Page Two.
THE SALEMITE
Saturday, February 21, 1931.
Member Souihern Inter-Collegiate
Press Association
PublUhfid Weekly by the Student
Hf.dy of Salem College
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editorial STAFF
Bdltor-in-Chief Edith Kirkland
Managing Editor Daisy Lee Caraon
Associate Editor Sara Gravp'
Associate Editor Kitty Mooi
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 CaldweU
business STAFF
Business Manager Mary Norris
Advertising Mgr. .... Mary Alice Beamai
Asst Adv. Mgr - Edith Leak.
Asst. Adv. Mgr Frances Caldwell
Asst. Adv. Mgr. Emily Mickey
Asst. Adv. Mgr Nancy Fulton
Asst. Adv. Mgr Ann Melster
Asst Ad. Mgr. ..Elizabeth McClaugherty
Asst. Adv. M"r Loui e Brinkley
Asst. Adv. Mgr - Dai‘>y
Circulation Manager Mcrtha Davis
Aast Cir. Mgr. Margaret Johnson
Asst. Circulation Mgr Grace Brown
THOUGHTS FOR THE
DAY
In the hour of distress and
misery the eye of every mortal
turns to friendship; in the hour
of gladness and conviviality,
want? It
friendship. When the heart
overflows with gratitude, or
with any other sweet and
sacred sentiment, what is the
word to which it would give
utterance ? A friend.
—JV. S. Landor.
gentle, and low—an excellent
thing in woman.
—Shakespeare.
But noble souls through dust
and heat rise from disaster and
defeat. The stronger.
—Longfellow.
WHEN A LADY IS NOT
A LADY
Through the centuries poets have
sung of woman’s charm and novelists
have woven plots about this elusive
quality until we have come to feel
that it is our most valuable attribute.
The really delightful person Is one
whom this quality is fundamental,
and good manners are an inevitable
part of her make-up. Without eo
slderation for other people and
care for the little niceties of life we
can never hope to be worthy of the
name “lady.” And in spite of all
education we feel that this is a title
very much worth having.
Life here at college rolls along
such a fast tempo that we are i
clined to forget our manners in t
mad scramble to keep pace with
what is going on. We rush out of
buildings slamming doors in the faces
of friends, foes, and faculty,
drop our bicycles where they cai
most easily fallen over, and
thrust ourselves and everyone else
ruthlessly through the mail rush.
There is no doubt that extreme i
terest in a subject contributes to
class discussion but if In our anxiety
to expound our ideas we constantly
interrupt the professor or whoever
is holding the floor we only succeed
in being annoying. Also if one of
our friends is enjoying herself huge
ly by telling us all about the esca
pades of her last week-end it is only
courteous to let her finish at least
one paragraph before we burst
with our own reminiscences.
Most of us have had the experi
ence of returning to the bosom of
our families expecting to be admired
and spoiled only to have them ex
claim in horror at our table man
ners.. We loll on the tables, we
seize, we shove, and we talk with our
mouths full, which is a feat that no
one can do and still remain charm
ing. The fault may be in the fact
that our luncheon hour Is necessarily
so short, our breakfast hour prac
tically negible, and our hunger rav
enous at dinner, but none of them is
sufficient excuse for our carelessness.
We approach the next item on our
list of offenses with great reluc
tance. Perhaps our dentist advised
chewing gum, or we feel the rythmic
rotation of our jaws brings i
mood conducive to study, but chew
ing gum, no matter what its sensuous
pleasure may be. Is certainly not a
pretty habit and really should not
be indulged in during class hours.
We all want to be pleasant, agree
able people, so let us look to these
little habits of ours and let it nevei
be said again,, “That’s no lady;
that’s a Vassar girl.”—Vassar News
POETRY
TOY
Why do you treasure things
The way you do.
With such miserliness.?
When once you sought the mooi
I snatched it from the branches of
pine
And brought It back to you;
And when you asked these shifting
lights
That pearl the sea,
I dove for them—
But you hid both away within
Your jewel box.
Until a meteor
Astride a dolphin
Rescued them.
And burst their freeing locks.
So did you with my heart;
Once I had shown it red
You reached and buried it
Within a chest of baubles.
Tumbled stones, and strings
Of colored beads, and silver drip
pings
That you caught from the stars—
Unless you wear; it now and then,
“ r even run it through your finger
carelessly
To shake the dust,
I must resort to thievery.
For further service;
years that went before
Locked out of sight
forever by the door
Of silent Time, their
only Impress shown
By the degrees my
spirit like has grown.
How shall I smile to
think that once I feared
This kindly commander
whose dread shape appears
Cruelly distorted in
his earthly guise—
For Death is God’s
dear shadow to the wise!
FELLOWSHIP
I think that I can truly say today
that I am glad
For all the sorrow I have had.
I came upon one weeping by the way.
And I had «words to say
To comfort her, because I, too, had
known
A sorrow that my heart had borne
alone.
I know that I am glad that pain has
sta)cd
Awhile with me.
For through it 1 learned sympathy
With every fellow mortal, hurt,
dismayed,
Wiio prayed as I have prayed
For quick release, and then has
lurned to wait
The answer that will come, though
soon or late.
That grief and pain
night work
; lasting
Some ultimate reward, si
good,
1 did not dream It could.
But now I know that only through
these things
Can we reach out and touch Life’
hidden springs.
A brush of mist against the night’
dark cheek . . .
A cobweb of laughter spread ove
a hurt . . .
A light through the dusk, memories
Dreams that come and go, their pas
sage fleet—
FROM FIREFLIES
In the drowsy dark caves of the
mind
dreams build their nest with frag
ments
dropped from the day’s caravan
Leave out my name from the gift
if it be a burden,
but keep my song.
April, like a child.
Writes hieroglyphs on dust with
flowers.
Wipes them away and forgets.
Fi
•om the solemn gloom of the tem-
ple
Children run out to sit in the
dust,
God watches them play
And forgets the priest.
—Tagore.
“Was Izzy talking when you hit
ilm?”
“Yes, and I hit him right between
You may be the whole cheese to
your mother, but you’re just a curd
to me. Whey ! Whey !
Hearty Laugh Locks Jaws of
Wife at Breakfast Table. — Boston
Traveler.
This shows the value of a good
EXCERPTS FROM THE
NEW YORKER
Fred Call, a national forest fire
guard, recently saved a giant tree
by crawling into the hollow part,
which was aflame, and cutting away
the burning wood. First he chopped
the tree down.—Fort Worth (Tex.)
That’s thinking fast.
“SLAIN MAN" PLAYS- JEWS-
HARP TO SHOW FIANCEE HE
LIVES—Headline.
In the Evening World.
If you call that living.
SPECIAL INSTRUCTIONS FOR
INNERSPRING MATTRESSES.
For the first six weeks sleep on It
continuously at the same time turn
ing regularly.—Directions that came
with a Montgomery Ward mattress.
While things pile up at the office,
eh?
FOR SALE CHEAP—Nearly
Evlnrude motor and pair of i
Phone evenings 5041.—Adv. In Ann
Arbor (Mich.) News.
That’s complete enough.
ROUND- THE- WORLD FLIER
FINDS HE HAS TWO WIVES.-
Headline in Omaha newspaper.
And mayhe a girl in every ai
WEEK-END TRAVEL
In the Realms of Gold
“Much have I traveled in the Realms of Gold”
Our travel this week-end Is unusually delightful, and interesting
because it is extremely varied. While In reality we shall be all
the while in our own rooms and in our own private and particular
positions, this week-end we will go from the simple hearths of the
Irish with Padraic Column to Sweden with Selma Lagerlof. We
will go with Dorothy Canfield to explore the depths, the trans
parency or the weakness, the swiftness of her newest novel The
Deepening Stream, and we shall flit on to a land of an enchanted
life through a Doorway to Fairyland.
Padraic Column is a familiar name to a great number of us,
but to “week-enders” who will meet him for the first time we
present a very versatile and a most charming author. The set
ting in which we shall see him on this particular week-end is
Wild Earth—short, strangely significant poems. They are Irish
poems—for the most part of the simple laborer, revealed without
glamour and the shield of words. There is a haunting quality very
often revealed, and a superstitious element creeps in rather fre
quently. There is a touch of the classic, too—for that is Padraic
Colum.
Selma Lagerlof is an amazing woman, and you will like her
as a companion for this week-end. She is tense, yet frankly nat
ural. Her Ring of the Lowenskolds is her newest book, and it is a
simple but vitally compelling one. As is usual with Lagerlof
there is fascination—you’ll like It. It is Swedish in setting, and
an overpowering one, for Sweden breathes restlessly everywhere
in the book.
You shall decide whether you can see through The Deepening
Stream as through a transparent glass or whether its significance
Is too deep for you. You shall be the sole judge. What a fasci
nating task for a dull week-end. Because it is Jjew, because it
is very different, it somehow holds a vestige of belongingness.
You’ll find reading The Deepening Stream a pleasant occupation
but also—when you finish—you’ll still be wondering whether it is
childishly naive or whether it is subtly impenetrable—but that’s
the fun of!
Away we go and leave all these controversies for a time to
play with our dear playmates, the fairies. To know them and
to love them, however, one must pass through A Doorway to
Fairyland, and thereby become enchanted. I don’t believe we
ever grow up so horribly and completely that we lose interest in
the “elfin groups” of fairyland; we are all imaginative children
at best—let us be thankful for it!—and our imaginations may
run riot now. A Doorway in Fairyland! It sounds utterly en
trancing. Let’s peep through it—and who knows? We might
see Rumpelstiltskin!
Wild Earth and Other Poems Padraic Colume
The Ring of the Lowenskolds Selma Lagerlof
The Deepening Stream Dorothy Canfield
A Doorway in Fairyland Laurence Housman
THE PRODUCTS OF THE
COLLEGES
Editor’s Note'. The following edi
torial is printed from The Char
lotte News of February 8, 1931:
American colleges are glutting the
market with white-collar applicants
for jobs, handing out too many de
grees, becoming mere machines for
producing a certain class of pro-
fessionalists that some of these days
going to be unable to place them
selves in profitable positions of
oployment.
All of this is the lamentation of a
Milwaukee teacher who was recently
voicing such conclusions in a pub
lic meeting of his city.
There is nothing especially new
startling about the complaint.
Criticisms of the same general char
acter have been accumulating within
recent years, but it is worth looking
at if for no other reason than to ap
praise properly what a college edu
cation is really intended to be.
A college, after all, is not pri-
arily a place where a young man
n be taught how to get ahead in
life. Except for the technical and
professional schools, it Is not greatly
concerned with tlie earning power
of the people it sends out into the
the process of living, rather
than the process of earning a living,
that a college deals with. A gradu
ate may become a millionaire or he
may never in his life rise above a
salary of $50 a week; either way,
the college has done its job if the
graduate’s life is richer, fuller and
freer because of his college training.
For if there is on thing on earth
which any college worth its salt does
teach, it is that success in life does
not at all depend on the amount of
money one is able to make. If that
concept is wrong, then Harry Sin
clair, Babe Ruth and Al Capone are
more illustrious citizens than such a
scientist as R. A. Millikan, for ex
ample, or a jurist like Oliver Wen-
(Continued on Page Throe)
IMPENDING MURDER
February the fourteenth! Valen
tine’s Day !! I arise with the dawn,
my nerves all a-tlngle. Somehow I
consume the hours between them and
mail time. The moment arrives. I
fare forth, moving in a haze of red
hearts filled with candy, pink rose
buds, tender verses lace-be-trimmed,
perhaps if I sneak up on the box,
the results will be better. So on
stealthy tip-toe, I edge around the
corner, make a dash through the
door and arrive. And lo-the box con-
mail! I snatch it out. In con
temptuous haste I hurry over the ob
viously ordinary letters, but ah! I
clutch the last one to my bosom. It
thin envelope, addressed in large
strange printing, and boldly stamped
Winston-Salem. Perhaps some lo
cal swain has lost his heart to my
languishing beauty and has taken
this touchingly sweet way of telling
I am all atwit and can scarcely
tear the envelope open; at last the
valentine is in my hands! With a sigh
of bliss I unfold it—and spread it
before my gaze—no rose decked
message of love, no lacily tender sen
timent—but the picture of a perfect
ly horrid individual, clasping a hymn
book to his bosom and preceeded
several feet by a blazingly red nose!
Beneath is Inscribed the following:
“Hypocrite I
On Sunday you journey
To church every week.
But tell us what gives you
That rosy hued beak?”
I draw the kindly curtain.
There’s not much more to be said
—^except this: I once took a corre
spondence course in “How to be a
Detective” (complete in six lessons)
and graduated at the head of my
class. Besides that I wear rubber
soled shoes. And that’s about all
except this:
A prominent man was murdured
on the Ides of March—in fact that
day is regarded by all as a good day
for blood smattering. The Ides of
March is three and a half weeks off
;—that leaves just about the right
time for me to follow up my clues
and get everything ready. Beware
the Ides of March!