Newspapers / Salem College Student Newspaper / March 21, 1931, edition 1 / Page 2
Part of Salem College Student Newspaper / About this page
This page has errors
The date, title, or page description is wrong
This page has harmful content
This page contains sensitive or offensive material
Page Two. THE SALEMITE Wf)t ^alemite Mcviber Southern Inter-Collegiate Press Association J’ublisbed Weekly by,the Student firidy of Salem College SUBSCRIPTION PRICE $2.00 a Year :: 10c a Copy EDITORIAL STAFF Editor-m-Chicf ... Managing Editor Associate Editor Associate Editor Feature Editor .. Local Editor Local Editor Local Editor Music Editor Poetry Editoi Sara Grav Kitty Moo) Anna Preston Lucy Cui Agnes Paton Pollock Eleanor Idol Millicent Ward Margaret Richardson Editor..Mary Elizabeth Holcomb .Patsy McMullan BUSINESS STAFF Business Manager Mary Norri ising Mgr. Asst Adv. Mgr Asst. Adv. Mgr. Asst. Adv. Mgr. Asst. Adv. Mgr Asst. Adv. Mgr Asst. Ad. Mg LI z Asst. Adv. M Asst. Adv. Mgr. Circulation Manager . t. Cir. Mgr. Margare t. Circulation Mgr Gra ... Edith Leake ranees Caldwell Emily Mickey .. Naiicv Fulton ... Ann Meister :K McClaugherty I.ou' e lirinkley Daisy Lit .. Mcrtha Davi Saturday, March 21, 1931. THOUGHTS FOR THE DAY “A little thing, a .sunny ymilc, A loving word at morij. And all day long the day; shone bright, The cares of life were imade more light, ' And swcctrst hopes were The strengtli of your life is measured by the .strength of your will. But, the strength of your will is just the strengtli of tlie wish that lies behind it. And the strength of your wish depend upon the sincerity and whieli you fix your attention upon the things wliieh are real ly great and woiit|iv to be loved. . TJcnrn Van Dyke. Do to-day tliy nearest duty FRAGRANCE A relentless ball and chain! A1 ways, everywhere, year after yeai tlie nauseous stink of money dogge her trail. Even in the Malay Archi pelago she eould not lose its spieable taint; missionaries asked for funds for their dirty lieathen charges. They got it, in abundance, but that haven had lost its beauty. In her soul there was a craving for beauty that tortured her night and day. Its call pressed hard her heart and cried for outlet. Color readied into her soul and found there a passionate love; mellow tones quivered through her being and sank deep, deep into its depths; flowers sent a ])oignant exultation that lodged in her throat. Her only release was in the mill ing throngs of the great metropolis, but even there was little of what she sought. In a tiny side street she chanced upon a flower .shop that the rest of the world had obviou.sly overlooked in its busy flurry. The mean little show window was hunched between dirty brick walls, but nothing eould discourage tlie dauntless joyousness that a single white hyacinth gave an (Continued on Page Three) CONFESSIONS OF A TYPIST “Margins ten and seventy, tabular stops twenty, thirty, forty, and fifty. All ready now and begin with the music!” So they come clearly and quickly, words which are to bring me grief and despair as they tered very calmly by the instructor, who now turns to start the abomin able victrola that will soon pour forth the strains of the “Toreador’s Song" which tries to guide our erring fingers in the straight and narrow ways of all good typists. What a life! Here perseverance is not only the doorway to success but a mad dening necessity that brings patience and often t paper. Perfection’s no lovely ideal stir one to greater things but it the rule as unglamorous as it is sometimes unattainable. I have been taking typing for about five months but the time see: much longer tliat I am prone think of my decision to studj it of the unforgivable sins of my youth of long ago. I cannot bridge of time to discover what my motive might then have been and certainly I do not know wh present. I believe tendance must have beeomt ehanical as the machine upon which pounding. It seems so silly to ow to sit glaring at the black unadorned blind that prevents me from seeing the precious array of numbers and figures beneath it. In fact, so foolish does it seem that I find myself thinking of other things, harboring all sorts of strange specu lations, and, since I have for the moment forgotten what 1 am doing, reallying enjoying myself in tlie world of imagination. Here is the old Roman himself busily preparing the manuscript of his Gallic War on a lovely shiny new typewriter just sent out from the Senate. Not far away Cicero ripping out words on his machine a liigli rate of speed that should give Catiline a genuine chill of apprehen sion guaranteed to stop the most carefully laid conspiracies from be ing carried out. Up the silvery waters of the Nile floats a magnificent barge and on it lies a dazzlingly beautiful woman repeating passionate phrases of a love letter for Mark Antony into the efficient ears of a dictaphone. By means of this instrument she counts upon her voice as well as her word: to woo the soldier for her. Charle magne’s thirst for knowledge is be ing gratified in two ways; as a be ginner in typewriting he is taking a fifteen minute speed test (and ni looking very pleased about it, either) and the material he is copying the same time instructing him i science of astrology. In a far e of the room one of his court at ants is using the adding maehi preparing tlie day’s statement of the non-Christicns \s:lio have been slain within the last twenty-four hours. POETRY “Pretty ’ he 1 tile column of figures lengthen rapid ly. At the Tabloid Inn in England it is very late at night and an i table story teller sits in his bed describing the pilgrims he has that day with the aid of a rattling machine. He finds the touch system the only satisfactory one the light of his candle for him to see the keys plainl3^ Seat ed in true kingly glory although he feels his power as a ruler slipping from him, King John is dictating the Magna Charta to his secretary with orders that enough carbon copies be made for the members of Parliament. A good bit of time seems to have elapsed and a hastily erected tent somewhere outside of Paris, Na poleon, in truly efficient style, is get ting his plans outlined on a Reming ton Portable. Suddenly he stops; his brow clouds over; no, it is not military formation that is bothering just now, but the fact that he lias t ■’ for a . In a fit of rage he opens his mouth and fairly bawls out ! ! “Miss Mickey, have you that last assignment ready?” the teacher’s (Continued on Page Three) PAUSE The wind blows tonight As though j’ou had not been: It goes somewhere, knowing eagerness. The moon paces the sky with lanquid ease. The earth’s unhurried wheel holds steady pace in the unbroken chain of stars. Only the tall candles in this room mark pause—■ mark pause and match the white stillness of your folded hands. —Henry Bellamanri SUPPLICATION Lord, make me immune this Spring- Calm, untouched ... let no greedy Blind my eyes nor grip my heart. Let me stand aloof . . . apart. Let my lip not tremble when Lovers slip through moon-glazed glen. While I walk alone . . . nor see Stardust on a cherry tree. Make me deaf to each wild tune Thrush and lark and river rune. Fill me not with vague unrest Kill this surging in my breast! Nor let lilacs wet with dew Stir old dreams nor fashion new, Shield me from the hurt of Spring God, a heart’s a fragile . . . thing. —Madeline Moschenross, in The Century Magazine. THE FREEDOM OF THE MOON I’ve tried the new moon tilted ii the air Above a hazy tree-and-farmhouse cluster As you might try a jewel in j-ou fine, with little breadth I’ve tried i1 of lustre, Alone, or in one ornament C( With one first-water star alnu shining. I put it shining anywhere I ph By walking slowly on some evening I’ve pulled it from a crate of crooked And brought it over glossy water, greater. And dropped it in, and seen the ii , all 5 of wondei SWEET WEATHER ow blow the daffodils on slender stalks. Small keen quick flames that leap up in the mold, Atid run along the dripping garden walks. Swallows come whirring back to chimneys old. Blown by the wind, the pear-tree flakes of snow Lie heaped in the thick grasses of the lane; And all the sweetness of the Long Ago Sounds in that song the thrush sends through the rain. —Lizette Woodworth Reese. THE WHITE KNIGHT AND THE LYRE The lovely daughter of King Gwain had disappeared, and there was a sliadow of sadness over the King’s City built upon the low cliffs near the sea. The King promised the hand of the Princess to tlie man who found her, and after seven days had passed, three knights from far away kingdoms met at the city gate. Two of them were dark with man ly beards, and bore scars of war. One wore an armor of gleaming red and sat upon a prancing black horse; the other wore an armor of shining yellow and sat upon a silver stallion with a flowing tail. The third was young, slender, and fair, and without armor. He was clothed in white sat in, and wore goldefn boots. He rode a white horse—a flashing figure. e King seeks a babe from the WEEK-END TRAVEL In the Realms of Gold “Much have I traveled in the Realms of Gold” We have just four books this week-end with which to enchant ourselves, to more or less educate ourselves, and decidedly to delight The first, and we have all heard a great deal about it, is our friend, Christopher Morley’s newest. It is Rudolph and Agmina, a triumph of the Morleyscope art. Rudolph and Agmina is an in triguing little tale, fraught with certain Teutonic superstition, saturated with Teutonic folklore, and made lovely by the very definite and grand ideas of Teutonic beauty. All tliese character istics of Germany entwined witli that Morleyscope whimsical and delightfully ironical humor, and bound into a whole by the sentimen tal yet different theme, makes Rudolph and Agmina a book you’ll enjoy and want to read again. To go quite to the other extreme in this survey of ours, we pick up a greatly-discussed book of the day—North Carolina, Economic and Social. Every fact that is a fact, and has to do with Nortlh Carolina, will be found within the covers of tliis very wise and very helpful book.' It is not only a book for loyal Tar-Heels, but it is an education in itself for other loyalists, too. Lady Frederick is a sparkling, witty play by William Somer set Maughan. To our minds perhaps it is rather unlike Mr. Maughan’s usual works—it is much lighter and keeps the reader racing to keep up with the lightning movements of the amazing Ijudy Frederick. Our dear Irish friend, Padraic Colum, returns to us in the form of Three Plays. Again we find Ireland as Paddy knows it, and when we finish, with a burst of self-esteem we feel like amateur Paddies ourselves. It is rather fascinating—this little green book—with its three bits of Erin—you’ll like it, too. Rudolph and Agmina North Carolina, Economic and Social Lad/j Frederick William Somerset Maughan Three Plays Padraic Colura - Cliristopher Morley “Ho! Look at the red knight. ‘ strong hero, not cradle!” The yellow knight laughed loudly, “See! He rides without armor. O brave and mighty, with what will you snatch our Princess from the fierce beast.^ Your handsome face’” The youth only smiled, and pulled forward a lyre which hung from his shoulders by a thin golden chain. This,” he said, “is my sole weapon, .et us proceed to the King.” Into the city they rode, drawing- after them a curious crowd. The children dropped their balls; the women left their cooking; the old cobbler ran out into the street with half finished shoe in his hand. Dogs barked at the horse’s heels, and from the top of the castle tower a blare of trumpets announced their coming, to the king. King Gwain rejoiced to> see them, and gave a magnificent feast in their honor, at which he told them how Elaine had disappeared. “She was walking by tho Sea,” he said mournfully, stroking liis long- grey beard, “and I stood watching her from the western parapet. I could see her silver gown pierced with moonbeams, and she seemed to scatter little showers of stars as she walked. Suddenly the surface of the sea became disturbed with frills of foam, and there was a great rumb ling sound as if a mighty wind was blowing out of great caverns in the deep. Then there arose from the waves a huge monster who, with one gulp, swallowed the part of the shore ujion which walked my lovely Elaine.” He sighed deeply, and tears ran down his withered cheeks. The Red Knight stood up, and lifting- his goblet, swore an oath, “Tonight, by the Gods of Olouldin, I shall go to the sea, and within three days. Sire, I shall return with your daughter and my bride!” A great cheer rang through the hall as the knight girded his sword, and with- scoff’ing laughter at the yellow and the white knights he made his way over the rocks to the sea. He strode boldly up and down the shore calling the Princess, with his sword gleaming in the moonlight. Two hours he spent thus without any sign of the monster or Elaine. He began to jest at the King’s tale and strutted along the white sands at the edge of the sea with great boldness. At the third hour while he watched, far out where the water met the star ry sky, he saw a thin line of white foam rolling toward the shore where he stood. As it drew nearer and nearer, he could see many more be hind it until the whole surface of the sea became a foaming mass. The sword dropped from his hands, and with a great cry he bounded like a deer oyer the rocks, and has never been seen to this day. The King gave a banquet the sec ond night, but it was a little less sumptuous than the one the preceed- ing night. He did not raise his head from Jiis hands until the! yellow knight lifted his goblet, and his cry echoed through the hall, “I, liy the blood of Touilain, will bring to you your daughter and my bride within tliree days. Take heart and bid me Godspeed!” The guests cheered him less loudly than they did the red knight, but (Continued on Page Threse)
Salem College Student Newspaper
Standardized title groups preceding, succeeding, and alternate titles together.
March 21, 1931, edition 1
2
Click "Submit" to request a review of this page. NCDHC staff will check .
0 / 75