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Page Two. THE SALEMITE Saturday, May 16, 1931. POETRY ENCHANTMENT THE MOCKINGBIRD Member Southern Inier-Collegiate Press Association Published Weekly by the Student Body of Salem College SUBSCRIPTION PRICE $2.00 a Year :: 10c a Copy EDITORIAL STAJ'F Kditor-iii-C'liief Sarah Graves Managing Editor .. Mary I.ouise Mickey Associate Editor Frances Douglas Local Editor Patsy McMullen Feature Editor Dell Landreth Feature Editor .... Dorothy Heidenreich Poetry Editor Martha H. Davis Literary Editor Margaret Johnson Music Editor Mary Absher Society Editor Susan Calder Sports Editor Nancy Miller REPORTERS Beatrice Hyde Mildred Wolfe Zina Vologodskj Mary Miller Betty Stough Miriam Stevenson BUSINESS STAFF Business Manager .. Mary Alice Beaman Advertising Mgr Edith Claire Leake Asst. Adv. Mgr Emily Mickey Asst. Ad. Mgr. Mary Catherine Siewers Asst. Adv. Mgr. Ida Baker Williamson A.sst. Adv. Mgr Grace Pollock Asst. Adv. Mgr Margaret Davis Asst. Adv. Mgr Sennie Hengeveld Circulation Manager Ethel McMinn Asst. Cir. Mgr Mary Sample A.sst. Cir. Mgr Sara Horton THOUGHTS FOR THE DAY Man is the merriest species of the creation; all above or below him are serious. —Addison. Believe me when I tell you that thrift of time will repay you in after-life, with a usury of profit beyond your most sanguine dreams; and that waste of it will make you dwindle alike in intellectual and moral stature, beyond your darkest reckoning. —W. E. Gladstone. You believe that easily which you hope for earnestly. —Terence. PARAGRAPHICS Hail, hail! The huge stones cer tainly tried to do away with the library windows and the swimming pool fence last Saturday P. M. I.ying in bed and nonchalantly listening to the 8 :35 chapel bell ring is our idea of being unable to rise to the occasion—but perhaps that is just the time when one should rise to the occasion! Last week-end gave the retiring and the new editor a chance to oblige the many loving friends who have often requested them “to go jump in the lake.” Judging from ho r appearance in chapel last Wednesday it looks as if the Sophomore president certain ly endeavored to give the class elec tions a “flying start.” “Red-nose Pete” is a suitable nick name for any of the campers of last week-end. PIERRETTES “CUM LAUDE” More than two thousand five hun dred years have passed since the day when Antigone was first pro duced on the Athenian stage before a throng of admiring Greeks^ who stayed to enjoy the development of the interesting plot and went away to praise their countryman, Sopho cles, who had wrought this work with with such artistry. Of all his plays this one has had the greatest popu larity and has delighted the largest number of people throughout the centuries since 111 B'. C. The heroine of this drama, Anti gone, has been said to be in litera ture what Socrates is in history—a martyr to the cause of Truth. Both chose to suffer the persecution of man in order to obey the laws of God whose “life is not of to-day or yesterday, but for all time, and no man knows when they wt«-e first put forth.” This afternoon on our own Salem campus this great play will again be presented. The audience will mar vel at the modernity of the thought and feeling expressed, follow with real interest the development of the story, and think back with awe and wonder over the ages of time, which have destroyed the men and civiliza tions of antiquity and yet have brought safely to us the spirit of Truth which characterizes this drama just as it dominated the life of its author. Previous expectations and expla nations which for weeks have at the same time puzzled and enlightened the Student Body will be fulfilled and surpassed by the beauty of the play which speaks for itself in elo quent tones.] All organizations!, teachers, students, and friends of the college wlio have been preparing throughout many weeks for the event, are seeking the fulfillment of their careful plans; the college is proud to have it take place on the Salem campus, and those who will attend the performance are awaiting it with enthusiastic interest. Antigone represents the combined efforts of the Pierrette Players and the English Department, not only for this one year but also for many years past. This great drama is the apex of Pierrette Players’ history; and not enougli can be said in praise of this history. This enthusiastic group of people who are interested enough in dramatics for dramatics’ sake to memorize line after line, page after page, and even book after book, many times during the year, are sure ly to be commended. They have done this again and again, and have presented numerous dramatic per formances during the collegiate year. These performances have not only been numerous; they have also been erditable. Of course, lines have been forgotten or only half-way learned, and costumes have been inadequate at times, but on the whole, the plays have been highly successful. Besides developing artistic and professional ability in those individual students who are dramatically inclined, these productions have furnished enjoy ment to the student public on otherwise dreary Saturday nights, and —■ most commendable contribu tion of all — they have developed an appreciation for modern American drama, French medieval drama, and now ancient Greek drama, thus rais ing the scale of artistic appreciation in tlie individual student at Salem. We Editors confidently think we know a good thing when we see one, and so we say: “I.ong live the Pier- RELINQUISHMENT I strove with none; for none was worth my strife. Nature I loved and, next to nature. Art! I warmed both hands before the fire of life; It sinks, and I am ready to depart. —Walter Savage Laudor. On this fawn coloured shore All delicately strewn, Ciold dust and gleaming shell. White stone and blue stone. Lie sweetly together whether Eyes be to see them or none. Tile air is gay with voices, Of children. The sun. Cast flowers of purple shadow. Before them as they run. Blows clouds and blooms of shadow, Where the swift feet may run. Outward the children race To leap into the sea. That bubbles silver bright. In the lovely revelry. Of foam and binds together, In a white revelry. DIRGE Your pulse beats under mine Like lapping of a lake Along the water-line. Your flesh is harsh and fine. Your flesh is dry and sweet Like sun-drenched sand. The ground Is luminous with heat, Oh, listen to the beat. Of waves along the shore . . . Of blood against the flesh . . . Of hands upon a door That will not open more. —-Chase Boyden. THE BOOMERANG When a bit of sunshine hits ye. After passing of a cloud. When a fit of laughter gits ye. And ye’r spine is feelin’ proud. Don’t forget to up and fling it At a soul that’s feelin’ blue. For the minit that ye sling it It’s a boomerang to you. —Capt. Jack Crawford. List to that bird! His song what poet pens it.? Brigand of birds, he’s stolen every Prince though of theives—hark! how the rascal spends it! Pours the whole forest from one tiny throat! —Edna Proctor Hayes. IF If nothing else in all the world Remained but just a glimpse of I’d still believe the world was good And life worth the living, too. If over all the world a cloud Had settled deeper than the night And I should see your smile I’d know Somewhere, sometime, there would be light. If every lovely flower that grew Had perished in the world of pain I’d trust the power that made you, To bring back loveliness again. If every friend had proven false But you. I’d still have faith to know That God could raise up other To stand by men in weal or woe. If every bird that ever sang Had lost the note it sang before One word of yours would make me feel. That music would peal forth once If no one else believed in God And no one else believed in me Your joy, your life, your faith, your Would make me feel eternity. THE APPLE TREE “Stop prating to me about how you despise school, because it is a horrible prison, because it is this and that and several other things besides ! One would think I had never been to boarding school to hear you talk, Marty. And furthermore, let’s have , no more of that nonsense about run ning away. But, that reminds me— have I ever told you about the time I ran away from Miss Hoyt’s Se lect School for Young Ladies? I don’t suppose your mother will thank me for telling it to you, but it is such a good story I really must. “I was—^^let me see—about thir teen, I believe, and much more im practical and scatter-brained than I am now —although to hear your mother talk, that is a fact hard to comprehend. At any rate, I was madly, insanely, in love with a boy named Edward, a Presbyterian min ister’s son. Staunch Presbyterian that he was, (and just one year older than I), he persuaded me that it was ordained that we should belong to each other. “For weeks the rules. Miss Emily Hoyt had hung around our necks, had been irritating me, and I felt ],ike doing the same thing little Sally’s cat does when you rub her the wrong way. In fact, everything seemed to be helping Ed persuade me that school and restrictions were all wrong. To be perfectly frank, however, that would not have been much of a task at any time. Anyway, Ed’s blue, blue eyes and winning ways far overbalanced my education al temptations; so I consented to “We were to leave at ten o’clock— immediately after Miss Emily’s nightly round—and set out for South Carolina in his pony cart. After be ing married by noon the next day— it wasn’t a very long trip to the state line—we planned to come back and force your great-grandfather to give his new son-in-law a position on his plantation. “Several nights after I had ac cepted Ed’s proposal, the scene was laid for our departure. Just as the grandfather clock, on the landing of the stairs, struck quarter after ten —I thought at first it was the beat ing of my heart—I slipped out of our room, and down the squeaky stairs. As I turned the corner at the landing, I heard something thud heavily, like a cold, limp corpse, against the wainscot of the wall, just behind me. I barely managed to sup press a scream, even after I real ized that the noise had been made by the huge bundle, which I was carrying on my back, bumping against the wall. No wonder the bundle was enormous; it contained no less than ten ruffled petticoats, and probably more, since no self- respecting girl would think of get ting married in less than eight. “Finally, by skillful maneuvers in total darkness, I got as far as the apple tree under which my lover was to meet me. Lover, did I say? Vil- lian, I mean! He deserted me in this crisis, although I later learned that it wasn’ij entirely his fault. His mother had noticed his nervousness, and suspecting that he might be up to some mischief had locked him in his room. As I plucked blindly at the leaves on( tSie low-hanging branch- of the apple tree, some long, cold, wet something fell from the branches and tried to wrap itself around my wrist. I could think of nothing except the story of Eve, the serpent, and her apple tree. In terror-stricken agony, I fled from the black pit of the moonless night, and the temptations of the serpent. Doubtlessly, this was an omen from heaven that my marriage had not been made within its sacred precints, and that I had best abandon that foolish plan. And so I shunned it, even after I found out the next day, that my serpent was a bedewed jumping-rope that one of my school mates had left hanging on the branches of the apple tree.” —Patsy McMullen. “Music was a thing of the soul—a rose-lipped shell that murmured of the eternal sea—a strange bird sing ing the songs of another shore.” —Anonymous. WEEK-END TRAVEL In the Realms of Gold “Much Have I Travelled In The Realms of Gold” A fairy story for grown-ups is to be found! in the plot of Lord Dunsany’s play. If. Mysteries of an Oriental flavor, seen in con trast with tlie most.English of English atmospheres, produce a re sult that is at times hilariously funny and always entertaining. The brevity of this work enhances one’s interest in it and leaves the reader longing for more of the same sort. Comparison or de scription is almost impossible since they would only lead to other books by the same author that one can read for one’s self; no one else has ever written in exactly the tone that Lord Dunsany always uses. F'or this reason no one else has produced a play more di verting than If, which, in the words of William Beebe who has written the foreword, is “a relief from the eternal straight line drama which begins in a spirit of comedy, develops mysteriously, and ends satisfactorily.” In The Glory of The Nightingales the story of the love, jealousy, hate, and final peace in the souls of two men, is told, with a beauty of artistry and form, as only Edward Arlington Robinson can tell it. The story of Malory and Nightingale, whose friendship was turned to bitterness because of their love for Agatha, is en grossing in itself, but far more important is the magic of word- painting and expression with which the poet describes what hap pened on a long way “to Sharon and a longer way from Sharon to the sea.” For our third expression we choose William Somerset Maugham’s tale Of Human Bondage. The intensity of plot and the some times very morbid atmosphere in which the characters move are not too depressing to be interesting. The reader will not find it hard to lose himself in following Philip Casey through his struggles against his physical, emotional, financial, and spiritual bonds into a land of victorious freedom where the sun is shining. If Lord Dunsany The Glory of The Nightingale Edward Arlington Robinson Of Human Bondage William Somerset Maugham