THE S A L E M 1 T E
The Salemite
Member Southern International Collegiate Press Association.
Published Weekly by the Student Body of Salem College.
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EDITORIAL STAFF
Hazel Stephenson, ’24 Editor-in-Chief
Flora Binder, ’25 Managing Editor
Miriam Brietz, ’26 News Editor
Margaret Marshall, ’26 — Art Editor
Ruth Brown, ’26 Joke Editor
-Emily Moye, ’24 , Exchange Editor
Sarah Herndon, ’24 Proof Editor
Elizabeth Tyler, ’24 Associate Editor
Marjorie Hunt, ’24 Associate Editor
Mary McKelvie, ’25 Associate Editor
Margaret Hanner, ’25 Associate Editor
Lois Crowell, ’25 Associate Editor
Ruth Efird, ’26 Associate Editor
BUSINESS STAFF
Adelaide Armfield, ’24 Business Manager
Ellen Wilkinson, ’25 Assistant Business Manager
Constance Allen, ’25 Circulation Manager
REPORTERS
Daisy Lee Glasgow, ’25
Lucy Lampkin, ’26
Rosa Caldwell, ’26
Eloise Willis, ’26
EDITORIALS
An appeal which cannot fail to touch the hearts of every college
student has been made in behalf of the foreign students who are strug
gling under tremendous difficulties. It is hard to realize that the dollars
which mean to us only a few hours of enjoyment represent to them life
itself. It is a privilege to be able to sacrifice a few of these pleasures in
order to help others who are rendering a great service to the future of
their countries by continuing in their work. They are fellow- laborers
and lovers of the same work; it is then not only a pleasure but a duty to
send to those starving students some of our many blessings.
The drive in Salem is not managed through the Y. W. C. A. It is
sanctioned by it, but it is an universal call from the college, from the
classes and from a former faculty member who is at present actively en
gaged in this work. It is a drive for the success of which every girl is
personally responsible. Thanksgiving Day would be a most fitting time
to make contributions to this fund in order that our own happiness may
extend to others less fortunate.
t t t
Dr. Rondthaler’s emphatic suggestion that Salem girls learn to bud
get their time is a very proper one at present. It is a common com
plaint that college students “haven’t time” for this activity or that out
side work. Doubtless many idle moments could be effectually eliminated
if a. carefully planned schedule were strictly followed. Class attendance
would be nothing more than chaos were it not for definite schedules; the
benefit from systematic work during the remainder of the day would pro
bably be as great.
Budgeting time does not apply exclusively to lessons and duties
however; it applies as well to pleasures and recreation. Every well
ordered day provides for each of these necessary components of life, and
gives to each its proper amount of time.
Budgeting has been found advantageous in the business world, why
not in the student one? In this manner a concise judgment of the
.amount of time it is profitable to spend in each subject and on each
division of the work can be formed. Students complain of lack of time;
perhaps a systematic attempt to arrange eaoli day’s work would be of
benefit.
t t t
Thanksgiving Day, the day of joy and gladness, of renewed life and
vigor, has once more come with its blessings to the American people. On
this day as on few others there is the complete co-operation of physical
and spiritual activities. Many are the schools which anticipate with de
light the games to be held, but few are those which forget in their
enthusiasm the real meaning of the day. Sincere thanks find an outlet
of expression both in the church service of the morning and in the games
of the afternoon.
It is customary at this time to view the past year in appreciation of
the kindnesses which have been bestowed upon us. As a nation we have
suffered losses but we have also been blessed in numerous ways; as in
dividuals we have had disappointments and sorrows but in these we have
gained a greater understanding which, in unison with our many joys, has
made the year one of which to be truly thankful. It is easy to take
success as a matter of course and to forget that little of the credit for our
prosperity really belongs to us. We are glad that our nation calls us to
show our gratitude on this day set apart especially for that purpose.
True thankfulness is hard to express in words; it is better acted than
spoken. Thanksgiving Day, therefore, is not to be observed and then
forgotten for the remaining three hundred and sixty-four days; it is to be
for us the day of renewal activities and of daily gratitude. Neither does
Thanksgiving Day extend through the services of the morning and dis
appear with the coming of the games and the festivals. It is no less
observed on the basket ball court, particularly in the realization if the
joy of well-being, clean, hard playing in the games and enthusiastic co
operation on the side lines have their place in the proper observance of
this joyous day. Let us all then enter with hearty joy and thanksgiving
into the spirit of the day, and make the year one of happiness to all with
whom 'wje come in contact.
THE IMPORTANCE OF
CORRECT POSTURE
The follotving theme, written by
Louise Anderson, of the Academy,
H'as atcarded first place among those
xvritten by members of the Academy
on the subject of “Posture,” during
the recent S. V. S. campaign con
ducted by the College Hygien;
Class:
Correct posture is of utmost im
portance to everyone because it
concerns your standing, walking,
and sitting. First, physically, if you
do not hold yourself up and keep
your spinal-cord straight, it will
develop all kinds of diseases. Not
only that, if your body slumps, your
mind also slumps and you cannot
think as well. Consumption has
often been known to develop from
not holding yourself up straight. A
slumped, crooked person does not
look good either. They look as if
they were deformed. If you sit with
your body all bent over, soon your
body will take that position and
then it will be too late to overcome
it.
Next, it helps morally. If you can
have a good, correct posture and
can liold your face up as if you
weren’t afraid to face the world, it
gives you courage to meet failure or
anything else that may come into
your life.
Y. W. C. A. MEETING FRIDAY
EVENING
It was indeed a privilege for
Salem College students to hear the
talk which Miss Lois MacDonald,
general Y. W. C. A. secretary at N.
C. C. W., made Friday evening.
Her subject was, “The Revolt of
Youth,” and it proved to be espec
ially interesting as it was the first
time this subject has been discussed
at Salem. It was very interesting to
hear of the work being done by
students in other countries, and to
know their ideas about the prob
lems confronting the world. Miss
MacDonald has a real grasp and
outlook on the problems of the day.
She has had the great honor of at
tending two National Commissions,
and is going over to Southern
Europe next fall to study further
the question of the Youth Move
ment. Miss MacDonald possesses
real friendliness and a vigorous,
pleasing personality. During the
two days she was at Salem, she in
terviewed all Y. W. C. A. Cabinet
girls, and other girls interested in
this work. Miss MacDonald made
many friends here, and did much to
benefit the Y. W. C. A.
FOUR RULES FOR A GOOD
SPORTSMAN
{By Henry Van Dyke)
1. When you play a game al
ways wish to win and try to win,
otherwise your opponent will have
no fun; but never wish to win so
much that you cannot be happy
without it.
2. Seek to win only by fair and
lawful means according to the rules
of the game, and this will leave you
without bitterness toward your op
ponent or shame before others.
3. Take pleasure in the game
even though you do not obtain vic
tory; for the purpose of the game
is not merely to win, but to find joy
and strength in trying.
4. If you obtain this victory
which you have so desired think
more of your good fortune than of
your own skill. This will make you
grateful and ready to share with
others the honor bestowed upon you,
and truly this is both reasonable
and profitable; for it is but little
that most of us would win in this
world were our fortunes not better
than our deserts.—Exchange.
THE MESSAGE FROM THE
DEAD
(By Miriam Brietz, Selma, N. C.)
{Continued from last Keek)
The sleepy guard, taking Jonas
in his civilian garments for a pas
tor’s assistant, opened the gate and
the two men walked out side by side
—the priest and the murderer. An
involuntary sigh of relief passed
Jonas’ lips. It was pretty much of
a nervous strain, this escaping from
prison. Now for Raleigh, where
were those influential friends. He
boarded a street car and sat down
b3side an open window, so the cool
air could touch his cheek. It was
pretty good to be outside four
square walls again—and free.
The car bumped and rattled into
the streets of Raleigh—passed the
Governor’s Mansion, the home of the
man of whom, a few moments ago,
had depended the decision of Jonas’
life or death. Now he could glance
at it with contempt. “You wouldn’t
a pardoned me, would ye? Naw,
sub. Spos’n ye knowed I wuz ridin’
all my myself an’ free. Feel funny,
wouldn’t ye? Reckon it’s a good
joke on all of ’em. They shore will
be surprised ter fin’ Jonas King’s
done runned away.” The car stop
ped before the Capitol building.
Reckon I better not git off hyar.
They don’t seem ter take no per-
tickler fancy tuh me—makin’ a law
which says fer me tur be all shriv
eled up in a ’lectric cheer.” The
car passed a three-story white stone
building, with an air a little differ
ent from the others. It was more
quiet and dignified.
Here, again, Fate took a hand,
using an art known only to herself
to put an idea into Jonas’ head, for
at the next corner he descended the
car steps and, returning, stood be
fore the building. “Got to spen’ the
night somewhar,” he said to him
self. “Park benches too handy for
the cop—too public fer one of my
retirin’ natur. This looks like a
nice, quiet place whar a man kin
have some res’ an’ not be bothered.
Reckon I’ll go in.” The man mount
ed the steps, swung open the big
front door, and climbed the stair
way. At the top he waited. “Now
what in de worl’ is dis hyar place,
inyhow?” Seeing a large sign, he
read laboriously, “Hall of History.”
‘Holy Moses! An’ I’m intendin’
ter spen’ de night with all these
hyar ghosts—jes’ escaped frum jail,
too! Nice, pleasant place, ain’t it?
Well, there’s one thing shore, I
cain’t go to sleep any time soon;
might as well have a look at some
history things. Mought git so eddi-
cated I wouldn’t never make no mo’
moonshine!” Like a ghost himself,
the man wandered among those
relics which are the visible signs of
the souls of Caolina men and women
of the past. He stood before the
impty uniform of one mountain boy,
a soldier in the World War. With
painstaking care, he read, in the
lim light, the words of the original
‘Dixie.” He stared solemnly at the
chapeau of Santa Anna, worn in his
ast battle when conquered by Caro
ina troops. ‘‘We’re a purty good
r State, after all, ain’t we? An
lobuddy ain’t never riin away yit.”
The mountaineer passed on,
tudying the history of his State,
intil he stood before a tall glass
'ase, set off by itself. In it was only
soiled, torp little scrap of paper,
,'ellowed by its fifty years of exist-
:nce and disfigured by a few brown
pots that might have been spilled
offee or might have been spilled
jlood. In the faint light he could
lot decipher the words of the writ-
ng which straggled across the page,
but above it he read the inscription:
‘The officer who wrote the ‘Message
From the Dead’ was Col. Isaac Er
win Avery, of the 6th Regiment,
North Carolina State troops. He
was mortally wounded at Gettysburg
in a terrible charge, but when the
regiment retreated and found him
again, he had written on a note pad
with his left hand these words, ad
dressed to Major Tate of the regi
ment: ‘Tell my father I died witl)
my face to the enemy. I. E. Avery.’ ”
For a long moment Jonas paid
the tribute of silence to the great
deed of a great man. New thoughts
were coming too fast to find co- '
herent expression. Finally he spoke ]
slowly, feeling for words, “His face
to the enemy! Thet’s all he had
ter say to anybuddy, ’cause thet’s |
all he wuz a thinkin’ about, an’ i
> > » 1
-dyin’! An’ ef thet leetle scrap o’ ;
paper’s the only thing he lef’ in the i
worl’ thet’s enough! I didn’t never I
think about nothin’ thet way before, ■
but—wait a minute, lemme see how I
to say it—he mought a been kilt f
an’ couldn’t fight no more, but it I
don’t make no difference, ’cause i
verybuddy knows he wasn’t afraid i
an’ maybe they’ll read this an’ they
won’t be afeard neither—of nuth-
in’!” The words came haltingly.
When a soul is in the throes of !
revolution, it is hard to say what
one is thinking. This was an entire
ly new idea to the big mountaineer ;
who had never before thought) of !
anyone else but himself and who '
had considered death only oblivion.
Now he was finding that death of a {
certain sort may be more valuable ^
than life of another sort. He stared (
with new respect at the brown spots !
—he knew now' it was not spilled
coffee. It was the seal of this prec- :
ious letter, drawn from the heart’s
blood of the writer.
A frown had gathered on the
man’s brow. Evidently these new !
thoughts were disturbing. “He was
a North Ca’lina man—an’ purty
nigh a mountain man—Morganton.
Golly, but he was some fellow.
Kinder makes me wisht I could do
somep’n—well, why cain’t I? I’m
as good as he wuz, I reckon. I don’t
half to be afeared.” There was a
strange sort of irritation in his
voice, as if someone had disputed
his right to be not “afeared.” “Face
to the enemy. Hum.” With a new
resolution on his face and a new
determination to his chin, Jonas
King turned and strode out‘of the
room of ghosts, down the stairs and
out again to the brilliantly lighted
11 o’clock street of the city. As he
reached the sidewalk, a hand fell on
his shoulder, and a drawling voice,
which spoke his own language,
whispered, “Glad to see ye. Tho’t
you’d git out. Come on away from
hyar afore they git ye back agan.”
It was his brother.
Jonas pondered a minute: “Naw,
not right now, got some bizness to
tend to. Wait a minute, lemme write
a note.” There was grimness in his
smile. “Reckon Mr. Avery ain’t the
only one kin write a message from
the dead.” Placing a bit of paper
torn from a paper bag on the wall,
he laboriously wrote a few words,
and handed it to the other man.
“You kin read it in a few minutes—
wait till I’m outa sight. O, don’t
w'orry. I’m not crazy. Ye’ll see me
purty soon.” He hurried away with
the long swinging stride of thfe free
and happy man, and for the second
time that night boarded a street car
—only this one was going back the
way he had come.
A few minutes later his brother
read:
“Sandy: Tell the folks I could a
escaped but no Nawth Ca’lina man
ain’t never yit run away an’ I ain’t
gonna be the fust.
“JONAS KING.”
Willie—“Say, uncle, how much
do you want for your dogs ?”
Uncle—“W'ell about two dollars
apiece.”
Willie — “Two dollars apiece?
Who’d want apiece of a dog?”