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Saturday, May 16, 1931.
Member Southern Inier-Collegiate
Published Weekly by the Student
Body of Salem College
$2.00 a Year :: 10c a Copy
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
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
Man is the merriest species
of the creation; all above or
below him are serious.
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
—W. E. Gladstone.
You believe that easily which
you hope for earnestly.
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
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
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
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
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
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-
I strove with none; for none was
worth my strife.
Nature I loved and, next to nature.
I warmed both hands before the fire
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.
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.
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
—Edna Proctor Hayes.
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
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
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
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
“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
“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.”
“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.”
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