Page Two.
THE SALEMITE
Friday, February 5, 1932.
The Salemite
Member Southern Inter-Collegiate
Press Association
Published Weekly by the Student
Body of Salem College
SUBSCRIPTION PRICE
$2.00 a Year :: 10c a Copy
EDITORIAL STAFF
Editor-in-chief Sarah Grai
Mav«ging Editor .. Mary Louise Miclcey
Associate Editor Margaret Johnson
Associate Editor .... Dorothy Heidenreich
Feature Editor Beatrice Hyde
Feature Editor Susan Caldei
Feature Editor Elinor Phillips
Poetry Editor Martha H. Davis
Ass't Poetry Editor Isabella Hansor
Music Editor Mary Ahshei
Society Editor Josephine Courtney
Sports Editor Mary Oliie Bilf
Local Editor Mildred Wolfe
Inlercollegiate Editor Miriam Steve
REPORTERS
Phyllis Noe
Elizabeth Gray
Martha Binder
Margaret Long
Mary Miller
Zina Vologodsky
-CONTRIBUTORS’ CLUB
Kathleen Atkins
Mary Drew Dalton
Mary Penn
Carrie Braxton
BUSINESS STAFF
Business Manager .. Mary Alice Bea;
Advertising Mgr Edith Claire Leake
Asst. Adv. Mgr. Ruth McLeod
Asst. Adv. Mgr Grace Pollock
Asst. Adv. Mgr Mary Sample
Asst. Adv. Mgr Isabelle Pollock
Asst. Adv. Mgr Emily Mickey
Asst. Ad. Mgr. Mary Catherine Siewers
Circulation Mgr Sarah Horton
Asst. Circ. Mgr Ann Shuford
Asst. Circ. Mgr. Elizabeth Donald
LITTLE THOUGHTS
FOR TODAY
A little Mexican girl in a burro
■cart—and Crod!
A tin can, with a straggling ge
ranium plant, in a tene
ment window—and God!
A weaver of silks; an artist at
his palette; a road-mender
at his work —■ whoever
touches beauty — God is
Who are you. Pan?
I’m youth, eternal youth!
I’m the sun rising, I’m poets
singing
I’m the new world. I’m a little
bird
That has broken out of the egg.
I’m joy, joy, joy.
—Peter Pan.
Work is a sacred thing . . .
Work is the great reality, beauty
is the great aim. Full satisfac
tion is only to be found in the
common beauty of the common
things of the common life.
—IV. A. Lethaby.
SALEM DAY, 1932
Today is Salem Day! The one
hundred sixtieth anniversary of the
day that the little “academy for fe
males” was established in 1772.
Today every Salem girl’s heart
thrills with pride as she sees her col
lege of today and looks back upon its
distinguished ancestry. Her patrio
tism is stirred by her thoughts of the
eminent place that Salem has always
held in the nation’s educational his
tory, from the perilous times of the
Civil war through the post-war edu
cational crisis to the present period
when Salem has recently received
wide-spread recognition. Every
Salem girl’s college spirit is incited
by the visits of the Trustees, and the
meetings of the alumnae on the cam
pus. The interest of these bodies is
a great aid and encouragement to the
student body.
Visitors, Trustees, and alumnae—
welcome, one and all, to Salem on
her one hundred sixtieth birthday.
THE LITTLE RED MAN
Years and years ago there was a
little old woman named Betsy who
lived in the Widow’s House at Salem,
She was a queer little creature, with
small staring eyes and an inquisitive
mouth, and she always wore a neat
white cap over her curly gray hair.
Betsy loved no one for the simple
reason that no one loved her; and be
cause she was deaf and lame, no one
paid any attention to her. The mind
of this shrivelled up woman of sixty,
years had never developed beyond the
stage of a ten-year old child; she was
treated as a child and ignored as much
as possible.
One day Sister Amelia, the house
keeper, noticed something extraord
inary in Betsy’s manner. At noon
she didn’t eat her thin piece of rye
bread and cheese as usual and that
evening she carried her portion of
sugar-cake away from the table. Aft
er supper she carefully wrapped them
up together, and thinking that no one
saw her, slipped stealthily out of the
house, and around the corner to the
rain barrel. None of this escaped
Sister Amelia, however, who watched
the little creature intently from the
window. Behind the rain barrel,
Betsy paused, glanced timidly around
her, hid her package among some
loose cobblestones, and skipped back
into the house like a frightened rab
bit. The remainder of the evening she
was extremely nervous, but did not
make the usual protest when Sister
Amelia sent her to bed at nine o’clock.
The next morning immediately after
breakfast, Betsy disappeared, and re
turned only for meals, when she
again hid most of her food in the
pocket of her gray-checked gingham
dress, and disposed of it, as the eve
ning before, behind the rain barrel.
By this time Sister Amelia was all
curiosity. She had an inward feeling
of pity for Betsy, and was the only
in the house who at all befriended the
odd little creature. She determined
to learn the secret which so thorough
ly occupied the childish old lady, but
was stopped in her first attempt when
Bets}'!, shaking her \head defiantly,
flatly refused to answer any ques
tions. Sister Amelia’s next step
to discover what became of her dur
ing the day. Because her insatiable
curiosity smothered her guilty con
science, she allowed herself to trace
Betsy, the next morning, to the head
of the basement steps.
“Heavens!” thought the sister,
“ ’Tis a wonder the poor thing hasn’t
caught her death of cold down in this
basement. What can she be up
It’s a good thing I’ve discovered this
—and now that I’ve started, I might
as well see it through 1” she added
stubbornly, as if arguing with hei
better self. She followed Betsy, keep
ing directly behind her so that she
would not be discovered. Down the
steep basement steps they went,
{Continued on Page Three)
" IP € IE T IP y "
FIRST FOOTSTEPS
A little way, more soft and sweet
Than field aflower with May
A babe’s feet, venturing, scarce com
plete
A little way.
Eyes full of dawning day
Look up for mother’s eyes to meet
Too blithe for song today.
Glad as the golden spring to greet
Its first live leaflet’s play,
Love, laughing, leads the little feet
A little way.
—Algernon Charles Swinburne.
BROWNIE
In a corner of the bedroom is a great
big curtain.
Someone lives behind it, but I don’t
know who;
I think it is a Brownie, but I’m not
quite certain.
(Nanny isn’t certain, too.)
I looked behind the curtain, but he
went so quickly—
Brownies never wait to say, “How
do you do?”
They wriggle off at once because
they’re all so tickly.
(Nanny says they’re tickly too.)
From When We Were Very
Young, by A. A. Milne.
PARAGRAPHICS
Welcome, trustees, alumnae, ^
tors! Salem greets you on her c
“Salem Day.”
A hint of sadness intermingles with
the joyful spirit of the day when
wish our Alma Mater “Many happy
returns of the day.”
The recent important topic of
versation at the dining-room tables,
after lights, in the dorms, and (sur
reptitiously) in the class-rooms, has
not been dates—or boys—or picture
shows— or letters—or food. The
Sino-Japanese-Manchurian project has
been fought out many times during
the last week not only by Miss Fer
guson’s Current History Class, but
also countless times by excited Seniors,
Juniors, Sophs, and Frosh.
Two Juniors have declared them
selves ready to drive ambulances
to be canteen workers “over there” if
there is a war. Others of us have
found sufficiently deep holes for
“hiding” purposes. Let’s hope we
won’t have to put either theory into
practice.
An attractive recent addition to
our chapel programs has been Dr.
Rondthaler’s terse comments on the
news of the day.
The little cares that fretted me,
I lost them yesterday among the
fields
Above the sea,
Among the winds at play;
Among the lowing of the herds,
The rustling of the trees.
Among,the singing of the birds,
The humming of the bees.
The foolish fears of what may hap
pen
I cast them all away
Among the clover scented grass,
Among the new-mown hay
Among the husking of the corn
Where drowsy poppies nod,
Where ill thoughts die and good
are born,
Out in the fields with God.
—Elizabeth Barrett Browning.
THE LARGER PRAYER
At first I prayed for light;
Could I but see the way.
How gladly, swiftly I would walk
To everlasting day.
And next I prayed for Strength:
That I might tread the road
With firm, unfaltering feet and y
The heaven’s serene abode.
And then I asked for Faith:
Could I but trust my God,
I’d live enfolded in His peace
Though foes were all abroad.
But now I pray for Love:
Deep love to God and man,
A living love that will not fail.
However dark the plan.
And Light and Strength and Faith
Are opening everywhere,
God only waited for me, till
I prayed the larger prayer.
—Selected.
INDEPENDENCE
I never did, I never did, I never did
like “Now take care, dear!”
I never did, I never did, I never
did want “Hold-my-hand;”
I never did, I never did, I never did
think much of “Not up there.
It’s no good saying it. They don’t
understand.
From When We Were Very
Young, by A. A. Milne.
Hold fast your dreams!
Within your heart
Keep one, still, secret spot
Where dreams may go.
And sheltered so.
May thrive and grow—
Where doubt and fear are no
O, keep a place apart.
Within your heart.
For little dreams to go!
—Louise Driscoll.
Week-End Travels
In the Realms of Gold
1. Rolvaag, O. E., Their Fathers’ God, Harper & Bros.
The author who is now Professor of Norwegian literature at
Saint Olaf College, Minnesota, came to America, a poor Norwegian
fisher boy. After many years of zealous study, he has produced litera
ture which is a real contribution to the world.
For this novel, Rolvagg has used that little bit of Ireland and
Norway which is so dear to him in South Dakota. Peder, a staunch
Norwegian Lutheran, and Susie, an Irish Catholic, marry against
the wish of their parents. Although they have a fierce insatiable love
for each other, their life is an unbearable misery due to their in
tolerant religious views. A little red headed child is born, only to be
a conflicting interest between the relatives of both families. Several
complications occur over the baptism of the baby. Much sorrow is
endured by both families and several tragedies inevitably happen.
For about a year or two Peder and Susie bear their miserable mar
riage; however, finally Peder’s affection wanes and he finds solace
in a girl of his own kind.
The Norwegian characters are impulsive, excitable, energetic
and fiery, while the Irish people are vividly presented in their fervid
religious feeling and slovenliness. The novel is one of convincing
reality. Rolvaag presents his unsophisticated characters in such a
way that they become intimately real and alive to the readei;.
2. Masefield, John, Minnie Maylaw’s Story, Macmillan Co.
Masefield’s versatility as a poet, both for subject matter and
style, shines forth in this volume of collected poems. The titles range
from classical subjects down to everyday happenings and his simplicity of
style is found in all. Alinnie Mayla’w's Story is none other than the
endless fairy tale told deliciously in verse. The classic element per
vades throughout several of the poems such as “Tristan’s Singing,”
“The Wild Swan” and “Penelope.” He is even so versatile as to
write “Adamas and Eva” in Chaucerian English.
3. . Maugham, W. S., First Person Singular, Doubleday, Doran & Co.
In this collection of six stories one meets the typical unconven
tional people of the author. Maugham uses China, London, Elsom
and Rome for his settings, along with other tropical countries. In
Virtue he says, “A virtue that only causes havoc and unhappiness is
worth nothing. You can call it virtue if you like. I call it cowardice.”
The characters for the most part are amusing and interesting; the
description and figurative language is excellent. The houses near
the sea at Elsom are described as looking like, “bedraggled old maids
waiting for lovers who would never return.” Of course Maugham’s
brilliant and sophisticated conversation is evident throughout each
story. Taken as a whole the book is most entertaining.
PENELOPE TO LIZARA
Salem Female Academy
February 22, 1882
My Dear Lizara:
What do you suppose has happened
today? You would never guess, so
I will have to tell you. In celebra
tion of Washington’s birthday we
were allowed to go for a ride in the
band-wagon! After dinner, Mr.
Fogle brought the wagon up to the
door and we all piled in, laughing
merrily, for one of those pleasant
rides which come “like angel’s visits,
few and far between.” But alas! all
things earthly have an end, however
pleasant. Our ride was no exception
and we drove up to the door, all
heartily wishing that Washington
had a birthday every week.
It seems that the academy is get
ting lively during the last month, for
on the birthday of our Principal, Rev.
Zorn, the liberty was granted us,
from that day forward, of conversing
during meals! We certainly enjoy
our meals more now than when the
silent system prevailed.
However, we are still wearied witli
our daily walk in the afternoon “up
the Cedar Avenue and down Main
Street.” “Variety is the spice of life”
especially a school girl’s so I suppose
the robins will soon brighten our
long walks in search of wild flowers.
We are editing a paper now, “The
Academy” and I am on the staff to
gather the school gossip. I chose to
head my column with the little verse:
“Only a school girl’s gossip, you
know
Innocent, simple, and pure as
How do you like it?
Fannie is confined to her roorti dur
ing recreation hours now for “lean
ing out the front window in an un
becoming manner.” Poor child, she
does get in such scrapes.
Oh, gracious, there goes the bell
for evening prayers, so I’ll have to
stop now. Do write me soon as any
mail is certainly appreciated.
Much love from your dear friend,
Penelope.
Ill
No lack of counsel from the shrewd
and wise
How love may be acquired and how
conserved
Warrants this laying bare before your
My needle to your north abruptly
swerved;
If I would hold you, I must hide my
fears
Lest you be wanton, lead you to be
lieve
My compass to another quarter veers.
Little surrender, lavishly receive.
But being like my mother the brown
earth
Fervent and full of gifts and free
from guile.
Liefer would I you loved me for my
worth.
Though you should love me but a
little while.
Than for a philtre any doll can brew.
Though thus I bound you as I long
to do.
From Fatal Interview, by Edna
St. Vincent Millay.
XI
Not in a silver casket cool with
pearls
Or rich with red corundum or with
blue.
Locked, and the key withheld, as oth
er girls
H^ve given their loves, I give my
love to you;
Not in a lovers’-knot, not in a ring
Worked in such fashion, and the
legend plain—
Semper fidelis, where a secret spring
Kennels ^ a drop of mischief for the
brain:
Love in the open hand, no thing but
that,
Ungemmed, unhidden, wishing not
to hurt.
As one should bring you cowslips in
a hat
Swung from the hand, or apples in
her skirt,
I bring you, calling out as children
do;
“Look what I have!—And these are
all for you.”
From Fatal Interview, by Edna
St. Vincent Millay.