plays with more zest than Wellesley. Perhaps because
no college ever had such a perfect playground. Every hill and
grove and hollow of the beautiful campus holds its memories of
playdays and midsummer nights.

Those were the nights when Rosalind and Orlando wandered out of
Arden into a New England moonlight; when flitting Ariel forsook
Prospero's isle to make his nest in Wellesley's bowering
rhododendrons--in blossom time he is always hovering there, a winged
bloom, for eyes that are not holden. Those were the nights when Puck
came dancing up from Tupelo with Titania's fairy rout a-twinkle at his
heels; when the great Hindu Raj floated from India in his canopied
barge across the moonlit waters of Lake Waban; when Tristram and
Iseult, on their way to the court of King Mark, all love distraught,
cast anchor in the little cove below Stone Hall and played their
passion out; when Nicolette kilted her skirts against the dew and
argued of love with Aucassin. Those were the nights when the
Countess Cathleen--loveliest of Yeats's Irish ladies--found Paradise
and the Heavenly Host awaiting her on a Wellesley hilltop when
she had sold her soul to feed her starving peasants.

But the glamour of the sun is as potent as the glamour of the
moon at Wellesley. High noon is magical on Tree Day, for then
the mythic folk of ancient Greece, the hamadryads