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Saturday, December 12, 1931.
Published Weekly by the Student
Body of Salem College
00 a Year :: 10c a Copy
.Lisociale Editor .
Feature I ddo,
Feature Editor „
Poetry Editor ....
Ass't Poetry Edii
Society Editor ....
n-Chief Sarah Gra
A MERRY CHRISTMAS!
- Mary Louise Micltey
Martha H. Davis
, Is ibella Hanson
Mary Ollie Biles
itor Miriam Stevenson
Mary Drew Dalton
f) IE T IR r -
BALLAD OF THE SPIRIT
There was no sorrier man than I,
(A singing star in the winter night)
Who saw the spirit of Christmas die.
(Oh evergreen bough and holly!)
Business Manager .. Mary Alice Beaman
Advertising Mgr Edith Claire Leake
Asst. Adv. Mgr Martha Bothwell
Asst. Adv. Mgr Grace Pollock
Asst. Adv. Mgr Mary Sampli
Asst. Adv. Mgr ,.... Isabelle Pollock
Asst. Adv. Mgr Emily Mickey
Asst. Ad. Mgr. Mary Catherine Sit
Circulation Mgr Sarah Horton
Asst. Circ. Mgr Ann Shuford
Asst. Circ. Mgr Rachel Bray
Glory, to God in the highest,
and on earth peace, good will
Some say, that ever ’gainst that
Wherein our Savioui
The bird of dawning
all night long;
And then, they say, no spirits
dare toi stir abroad;
And nights are wholesome ;
then no planets strike.
No fairy takes, nor witch hath
power to charm.
So hallowed and so gracious is
s birth i:
Christmas is in the air!
Here ’tis again — the good old
Holiday season that makes us pack
all our Raggedy-Ann winter clothes
in our trunk for mother to darn, that
takes us home to see all the folks, that
puts the good ole spirit in our bones,
which makes us want to fill a little
vagabond’s stocking, that makes
want to stand under the mistletoe
and be kissed! (The latter is
confession contributed by one of the
future old maids now residing in
If you don’t believe the season’s
here, you surely didn’t go to Salem
Day at the Anchor Store last week.
The show-windows typified an old-
fashioned Salem Christmas:
quaint fire-place, the antique furni
ture, the glittering, many-pointed
star, the striped stockings hanging
the mantle-piece—these made an
spiring Yuletide picture of long ago.
Now, even the streets are “decked
with boughs of holly,” Christmas
bells, and vari-colored lights. Next
time you start downtown at night to
the movie, make your masculine
friend pause a moment with you at
O’Hanlon’s corner and look all
around you. If you don’t get the
Christmas spirit then, something bad
is wrong with you.
Have you noticed the furtive
glances, and the mysterious disap
pearances of your friends lately?
Just think, every furtive glance
means a Christmas gift—for you! Ah,
but that’s not the right attitude to
take, of course. On Christmas you
should always think of giving,
receiving gifts. By the way, have
you heard anybody say what she’
going to give me ?
The other day I was rummaging
in my room-mate’s closet (looking
for a straight pin!) and I came upon
a tiny brown package, nicely wrapped
and tucked in a dark corner, way
behind her last winter’s coat. “My
Christmas present!” thought I. After
a short and ineffectual struggle with
my conscience, during which
bat my conscience curled up
died, I unwrapped the attractive
package and found—moth-balls!
After which intense disappoint
ment, I shall wish you a merry
Christmas—forever ’n’ ever.
The Spirit of Christmas, year by
Grew thin with horror and pale with
Pale with fear for the vanishing
Of the Angel Song and the Mangei
I saw the Spirit shudder and stop
Before the door of Ye Xmasse Shoppe
And the Shoppe was full of tru
Gilded trinkets, and money, and n
Hands that were soft and eyes that
Buying Good Will on a colored card.
The Spirit of Christmas wept to see
The dollar sign on the lighted tree.
Never a candle burning dim.
But placards shrieking: “For Her!’
Money flowed in a smothering tide,
And the Spirit of Christmas drooped
And over the snow the wind was cold
And the buyers bought and the trad-
If Bethlehem were here today,
Or this were very long ago,
There wouldn’t be a winter time
Nor any cold or snow.
i run out through the garden gate.
And down along the pasture walk;
And off beside the cattle barns
I’d hear a kind of gentle talk.
I’d move the heavy iron chain
And pull away the wooden pin;
I’d push the door a little bit
And tiptoe very softly in.
The pigeon and the yellow hens
And all the cows would stand
Their eyes would open wide
A lady in the manger hay,
If this were very long ago
And Bethlehem were here today.
And Mother held my hand and
I mean the lady would—And she
Would take the wooly blankets of?
Her little boy so I could see.
His shut-up eyes would be asleep.
And he would look just like our
And he would be all crumpled too.
And have a pinkish color on.
I’d watch his breath go in and out.
His little clothes would be all
I’d slip my finger in his hand
To feel how he could hold it tight.
And she would smile and say, “Take
The Mother, Mary, would, “Take
And I would kiss his little hand
And touch his hair.
Dead the Spirit of Christmas lay.
And a small child came along that
Proud and happy, the child displayed
An awkward gift that her h
had made . . .
I am the gladdest of mortal mei
(A singing star in the winter night)
Who saw, at the touch of a child of
The Spirit of Christmas live again.
(Oh evergreen bough and holly!)
While Mary put the blankets back,
The gentle talk would soon begin.
And when I’d tiptoe softly out
I’d meet the Wise Men going ii
—Elizabeth Madox Roberts.
We don’t have to be mathemati
cians any longer to count the number
of days before the Christmas holidays.
Just one hand and two fingers!
Finally we’re sure that winter is
here. Even Dr. Rondthaler, who is
an authority on signs of spring, musi
admit that winter has made its much
belated debut. To make her
ing out” the more spectacular, she
wore a brilliant dress—the latest
model from the North Pole,
snow, sleet, and ice.
And there’s another reason we
to see Christmas approaching. It’s the
only time of the year we can really
appreciate the concert voices of Dr.
Rondthaler and Dr. Anscombe. Let’s
sing “Joy to the World” oftener.
What happened to our muffins foi
breakfast. Today makes nineteen
days since we’ve had them. And do
we like muffins?
These candles are such lovely things.
All amber-tipped and bright;
They give the mellow radiance
I like on Christmas night.
So I have lighted small red ones
Upon the waiting tree;
Tall green ones on the mantel shelf
To show the room to me.
But this so slender, silver one—
Much beauty cheaply priced—■
I bought to mark my window sill
With halo of the Christ.
And shepherd-like, all through the
Watching across the hill.
It will remind some traveler
Of peace—and of good wiil!
—Clara Hood Puge.l.
THE CHRISTMAS BABE
So Small that lesser lowliness
Must bow to worship or carees;
So great that heaven itself to know
Love’s majesty must look below.
—]'phn B. Tabb.
^ “ :  r: h ^ j ti i u ti i i i ii *
In the Realms of Gold
LIGHT OF BETHLEHEM
’Tis Christmas night; the snow,
A flock unnumbered lies:
The old Judean stars aglow,
Keep watch within the skies.
An icy stillness holds
The pulse of the night:
A deeper mystery enflods
The wondering Hosts of Light
’Till, lo, with
That dims each diadem.
The lordliest earthward bending, hail
The Light of Bethlehem.
—John B. Tabb.
"Much Have I Traveled in the Realms of Gold"
Do you still like to read delightful children’s stories? If you |
I don’t care to read them, of course you like to look at brightly-colored 1
I pictures such as are found in James Baldwin’s interpretation of the g
I famous The Story of Siegfried. This book does not give a literal |
I translation of the old Siegfried myths, but the changes made by Mr. |
I Baldwin add to the charm of a story which has failed to grow old |
I during many centuries. Perhaps the charm of the book lies in the |
I fact that it is a story of adventures and a story easily comprehended. |
I If term papers bore you too much, travel thousands of miles from |
I them with Siegfried.
I Have you ever been to Russia? Were you ever tempted to
I rebel against all authority? If you haven’t been to Russia, just
1 get an idea of Russian life through Turgeneff’s Fathers and Sons. =
I The struggle between old and new forces of Russian society is de-
I picted vividly through the story of Bazarof and Kirsanof, two young _
I men who resent restraint and whose fathers adhere to authority. Ivan |
I Turgeneff, a Russian himself, has given a> realistic and sincere picture
I of the battle between fathers and sons. If you have ever rebelled
1 against something you didn’t believe in, perhaps you can sympathize
1 with Bazarof and Kirsanof. _
i An old, white-headed fiddler, sitting on his doorsteps lazily 1
I plays his fiddle and sadly looks into space. Unconcernedly he is
□ sitting there, never once conscious of the music he is producing.
I Wouldn’t you just love to slip up beside him and watch him jump as |
I he sees you? Then how much you would enjoy the Kentucky ballads |
I that he might sing if you begged hard enough! I think I would ask |
I him to sing from Henry Fuson’s Ballads of the Kentucky Hiffhlands, a |
3 wonderful selection of old ballads. Of course the old fiddler could 1
I never sing them all, for the book contains over two hundred songs. I
i Don’t you want to look them over? Ballads of the Kentucky High- |
j lands is on the “Have You Read These?” table in the library. |
I The Story of Siegfried James Baldwin j
I Fathers and Sons Ivan Turgeneff =
I Ballads of the Kentucky Highlands Henry Fuson |
THIS GIVING BUSINESS
Our present custom of Christmas
giving has several interesting origins
but the rudimentary principal of the
whole system is the fact that people
just have to give, in other words, they
feel the urge. The Egyptians,
Israelites and even those highly
colored African tribes in ages far re
moved knew how to pull the strings
which would place them m favor
with their kings. The old Romans,
all of whom weren’t really old at all,
had the terrible habit of thrusting
gifts upon their most honorable and
all-powerful senators at the most in
opportune time. In fact, the habit
was so terrible that, in order to avoid
confusion, they chose New Year’s
Day as the definite time for bestow
ing gifts. The idea was wonderful
and soon everybody began to receive
and give gifts. But, alas, one New
Year’s Day Claudius awol e and found
no gift; so he, having the welfare of
the citizens at heart—as any good
old Roman should, made a law that
gifts could be actually demanded on
the appointed day but on no other day
during the year.
’Of course the Romans are respon
sible for the presence of such a cus-
Great Britain. When the
Roman conquerors went to Great
Britain they missed their New Year’s
gift the first year and in order to feel
more at home they decided the kind
hearted Anglo-Saxons could do well
by a little friendly exchange. From
England the custom began to spread
travelled all over Europe about
t as gossip does around girls’
colleges or any other high-minded in
Now, most authorities say that
Christmas gifts were invented to take
the place of New Year’s gifts just be
cause somebody got it into his head
that New Year’s gifts were pagan-
istic. Then again there are those who
say that our present system comes di
rectly from the Priest’s box affair
which took place every Christmas in
the early Roman era. But let’s let
Rome be for a time, and just take it
for granted that for once most author
ities are correct.
The whole change from New Year
to Christmas came about by the di
vine inspiriation of two saints, St.
Augustine and Chrysostom. The form
er called New Year’s gifts diabolical,
and the latter,, for no good reason at
all except for the drive to win ap
proval, said the custom of New
Year made gift giving a Satanic ex
travagance. Certainly, these early
divines could not stand for such a
thing as abolishment of the custom,
so they collaborated by the means of
necromantic telepathy and decided
that Christmas gifts would be sub
stitutes for the New Year’s gifts.
The advantage was that Christmas
gifts should carry the abstraction of
good will, generosity and kindliness.
The decision was accepted and today
the custom of giving New Year’s gifts
Thus, as a little advice, this Christ
mas when your friends give you
the accustomed lovely gifts (i. e., un
less the depression is leaving to big
an impression) just remember that
they don’t do it on account of any
great altruistic sentiment. It’s not so
nice to think of, but the fact is that
they are giving because their grand
mothers gave, because their great
great grandmoters gave, because the
Roman conquerors thought the Eng
lish people might do better if they
did as the Romans did.
The Seat of Success
“Please tell me,” begs a reader,
“what’s this ‘destiny’ which they say
‘shapes our ends?’ ”
“We’re not certain,” says the Edi
tor, “but it used to be our mother’s
hairbrush and our dad’s slipper.”