Newspapers / Salem College Student Newspaper / Oct. 10, 1931, edition 1 / Page 2
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Page Two. THE SALEMITE Saturday, October 10, 1931. The Salemite Published Weekly by the Student. Body of Salem College SUBSCRIPTION PRICE $2.00 a Year :: lOe a Copy EDITORIAL STAFF Editor-in-Chief Sarah Grav Manayinq Kditor .. Mary Louise. Mick Associate Filitor Frances Douglas Lnrul Kditor Patsy McM Dell Landreth .. Dorothy Heidenreich Martha H. Davis Margaret Johnsoi Mary Abshei Susan Calde Nancy Miller Feature Editor Feature Editor Poetry Editor Literary Editor Music Editor .. Society Editor Sports Editor REPORTERS Beatrice Hyde Mildred Wolfe Zina Vologodsky Mary Miller Miriam Stevenson Betty Stough BUSINESS STAFF Business Manager .. Mary Alice B Advertising Mgr Edith Claire Asst. Adv. Mgr. '' ’ " Martha !. Adv. Mgr Grac Adv. Mgr. ,st. Adv. Mgr. :st. Adv. Mgr. . Mary Samph Isabelle Pollock . Hinily Mickey LITTLE THOUGHTS FOR TODAY Our deeds still travel With us from afar, t' a man does not make new laintanoes as he advances ui>li life, he will soon find self left alone. A man, .sliould keep liis friendship nn.stant repair. —Samuel Johnson. ARE YOU A “CAMPUS SNOOT”? After passing through the various etivities of Freshman Week, Soph omore Court, and ordinary school ■, the underclassmen have quite ;urally begun to feel very much home in their new surroundings. Friend.s have been made, schedules ightened out, and rules learned; .vonder the Fre.shmen no longer feel strange. n this time, however, until the end, there is danger that un thinking upperclassmen may eonsid- ;r their days of usefulness to new- •omers at an end and that the latter nay fail to realize the value of furth- :r help from those who have been It Salem for a longer time. Their questions now, to be sure, will n be of the obvious who, when, whei sort, but will consist of individual problems of either a scholasti personal nature and puzzling things which in the short instruction period have been either overlooked understood. Now there will be no wholesale offer of information or ad every Freshman owes it to herself to seek out any additional help which she may need at any time. Nothing rankles in one’s mind so persistent ly as an unanswered question. Why not get rid of it? On the part of upperclassmen there is much to be done. Are you a “Campus Snoot”? Have all the new students ? The boarders, perhaps, but what about the day students? If you are too embar rassed over your ignorance to ask the girl herself what her name is, just start a secret search for some one who knows her. There arc plenty of odd moments between classes and at meals for such discov- is, and, if you know everybody’s :ie, there are still family histories . sweethearts about which most ■body will start talking, if given right encouragement—otherwise Freshman timidity may restrain her. No one whom you do not know 11 ever ask your advice. Let’s get [juainted beyond the “how-do-you- do” stage witli some other girls out side of our own class or group of ipecial friends. Who knows when )ur help may be needed? Don‘ a “Campus Snoot”! 10 € € ll\ ClliAT By ZINA VOLOGODSKY A World Can End is the title ol Trina Skariatina’s book. Although this book was published but several weeks ago, it is quickly gaining rec ognition. It is the main topic of conversations and of discussions of book-clubs in America. Trina Skariatina is a Russian, who by birth belonged to the highest nobility of the Czar’s Russia. After the revolution of 1905 the rich land owners and royalty were not safe from the plots of the revolutionists. The youngest generation of Rus sian nobility, to which Trina Skaria tina belonged, saw some things tliat their fathers and mothers never before. Then the war broke out; men went to fight, young and poor; girls, rich and poor went to work in the hospitals. Trina Skariatina did the same as others. She entered a large hospital in Petrograd; but un. like many others she worked as a simple nurse, and not a countess. Moreover, becoming a student as well, she had an excellent oppor tunity to hear the different opinions of different classes: the doctors, pro fessors, students, soldiers and vants. Soon it was evident to Her that the revolution was at hand. And it did break out in 1917, bringing with it much surprise and blood. Working in the hospitals, studying for medical examinations, and eon- solintr her old and completely de pressed parents, the countess full of life, active, interested, found time also to see the revolution with her IS and hear it with her own PARAGRAPHICS Wonder what would happen the annual pictures Ben V. took would develop as sound pictures. A few of us might be departing hur riedly for unknown parts. The Russian Countess was a love herself, but the appearance of he devoted, handsome-hero husband oi the stage somewhat added to th( attraction. Have you a little “Purpose ir Life?” If not, why not? Some of the Seniors seem to have attained o with the the competent aid of M: Chase Going Woodhouse. (A momng name, n’est-ee pas!) NOT BY CHANCE No. not by chance The pale moon-flower Works its white magic Not unadvised The hermit-thru.sh Flings hidden rapture p’rom the brush. N or does it come Without design That love and pain Are yours and mine. Nor that I heard Wayfaring feet One day come walking Down my street. —Barbara Young. DAWN .wake, I hear the distant crow of a rooster, and then the n by answer. This tells me that other day has begun. Quickly I jump from my bed and go to the window. From behind grove I see the top of the sun ; he takes a peep at the sleepir world. A breeze blows softly through my window, bringing the odor of freshly _ cut grass, lilies, newly- turned earth. From the barn-yard comes the neigh of a horse, the low of a cow as she calls her calf. Tingling with the joy of living I dress and rush out-of-doors. Abov me, tiny, fleece-like clouds float ii the blue, and to the north, a tin; veil of smoke arises from a nearby farm house. As it follows the little creek, the stream of smoke seems walk down to the garden to see catch tiny bits of sunlight. I walk down to the garden to see it in its freshness. On the fence I see velvet-like morning glories, reaching their dew-covered faces to the glory of the new day. As I stand silently before them, I catch the odor of a pine-kindled fire; then, within a few minutes, the smell of frying country ham comes to me. The duties, as well as the day itself, have begun; yet I go to meet them eagerly. —Kathleen Adlcins. Then the horrible disappointments ime, the confiscations of property and money, arrests, murders, and the transformation of people beasts. The author heard the beau tifully constructed phrases of Trot sky and Rereusky and the magnetic, hypnotic vigorous talks of Lenin. The author’s first impressions of those people are absolutely priceless. Aside of the mob-life, the private of the countess became a torture. Having been robbed of all her jew elry and money, not mentioning her property, she was arrested several times and finally was forced to leave her beloved hospital, where she had been for nearly six years, parents were quickly getting weaker. After searching for hours, and dig ging in the ground, Trina was some times able to find some potatoes P'or months that was all their food. The culmination of their unbappi- less was the tragic death of her father-general, who was beaten to death with stones by the mob. Her last imprisonment, death of her mother and the advent of relief are the concluding incidents of the The book has two parts; the first is called “Childhood,” and the ond “Diary of the Russian Revolu- In addition to its exceptionally remarkable simplicity and sincerity, tlie book is one of deep feeling, sym pathy and forgiveness, a book of undying spirit. GOODNIGHT Forget thyself and all thy woes, Put out each feverish light. The stars are watching over heai Sleep sweet. Goodnight! Goodnight! —From “Beside Our Campfire Because the road was steep and long. And through a (lark and lonely God set upon my lips a song And put a lantern in my hand. —Joyce Kilmer. A wounded deer leaps highest. I’ve heard the hunter tell; ’Tis but the ecstasy of death. And then the brake is still. The smitten rock that gushes, The trampled steel that springs, A cheek is always redder Just where the hectic stings! Mirth is the mail of anguish. In which it caution arm. Lest anybody spy the blood And “You’re hurt” exclaim! —Emily Dickinson. TALKING ULTIMATE “Spelling mark, 100.” That’s a pleasant sight. I am going proudly Home from school tonight. The Bazar of All the Russians Can’t be more than right. I am amazed. I marvel in my That men can talk si And say so little, I would rather Be a dump stone upon a wind} Than one of these thin voices babbling Its arid, dull, reiterated tale. I would rather be A dark root in the earth, I would lie still A thousand years and listen t( I would go down and be an undisco ered grain of sand On the sea floor, Rather than waste my breath foolish words That publish to the sky. My emptiness. —Barbara Young. NOBODY nobody! Who are you? 3’ou nobody, too? Then there’s a pair of us—don’t tell They’d banish us, you know. How dreary to be somebody ! How public, like a frog To tell your name the livelong day To an admiring bog! —Emily Dickinson. GOODBYE HOLLYWOOD Of all sad words of tongue or pen. The saddest are these, “It might have been—beautiful!” Alack and alas! The dear Alma Mater, especially beloved of the Freshmen, seems to have been re placed in all four classes at present by the above mournful little ditty which reverberates through the halls every night after dinner. Indeed, each fair (?) maiden, from non chalant Senior to excitable Frosh, has been surprised at some time or other taking “sadder but wiser” in ventory before her mirror, and de ciding not to crash Hollywood after all. Every night from the office building comes the chorus of loud laments, such as, “Omigosh! I thought it would be perfectly beau tiful and flattering, and here it has to go look like me!” Anyone who by now has not rec ognized these references and alusions hsa decidedly not had her picture taken for the Annual. This process of picture taking is a thing no one ever forgets, and beyond a doubt it establishes the veracity of the old adage, “Pride goes before a fall.” The procedure is somewhat as fol lows: One sets one’s finger wave, borrows the room-mate’s good-look- ing street dress, and then sits twenty linutes in mortal agony, trying to keep from being “mussed” ;while .waiting one’s turn. At last the photographer is ready, and one wan ders in the maze of screens and lights, to perch upon a bench and “smile, please.” One feels a veritable Miss Garbo as the very encouraging ‘director” murmurs, “Ah-h-h-h-h! Moisten the eyes and blink the lips, please! Turn just a little. Ah, I see picture. Hold it. Beautiful, beau tiful ! I think that will be very nice. good we must take an other.” When finally one walks out, literally on air, it is with the feel- g that surely this picture will rev olutionize the whole book and im press everyone with wliat a lovely girl 0 Much madness is divinest sense To a discerning eye; Much sense the starkest madness. ’Tis the majority In this, as all, prevails. Assent, and you are sane; Demur,—you’re straightway danger- And h.andled with a chain. I'he soul selects her ow Then shuts the door; On Iier divine majority Obtrude no more. Unmoved, she notes the pausing At her low gate; Unmoved, an emperor i; I’ve known her from a Choose one; Tlien close the Like si •alve -Emily Dickin But, ' 1 all good tragedies, there is a denouement waiting in the wings! A week or so passes, the proofs are seen, and the story is complete. One knows the worst, and to cap the climax—there are always helpful souls to exclaim, “But I think your proofs are grand. They look just like you.” Cheer up, victims. It isn’t as bad as it seems. To tell the truth, you’ve looked like that all along and the realization was all that startled you. The rest of the school is used to it, and the chances are that before long they’ll be pointing out your picture in the Annual to their brothers and boy friends and telling them what a cute girl you are in spite of the wild Happy is the girl Who follows the voice within her And stands sincerely for all things Who stoops not to disloyal thought But delights in the purposes of God, And thinks on them alome—both day and night— For she is like a tender tree planted beside a river Which buds and blossoms when the seasons come. Whose leaves turn upward reaching And all she does shall live. I —Campfires. look i PAGE PANSY POETRY Editor’s Note:—We are publishing this article for the purpose of en couraging original literary at tempts on the campus. If you can’t write a poem, write some thing and include an article in de fense of it, as this aspiring poet ’Twas Ingalls, who one wintry night Said: “Opportunity doth come But once.” O poets, poetesses fair, ’Tis now your chance to prove To yon cold world your talent hid Beneath the heap of chemistry. Biology, and Math. Tliis week. Which comes must you turn in your To Dr. Willoughby who will For your delight, conduct a class Two nights a month to make from Some Shakespeare’s, Keat’s and Milton’s stern. It carries neither credit nor Discredit for those interested In writing verses, sweet and dear. DEFENSE OF POEM This poem (it is a poem) is written in blank verse, except that it lacks one foot a line. It’s a sonnet, except that I gave ti one extra line for good measure. It has rhythm, as you wllf notice if you read it slowly with no accent on the first .syllables and a very decided accent on the second. My rhyme scheme is so advanced that I won’t explain it. The fact that the lines are different lengths illustrates poetic license. That proves 1 poet.
Salem College Student Newspaper
Standardized title groups preceding, succeeding, and alternate titles together.
Oct. 10, 1931, edition 1
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