Page Two.
THE SALEMITE
Saturday, December 6, 1930.
The Salemite
Mitmher Southern Inter-Collegiate
Press Association
. 5’M*)1ished Weekly by the Student
Iiiidy of Salem College
SUBSCRIPTION PRICE
^J!2.00 a Year :: 10c a Copy
EDITORIAL STAFF
Editor-in-Chief Edith Kirkland
Managing Editor Daisy Lee Carson
Associate Editor Sara Graves
Associate Editor Kitty Moore
Feature Editor Anna Preston
Local Editor Lucy Currie
Local Editor Agnes Paton Pollock
Local Editor Eleanor Idol
Music Editor Millicent Ward
Poetry Editor Margaret Richardson
Cartoon Editor..Mary Elizabeth Holcomb
Reporter Marian Caldwell
BUSINESS STAFF
! B-usiness Manager Mary Norrii
Advertising Mgr. .... Mary Alice Beamar
■Asst. Adv. Mgr Edith Leak(
Asst. Adv. Mgr Frances Caldwell
■ Asst. Adv. Mgr Emily Mickey
Asst. Adv. Mgr Nancy Fulton
Asst. Adv. Mgr Ann Meister
■ Asst. Ad. Mgr. ..Elizabeth McClaugherty
Asst. Adv. M^r Louise Brinkley
Asst. Adv. Mgr Daisy Litz
Circulation Manager Martha Davis
Asst. Cir. Mgr Margaret Johnson
Asst Circulation Mgr Grace Brown
LITTLE THOUGHTS
FOR TODAY
It is not work that kills
men; it is worry. Work is
lif-althy; you c.-m hardly put
more u))on a man than he can
bear. Worry is rust upon the
blade. It is'not tlie revolution
that destroys maehinery, but
the friction.
—Henry Ward Beecher.
Happiness does not depend
in money or leisure, or society,
ir even on health; it depends
Wlif'U the outlook
({ood, try tlie uplook.
NIGHT AND MORNING
like
.NiS'ht shado
Cast gloom upon the low and mas-
. sive hills,
Until my weary soul, .sorrowing for
Bows down itself, submissive to the
spell;
Night weariness, night loneliness,
night grief,
I'.nfold my spirit and oppress my
And tired, weak and broken as an
autumn leaf,
I wrap myself in dreams, subdued,
Hut when morn and rising sun awake
the hills,
Streaking the sky with bands of
gold and rose,
My soul leaps up, exuberant, glori
fied, light,
With faith, with beauty, w
strength for coming night.
ALPHA CHI ALPHA
FURTHER THOUGHTS
WHILE SITTING
{fVith Increasing Apologies)
Can December really be here?
The month of last minute tests, cold
drizzling rain, wet feet and bad
colds, of preparation to return to
school and stand exams, and—O
yes!— of Cliristmas. I tliought I
liad forgotten something.—I miss
open fire.s—my room-mate and I
; thinking of knocking a liole out
the wall and building a fire-plaee
Miss Biddy’s good-looking car
ver has a speck of dust on it—
lybe she washes it along with the
dishes.—Wonder what those
iquare holes are for, under the plat
form in the English room? Reminds
me of an absent-minded professor I
once knew—w!io cut one big hole in
the door for the cat—and six little
ones for the kittens.—What became
of tlie left-over Tlianksgiving tur-
ke}' ? —The hash is yet to put in it;-
appearance.—Mr. Burrage has the
best wave in his liair that ever Maid
en sighed—or worked for—Wliat
would tlie school do without I.em
Riggan’s camel’s hair jacket i
Julia Brown .Jennings, after just
four years here, searched wildly the
other night in the library for tlie
card index. Wonder if she knows
w'here the dining-room is.—I love
to hear Rutli Carter laugli—she
sounds like she really mean.s it.—
Ask Robin Fraley what she thinks
would happen to her if she were t(
be hanged.—There’s a dime in il
for tihe girl who can catch Dr.
Rondthaler without a flower in hi
button hole.—If you want excite-
mt and adventure, eome leap the
vines and walk the railroad ties
with the ])ractice teacher,s—it
great life, but there’s many a
that weakens.'—Wonder if the post-
;er realizes the happiness
hands out every da_\ and the heart
breaks.—Salem is wearing thin
spots from ceaseless scrubbing. Sat
urday will always be connected
mind with the inevitable sound
lop and broom.—Come ove
Louisa Bitting living-room if
; a shock—literaily.—Have
noticed the ghostly sound that a
iigic dry leaf makes when it blows
■ross the frozen ground at night:
dike tiny elves’ feet hurrying by
-I’m hoping to find the swimming
pool frozen over some morning
we can skate.—Rena puts sugar
her buttermilk—she says everybodv
does in Russia.—Miss Lilly
blush if you look at her hard—but
she always does it beeominglj\—
Wonder how many poor little squir
rels—and maybe cats—lost their
lives to furnish Salem with fur coats.
—I,ib Ward was Betty Ward when
slie was a Freshman—she curled her
hair.—Soft grey twilight—the bare
brandies are black etchings and the
Academy windows glow like orange
squares in a dull patch work quilt.
'I'he west is a soft rose wash behind
the dark painted spires of distant
steeples.—And a single star blinks
out^“Star bright Star light, fi
Star I’ve seen tonight-”
LONELINESS
CINOUAIN
My thouglits
Go back to you
As moths fly into flames
Not knowing that their strong desii
Alone—thrillingly alone . . . The
sky a black pansy . . . The forest
a storm cloud blotting out the black
ness . . . Wind hurtling through the
treetops and falling exhausted to
wliisper breathlessly in the under
brush at the foot of the dead pine.
... A terrier’s staccato bark meet
ing its own echo, then choking itself
into an irritated growl . .
quiet exhilaration.
But a scratch of blue flame, a long
linger of iiglitniog scrawlir
dark, gla.ssy sky and t’ e i aressing
darkness of the night is no longe
soft but gruesome, awful . . .
Alone —horribly alone . . . The
sky glowering, stiflingly close . . .
Tlie dead branches of trees groan
ing aiul creaking in the whistling
wi'rid ... A hound deep in the for
est answering the cheerful terriei
with a howl that shivers in the blast
and becomes a husky growl . .
terror . . . suffocating loneliness.
Morning Bells
The melody swings in upon the
smile of dawn over a world drowsing
under its blanket of feathery lace
over a land of glistening ice
castles and crystal gardens. The
golden laughter of the bells with
dancing feet skims over the snow to
ring on sleepy doors, and runs to
catch up with its echo in the valleys.
Sharp threads of smoke from pen-
iled chimneys crack the
AN OLD STORY
The streets were deserted. The
festive decorations in the show-win
dows seemed forgotten. The air
cold, the snow was falling stead-
It had been falling for many
hours. The twiliglit .seemed unusual
ly quiet. Suddenly the chimes of the
little vill.age cliurch rang out in clear
nd vibrant tones. It was Christ-
ind :
morning sky.
I the 1
Twilight Bells
Twilight bells . . . steal through
the veil of dim shadows creeping
across the grey sheet of earth. A
quiet sky ... a faint, rustling
' isper recalling old forgotten
things ... a voice once loved whose
ghost song now’ vibrates in a tor
tured memory. Silence as gentle as
the gliding snow flakes, encircles a
•y world, and the memory
ms of other twilights and seems
to feel a breath of lilacs floating-
through the breathles.s dusk..
Midnight Bells
Soft and low they fall across the
;ndless snow. Crying like a violin
that remembers once a master’s
touch . . . like slender reeds beside
lonely pool whose black depth
knows no star. The sound clings to
tlie night wind sweeping through the
silver dust of a winter’s moon, and
•ushed against the distant, dusky
wall of blue that surrounds a sleep
ing world.
THE STRANGER
INTERLUDE
was that? ‘L.ife i.s—life is
the stuff to try the strength of the
soul.” The typing book says that
: said that in ages gone by,
St be true. (I have paused
with my fingers in mid-air, thinking
(me, not my fingers) as the otiier
girls keep on typing.) “Life is the
ituff to try the strength of the soul.”
What is life anyway? Is this life—
I living now? Surely this is
I.ife, if it tries the strength of the
soul. For will my soul, self endur-
whatever it is, last for an
other 15 days until Christmas?
I.et me see, there are more rui
•hools in the state of North Cai
lina than in any other state in t
(Ed.); Agamcnino>i was
military leader who was mi
dered by his wife Clytemnestra
(Gr., Eng.); “esse e.st percip
(Phil., I.at.) ; “Don’t run like this,
run like tliis” (Phy. Ed.) ; ffff jjjj
(typ.); “.le vousaine” (Fr.), etc.
and so far, far into the-—period.
Notebooks, term papers, tihemes, edi
torials, Christmas shopping lists,
financial depression, endless rounds
of classes, .sleepless night, day
dreaming days, hurry-hustle-bustle,
efliciency cards—such is Life. I.ife
—Pandemonuin is the better word
for the “life” students live Anti
Noel. Those heart-rending, depress
ing, dreary days between Thanksgiv
ing and Christmas when one gives
way to recollections of turkey (not
immortality) and premeditations of
Christmas-gifts-to-be (?).
Ping! Come to—you’ve been day
dreaming again right in the middle
of typing period. And all ov
simple sentence, “Life is the stuff
to try the strength of the soul.” Well
so it is. But it won’t be long ’til
Christmas. (You see “Hope( does
spring eternal in the human breast.”)
So on with problems. Such is life.
“Think before you write. Smile
while you write. Knowlege come:
but wisdom lingers. Who but fooli
1 think themselves wi.se—.”
The :
1 the c
if frozen to the spot,
the bitter cold and the
snow'. His threadbare coat W'as not
even buttoned, his head was bare.
When the hells began to ring he
looked up and saw' a large house.
The shades were up, lighted candles
were in the windows, and within he
saw a huge Christmas tree and chil
dren exclaiming in glee over their
many gifts. He started across the
street, mumbling, “My boy, my boy.”
This was Christmas I5ve and hunger
was cruel. He walked slowly along
the snow-covered way, and finally
came to a tiny cottage. There was
no light within, no candle at the
window, no Christmas tree, no feast.
He stumbled up the steps, then open
ed the door softly. A little pale-
faced boy was sitting with his eyes
close to the window-pane. His face
was as if transfigured. “Sh, Daddy,
the angels are singing. They are
faying a Saviour is born. I am going
;o sing with them. Good-bye Dad
dy.”
The man laid the tiny body ten
derly on the bed. Then he came back
to the window, and looking out, said
“My boy, I hear the angels too. Soon
I will come with you.”
The bells still rang out over the
snow and mingled with the laughter
from the lighted house.
QUEST
A Diver one day glimpsed a Pearl;
In deepest sea it lay.
His heart cried out to ow'n the gem
If only for a day.
He wrought a suit of strongest steel
And edged each link with gold—
He tliought no force however great
Could loose such armor’s hold.
Secure within this suit of steel
He plunged into the sea,
He dared to ho])c he’d reach the
Pearl
Though thousands sought as he.
As dow
■ard thr.
igh the
he
And find his treasure there.
Huge monsters came to block the
To pierce hi.s suit of steel;
They crushed, they tore it link by
link
’'Pill lie began to feel
'Their sharp-nailed claws upon his
flesh—
A sudden, searing pain.
He knew their claws had readied his
breas
That s
ugglc was
As one by one the gold edged link."
Appeared upon the foam
They each one caught a stray moon-
And formed a burnished dome.
Within which lay a broken shell
That once had held a Pearl,
For like each link it too had lost
Its treasure in the swirl.
At length the Diver’s form arose.
And God had heard his prayer—
Held tightly in his cold white hand
The purest Pearl lay there.
In death he found what life with
held
Since worth he could not prove—
In death he found the Pearl he
sought,
The Pearl was Someone’s love.
MY LITTLE WORLD
It is raining tonight, and my little
world is tenderly covered with a
gossamer veil of mi.st. Sometimes,
I think it is blue, but even as I
look, it changes, ever so slowly—
almost imperceptibly — but 'the
change is there. I feel it even as
I look. A soft sable hand is laid
upon the blue, and the two gently
merge into a fairylike tint of azure
and purple. The long .slim rain
drops fall daintily on the earth, and
I watch them as they pass grace
fully and almost silently through the
enveloping cloud, and come to rest
finally upon the bare ground
My little world is perhaps really
rather dreary, but I choose to thin'k
it lovely. The fog and rain is every
where, but I think them beautiful.
Across the rolling hill, the tiny lights
twinkle, and vanish through the mist
like microscopic fireflies that de
scend for a moment to shed their
smiling light upon us, and as sud
denly float away to bestow it else
where in some other darkness. All
silent, but I choose to believe it a
friendly silence. For me it does not
hold fearful shapes and thin aweful
forms for I see only the slender
■shadows h o y e r i n g jjrotectingly
ii-ound my own little square of yef-
low light as thougli to keep me s.'ife-
ly until the fog shall lift. I hear
only the wee comforting murmurs
of the night elves as they flit here
and there on their Lilliputian er
rands. The rain fairies still de-
[■end in shining array past mv win-
ow, but—I like them. I stand there
t my window', and wave to them,
nd I think they turn their trans
parent faces u])wards toward me,
ind wave back. They patter softly
m the ground; somehow, it gives me
1 comforting feeling just to know
that they are there . . . Overhead as
I peer through my window which the
mist fairy has caressed with her tiny
finger, the low hanging clouds float
by. Night has covered the friendly
sky with a thick velvet })all, and
she is In'dden behind, it. But I
know that .she is still beaming down
upon me just as though tonight her
11 wer^ radiant blue instead of
black, and were dotted here and
e with silvery stars instead of
g soberly plain. Oh, I love this
night ... its infinite friendliness . .
I'.ven the street lights seem rather
)vcly. Instead of being the com-
lonplace wooden sticks w'hich I
..sually see, they ap))ear through the
now lifting fog to be more Jike
dender poles of silver, suj>porting
their softly glowing arc-lamps which
shed down on them a gentle radiance,
and which send out into the sur
rounding night life the .shafts of
golden light . . . Everything is grow
ing brighter ... I think my fairies
have gone home, but on tlie slight
breeze that springs U]>, I think they
^vaft to me from their wee fingers a
iss, and a good-bye. The moon
merges through her vanguard of
louds, and smiles gently upon me.
'I’he little stars appear, and vie with
the faraway lights of the city, now'
in their intense brightness, and now
in their tender softness. The night
is serene and calm, but all the while
something within me seems to peer
wistfully through my window, and
to the fleeiftg rain fairies to
3 back, and lull me to sleep with
their drowsy pitter-patter—pitter-
});!tter—pitter-patter—pitter—
SILHOUETTES
The trees on the hill side
Are whi.spering among them.selves.
Their black outlines against the .sky,
Swaying and rocking in the wind.
They are a group
Of old maid gos.sips.
Nodding together
And shaking their heads
Over the latest scandal
Of daisy and clover.
Or the young red-throated robins
That rest in their branches.
—The Aurora.