Saturday, January 16, 1932.i
Member Southern Inter-Collegiate
Published Weekly by the Student
Body of Salem College
$2.00 a Year :: 10c a Copy
Associate h dito,
ALPHA CHI ALPHA
Mary Louise Mickey
Ass’t Poetry Editor
.. Martha H. Davis
Mary Ollie Biles
r Miriam Steve
Mary Drew Dalton
ss Manager .. Mary Alice Beanm
Asst. Adv. Mgr. .
Asst. Adv. Mgr. .
Asst. Adv. Mgr. .
Asst. Adv. Mgr. .
Asst. Adv. Mgr. .
Asst. Ad. Mgr. IV
Circulation Mgr. .
!. Circ. Mgr. .
t. Circ. Mgr.
.. Edith Claire Leake
y Catherine Siewers
Stranger, if you passing meet
me and desire to speak to me,
why should you not speak
And why should I not speak to
He knew that we must all be
Like little children in a school.
—Edwin Arlington Robinson.
I won’t take my religion
from any man who never works
except with his mouth and never
cherishes any memory except the
face of the woman on the Amer
ican silver dollar.
Last Tuesday morning: an ai
nouncement of the greatest importance
to Salem College, her students, fac
ulty, and friends, was made in chapel
by Dean Vardell. Mr. Vardell, Dean
of the School of Music of Salem Col
lege, announced the admission of
Salem College to the National Asso
ciation of Schools of Music.
Membership in this association,
which was formed for the pur
pose of standardizing and stabilizing
the degree, Bachelor of Music
throughout America, is creditable to
an institution, to say the least. The
fact that Salem’s School of Mi
ranks along with Eastman School of
Music and other eminent conservato
ries of Music in America should be
a source of pride to all Salem
This announcement will me;
good deal to the students of music of
this institution. Their degrees will
be of as much value as any degrees of
music that are offered in the country.
A musical graduate of this institu
tion will henceforth be in possession
of a degree that she would formerly
have been required to spend two years
in some conservatory to gain.
Congratulations to Salem College,
its administration, its faculty, its stu
dents, its alumnae, its patrons and
friends! But congratulations
ticular to Dean Charles G. Vardell
and the School of Music of Salem
College! Countless years of persist-
effort, undaunted courage, infinite
ability, and plain old “hard work’
have gone to bring about the bestowal
of this great honor. Much honor and
respect is due the late Dean H. A.
Shirley, Dean of the Salem College
School of Music for many years, who
laid the foundations for this great
Under the bed, beside the long
feast table, in the spotless cellars,
through the whole of the small clean
house, the two children scuttled.
Xantippe’s nasal voice rasping out
mild curses urged them to be rapid in
their search and sent them scuttling
corners to turn up any piece of
furniture large enough to conceal a
pair of newish sandals. Archelaus
was giving a dinner for their f-oolish
old father, and their energetic mother
was irritably forcing her spouse into
a semblance of a guest-of-honor out
The Moon is a Pale-Goddess
Who trails the umber-tinted filmy
Before her sweet maturity
To lure enraptured gaze
Of earthly mortals.
The Sun, her haughty Lord,
Stands guard with flaming eye
And darting beam
To keep enamored lovers
From her portals.
The Stars, laughing courtiers.
Wink down with irritating conde
And greet Man’s hopeless passion
For the Moon
With distant chortles.
Cramming time, and all that
means, is here! Maybe, it will remove
these Post-Christmas and Pre-Exam
Blues that have been pervading the
campus the last two weeks.
Congratulations are in order!
Salem College, and in particular the
School of Music of Salem College,
is to be congratulated on its last, and
perhaps greatest, achievement —
becoming a member of the National
Association of Schools of Music. Last
year Salem became a member of the
American Association of University
Women; this year she has become
member of the N. A. S. M. We wo:
der what Salem will do next.
Another set of congratulations
seem to be in order. We congratulate
our neighboring institution, N. C.
C. W., Greensboro, on its new priv
ilege of smoking on the campus,
temporary or trial arrangement, like
Salem’s, we predict a successful solv
ing of the campus smoking problem.
Fell and staggered up—
Eons of that
In the dazzle of the heights
I basked—false flame!
And then in treachery
He flung me down
The other side!
With some general remark lauding
the adornment of wit and damning
the adornment of the person, Soc
rates, flatly and somewhat loudly,
had refused to add more than a paii
of sandals to his usual smudgy white
costume. Even now he was standing
barefoot in the street in front of his
home discoursing in a masterful way
the foppery of gaudy dress. Xan
tippe’s inevitable contradictions play
ed a shrill accompaniment to the deep
monotone flowing steadily on in de
fense of simple dress and bare feet.
Short and stout, the grotesque looking
little man stood with his back to the
house, his powers of self-control al
most exhausted. His prominent
eyes appeared to bulge from their
sockets, and his snub nose with it;
broad nostrils seemed to spread ovei
the whole of his sallow face. Socrate;
exasperated and a little weary,
and the thought of shoes made the
stone bruise on his left heel smart and
burn. If he could only escape from
this well-meaning shrew, he could
think again; he could teach or talk
for hours^—but, Olymphian Gods!
Why were women made thus?
The wrangling jerked to a forced
halt. Megare, the young slave of
Archelaus, was running down the
street toward them, waving something
brown in his right hand, and cheer
fully shouting greetings to Socrates,
‘Archelaus has sent me to thee with
I gift of shoes. Thine old friend
sends the message that he knoweth
thy reason for delay to be always this
ne one, and that he desireth thee
t on his sandals and come along
th me, for the feast is prepared
and the guests are waiting.” Socrates’
mouth stretched in a wide grin as he
buckled on the sandals he had forgot
bring home from the last banquet
of Archelaus, and as he shuiTled awk
wardly away beside Megare, the wise
old fool thanked the young man for
furnishing him shoes without furnish
ing the demon in his home
grounds for persecution by exposing
Then out of fading
Ah, now I know.
You had not left m(
Only your steadfast glo
Dimmed in the blazing
Lightning of Success.
Success shone just to teach
That there is nothing else i
Fame’s hand is cold
Achievement’s heart is hard
With you I dare to Rest
And know that none
Shall ever take my place 1
“A very nice pool you have here.
Is it not?” mused Professor Bullfrog.
“Well, yes and no,” answered the
confident Mr. Bullfrog whom he
had addressed. “The latest reports of
:he Pool Investigation Committee
ihows that this pool ranks thirtieth
from the bottom.”
But just the same, pu seem to
have an abundance of insect food,”
laid Professor Bullfrog snapping at
“You speak erroneously, my dear
professor. If all the insects in this
pool were laid end to end they would
only reach half way to California.
Now, Mr. Bullfrog had never
been outside of the small pool, but
he took all the journals and statistical
reports and dared scorn the judgment
of any one—even an illustrious schol
ar like Professor Bullfrog who had
traveled all over the w'orld and was
famous for his deep studies. The Pro
fessor was not used to having his
opinions contradicted and he moved
uneasily on his lily pad.
“One must have a great deal of
time for meditation here and for read
ing all the ancient classical works of
the famous Bullfrogs,” said the Pro
fessor trying to change the subject.
“I have never read them,” said
Mr. Bullfrog, “but I can tell you
this: the latest report of the Anti-
Classical Investigation shows that
ninety percent of these books
by people of abnormal
I should judge that they have in
spired many great deeds,” humbly put
But Mr. Bullfrog smiled conde
scendingly upon the learned Pro
fessor. “My dear, would you place
mere judgment above the actual facts,
tHe visible figures?”
“But listen, Mr. Bullfrog, I’m
afraid you don’t get my point.”
“There is no point,” said Mr. Bull
frog and his tone was final.
Professor Bullfrog said nothing
more for there was nothing
say. If he had been a combination of
Sophocles, Shakespeare and Aristotle
he would have done the same thing.
Hopping noiselessly under the pro
tection of a bullrush he beg£
meditate, starting like this: “If all
the fools were laid end to end—” the
professor’s mind wandered
TO THE PEOPLE WHO ARE
NOT BUT WILL BE
When I am dead and gone
Into the endless vacuum of eternity
n I have stepped the last time
Thru the door of
'Will Not But You Must”
I shall be lying there—
Beneath the earth
And what was once my face
Shall be impotent, immobile and stark
Staring w'ith eyes that see not
At the sky
Listening with heedless ears
your swift steps
Above my prison house of
'Are No More.”
Ah, You who then will pass
Above my head
And think not of the dust beneath
Where are You now?
Who even thinks of You?
And who will die because You cry
ALPHA CHI ALPHA
This entire page consists of
original writings of Salem stu
dents. Most of them were con
tributed by members of the Nar
rative Writing course which is
offered to Juniors and Seniors;
some of them were contributed
by individual writers, poets and
essayists, on the campus who
were inspired by Calliope, the
Muse of Poetry, or by some oth
er of the Muses.
Lambda chapter of Alpha Chi
Alpha, the national journalistic
sorority of Salem, is sponsoring
a monthly page in the Salem
ite. Not only may members of
Alpha Chi Alpha, but also mem
bers of the student body, may
contribute to this page. All in
dividual and original writings
will be wi'lllingly, yea joyfully,
accepted by the organization.
This is a cordial invitation to
all would-be writers to see their
“brain-children” in print!
A small white envelope of standard
A square stamped with the brand of
I handle You, give You a gentle
Striving to pierce your half-mysterio
You look so innocent, clothed thus
White; with the blood-red seal that
takes you on.
Still—do I doubt. I have a s
You hold a secret I alone can ci
What’s in your heart
sage do you hold ?
White Mystery, I fear
beneath that tra
A sorrow—or a Horror—an Appeal!
Your fragile littleness controls my
I open you—my car! The payment’s
1 ask it of the heavens
And they smile
With all the knowledge
And the green trees bend down
Beneath their mirth
The mocking wind sweeps
Past my waiting ear
Cold laughter in its tones—
It knows! It knows!
‘Why do you wish to know—
You little thing
Of moulded earth and dust
That moves but once
When animated by the Maker’s foot
As He walks by—and then
To non-existence and dumb fixed-
—But I am made immortal
By His touch—
Protests—a freezing chill
Has dulled my voice—
What of the thousands who have gone
What do they know of Immortality
They who Have Been Not, lo.
These many yearsj
Ah, You who hammer at the Doors
Lit will not be admitted
ill I leave
Remember me as one who
Thought of You
Before the God of All Things
Touched and spoke
Thus waking you to Rapture
Remember me—I lived, I loved,
My eyes have shed the tears
Which you will shed
My ears have thrilled to music
You will know.
And even when you face
The swinging gates
That beckon on to solve the Mystery
Just think again—why,
I have done the same.
The greatest singer of them
All will come
After the earth has
Swallowed up myself
And they have yet to print
The greatest book
When I have not the life
But, You Who Will Be,
You will think the same
So I have no regrets for
Oh, seize your life, and laugh
And sing and play.
Too soon will we be silenced.
Clay to Clay!
Probably ought to extend that
moratorium to include Leap Year.
First the depression gets a man down,
and then the women Leap on him.
—High Point Enterprise.
There is a compensation here for me
In the frank beauty of your exstacy.
Your eyes beg and I kiss you laugh
It gives you pleasure—7 escape ennui!