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Thursday, February 22, 1934.
Member Southern Inter-Collegiate
Published Weekly by the Student
Body of Salem College
$2.00 a Year :: 10c a Copy
Editor-in Chief Susan Calder
dsHstant Editor Sarah Lindsay
Assistant Editor Miriam Stevenson
Mary Penn Gertrude Schwalbe
Mary Absher Cortlandt Preston
Mary Ollie Biles Kathleen Adkins
Martha Binder Elizabeth Jerome
Elizabeth Gray Mary E. Reeves
Cora Emmaline Henderson
Business Manager Isabel Pollock
Advertising Manager....Jane Williams
Exchan^ Manager .. Ruth McConnell
Circulation Manager..Ma.itha Schlegel
AsH .CHr. Mgr Florence Ledbetter
WHAT DOES HAPPI
NESS MEAN TO US
I wonder if we have pondered over
some of the extremely pertinent points
brought out by Mr. McEwen in chap
el Friday morning. If we have, we
have probably taken an inventory of
ourselves and tried to measure our
standards, if we haven’t, let’s try.
From childhood to maturity, our
sense of values is constantly changing.
The things that mean most to us as
children are usually physical or ma
terial objects such as a new toy. a pet
cat, or new clothes. When we get
older, we have to guard against the
“if I had money, I’d be happy” atti
tude. Life can mean a great deal to
us in terms less tangible but with a
deeper meaning than those in dollars
and cents. Happiness comes through
the heart, not through a bankbook
containing a six figure balance,
not advocating the “Pollyanna” op
timism—that would be a slap in the
face to the many absolutely destitute
people. But to those of us who have
enough even if we aren’t millionaires
it is important not to sigh for riches
we don’t have. In the present day
we hear so much about high finance
that it is only natural for money to
assume an exaggerated import^ce
in our eyes.
Someone has said, “Happiness
the ultimate goal of every mai
Happiness is intangible. You ca
go around all the time asking your
self “am I happy?”, if you do, you’ll
.So the next time you feel
for yourself you could cry because
your allowance has been cut a dollar
a week, just forget your sorrows. Go
over to the library and read the new
magazines or go down to the gym for
a good hard game of basketball. That
will cheer you up and you’ll be much
happier than if you had gone down
town and spent your last nickel on
chocolate candy and peanuts.
A fascinating palmist, dressed in a
stylish black hat with a red and white
red figured dress, was looking into
the damp hand of Frances Adams.
“Yes, one caneasily tell that this
young lady is a flirt”—with which
Miss Adams, much pleased, came
home and plaited a golden ribbon into
her long black hair, and became the
belle of the Freshman-Junior Party.
Then the palmist took Mary Penn’s
capable little hand in her own. Mary,
who has been Jane William’s unre
lenting task-master for the past three
weeks in a reducing campaign (for
Jane), and who has succeeded in tak
ing ten pounds of flesh from her very
willing victim, was much surprised
’Twas many and many a year agi
In a cot beside the sea,
When little Georgie Washington
Was at the age of three.
One bright and sunny morning
He hopped up from his bed
He brushed his teeth and combed his
And this is what he said,
“Mamma, dear, I have a date
And won’t be home till two,”
And he seized his little hatchet.
And out the door he flew.
“Oh, Georgie, lad,” his mamma cried,
“Come eat your breakfast first.
I’ve fixed some nice oatena
For you to eat until you burst.”
But Georgie didn’t hear her,
For so intent was he
Upon a plot of cutting down
A noble cherry tree.
It grew about a mile away.
So Georgie ran and ran.
But the sun grew hot and the dust
’Twas more than he could stand.
And soon his pace grew slower.
He huffed and puffed and blew,,
Exhaustion was upon him.
His bones ached through and through.
At last he reached the cherry tree
Standing so straight and tall,
“Aha!” cried little Georgie,
“You’re waiting for a fall.”
He threw his coat upon the ground
And clutched his hatchet tight.
Then, drawing in a great big breath.
He whacked with all his might.
Well, he whacked and whacked till
But not a chip did fly.
The cherry tree stood straight and
And didn’t bat an eye.
At last our little Georgie
Turned weary footsteps home.
He wanted his little beddie
And never more to roam.
But after sleeping soundly
Throughout the long, long night
He woke again at sun-up
Feeling fine and high as a kite.
“Oh, mamma, dear,” cried Georgie,
“I want my breakfast first—
Give me some nice oatena.
And I’ll eat until I burst.”
Breakfast over, away he flew
And ran and ran and ran
e did Georgie puff and pant,
a little man.
And soon he reached the cherry tree,
rie wasn’t tired at all.
‘Aha!” he cried, “It’s true this time,
You’re gonna get your fall.”
With one great great whack our
The noble cherry tree.
And shuddering from limb to limb.
It met its destiny.
Then, Georgie headed homeward
’Hlis mighty feat to tell—
T cannot tell a lie,” said he,
“And that I know full well.
Oh, mamma, dearest, knead your
And bake a cherry pie.
But I shall eat oatena
From now until I die.”
Eat oatena and you, too, can be
the father of your country.
Once a scholar always a scholar,
and they say a scholar never atops
studying. Then we have at least
one scholar on the campus, for last
Thursday, February 8, Dr. Eondthal-
er went to Chapel Hill to do some
more vrork on a subject he has been
studying for some time. In the
years 1788 and 1789 North Carolina
refused to sign the Federal consti
tution and our president is making
a study of those years.
This afternoon from four to six
Jiss Lawrence and Miss Riggan are
ntertaining at tea for the dormitory
tudents. The entertainment will be
rom four to six at the Practice
s a great influence over other peo-
)le. You have the faculty of being
ble to change anybody you wish to.
ill you have to do is to set your mind
;o the task, and in your hands lies the
iestiny that shapes their ends.”
These and other marvelous revela-
ions were made public last- Friday
light by Mrs. McArthur in the Wee
Blue Inn. Riotous was the enthusiasm
s she drove away from Salem after
hich followel the charming palmist
ne of the most profitable evenings
I'er experienced by the proprietors of
the tea room.
One of the most encouraging signs
I be found by Mrs. McArthur in the
hands of the Salemite, and one which
;he somehow managed to find in ev
ery single hand presented to her was
the wrinkle which prophesied marriage
SALEM PLAY HOUSE
By Annie Secret Willdo
“You have much will power a
Fifteen cents is an exceedingly small
price to be paid by young ladies for
I information concerning domestic
Scene: Lower Campus.
Time: Geo. Washington’s Birthday.
Characters: Spirit of Geo. Washing
ton, and a few Salem numbers.
Read the play and find out who.
Motive of Play: George’s Spirit wish
es to sneak down to the old Wash
ington Spring, without being ob
served, and take another drink of
water like the one he took one hun
dred and forty-three years ago.
The Development of the play is based
upon the obstacles which present
themselves to thwart the desire of
George’s Spirit for a drink of water.
The spirit of George does not per
ceive these obstacles at first. He is
first seen tiptoing stealthily across
the athletic field in an effort not to
be seen. He is depending upon the
old saying about things in full view
being last observed, and is getting
along very well until he comes
cement walk which leads fro
college to the Academy. Frances
Adams, followed by a small army of
college chaperones is on her w"ay to
the academy. George, with a sudden
inspiration, turns his back, and stands
motionless not twelve paces from the
Frances A. (speaking of George’!
coat): “What’s that red thing oui
in the athletic field?”
Jane Williams: “That’s just Miss At
kinson looking for a last fall’s five
dollar hockey ball.”
“Saved,” pants the Spirit, as the
girls move on.
He walks a little further. Under
a tree, he almost stumbles over Kath
leen Adkins, sitting with her face up
turned listening to a bird’s song. She
is recording its notes in verse.
Kathleen (softly): “Stranger,
on quietly. Do not frighten my
little friend up there.”
George: “I’ll gladly be on my way
without further adoo.”
And for your kind lack of in
terest and curiosity, thank you.”
(His poetic attempt is wretched.)
Kathleen does not notice, but contin-
;s listening to the bird.
George has made no more than three
feet of progress when he is stopped
short by a loud voice from somewhere
on lovers’ leap.
Voice: “Yoo, hoo, big handsome boy!
Whatcha doin’ down there by yo’
Marguerite Goodman, drying her
golden hair in the sun, looks like a
true sireen, luring the passerby away
from his original destination. George,
thinking hard of his wife, Martha,
and of his desired drink of water,
points his nose straight ahead, tilts
it a little upward, and marches for-
Suddenly, he sees, across the stream
from him, a stooping figure with its
pink, slightly bald head bent over
a tiny, blue, spring flower. > (Dr.
Rondthaler, say thank you for that
word slightly.) Unobserved, George
slinks by. He is just about to reach
the second bridge, when he comes face
to face with a beautiful girl at the
foot of the May Day Hill. Both stop
in their tracks. George, perceiving
the girl’s apparent embarrassment
but not guessing the reason for it,
whispers, “I won’t tell on you if you
on't tell on me.”
Mildred Hanes, who has been prac
ticing her royal descent in prepara
tion for May Day, blushingly replies,
“O. K. that’s a bargain.” And she dis
creetly goes back up the path to start
practicing again. I
George’s Spirit now thinks he is '
safely through with meeting people. George: “Yes,
THE LITTLE DINING
ROOM GOES FRENCH
The maids stared in astonishment
at the outburst of French, English
and what have you, as the French
Club members entered the little din
“Bon soir, Madame.”^—But Mme.
Simpson had fled, driven by the out
burst of atrocious French, into the
corner by the piano, leaving Mme.
Wenhold and Mile. Patterson to wel
come the old members who were sup
posed to be able to speak French,
and the new members, in whose honor
the dinner was being given, who had
hopes of being able to get by with a
very few words.
“Mon dieu!” exclaimed Mile. Mari
anna Redding, “I’m in the wrong
pew! I can’t parler francais with
Mme. Downes. I haven’t been proper
ly introduced to her anyway, so I re
fuse to talk!” And she began calmly
to buver her rouge tomato juice and
to manger her celeri and her olives
avec beaucoup de force.
“Mile. Lasater, I’ll gladly pay you
a nickel demain to sit by M. Downes
ce soir.” murmured petite Mile. Jose
phine Whitehead. “I mistook him for
Maurice Chevalier when I grabbed
this chair. I’m afraid he’ll chase me
out of le Cercle Francais if I talk
French to him.”
But Mile. Lasater stuck by her own
chair and played with her petit pain.
Mile. Stevenson et Mile. Dorabelle
Graves were parler-ing in French
trying to keep M. Downes from find
ing out how little they really know.
Mile. Jane Williams and Mile. “Lib
by” Jerome thought they had found
the lost chord and they were chanter-
ing “Au Clair de la Lune,”
“Frere Jacques,” trying to drown out
Mile. Mary Louise Haywood and Mile.
Sara Johnson who were discussing
Mae West. Mile. Haywood said she
was tres, tres terrible, but Mile.
“Hey, kid!—Go away! Aw, come on
. . . . Nice baby . . Love me, Hun?”
“ ... Mon dieu! Did Mme. Simpson
think that bold handsome Elizabeth
Grey in her “tux” was Taylor or
she trying to pick up un capain?
Oh, . . she was merely reading from
her tiny candy hearts . . . Quelle jeune
fille! (Note the jeune, s’il-vous plait,
“Oh, mon pauvre bilet de boeuf aux
cliampignonIS! Vous etes sj—si—si
tough! Je ne peux pas vous couper.
Que faire . . Que faire!” wailed Mile.
Jean Patterson, hoping that Mme.
Wenhold would cut her filet de boeuf ,
for her, on account of she wanted to
get up and make another petite piece.
Mais Mme. Wenhold s’etait occupee et
Jean struggled de plus belle.
“Garcon, du beurre, s’il-vous plait!”
. . . Charlie stared . . “du beurre—du
beurre” a crie M. Downes.
“But boss, we don’t have no beer—
jes’ coffee— tha’s all—jes’ coffee and
water to drink at this school.”
“QU’est-ce quc( c’est—? Pas de
beurre—ah—Charlie, I want
butter, please, and a hot roll.
FROM THE AIR”
-.-■Mary of Scotland, A play in three
acts, by Maxwell Anderson.
Reviewed by William Rose Benet
The ordinary theatre-goer knows
Maxwell Anderson chiefly as the man
who with Lawrence Stallings made a
ten-strike with a hard-boiled war
play, “What Price Glory!” and as the
author of a recent political play that
won the Pulitzer Prize. But if you
take the sum of Anderson’s achieve
ment to date he has been widely var
ious, he has tried many different
lines, and even in his realism one could
perceive the poet.
That is why Anderson may well be
come the best playwright we have. He
is not afraid ito experime;nt. He
tackles difficult problems. He has a
better sense of dramatic structure
than Eugene O’Neill, though he has
not better knowledge of stagecraft.
He may never reach the imaginative
heights or the psychological depths
of O’Neill at his best—but he could
execute a poetic idea of O’Neill with
a far truer poetic instinct.
There has been “much argument”
about Mr. Anderson’s “Mary of Scot
land” not being true to history. But
its divergences from strict historical
fact do not matter. Mary Stuart
has been the inspiration of poets for
ages, and they could never write of
her with the cold accuracy of his
torians. For Mary Stuart remains
one of the great romantic figures of
“For I’ll win men’s hearts in the
end—though the sifting takes
This hundred years—or a thousand,”
cries Mary toward the end of Mr.
Anderson’s play; and, indeed, she has
won men’s hearts.
Mr. Anderson’s business ^vas to
carve swiftly-moving drama out of
the full life led by Mary Queen of
Scots in her short peroid of freedom,
and he has done it. He has seized
upon every dramatic possibility within
the compass of the sequences of epi
sodes he chose, he has given us much
of the feeling of the time, he has char
acterized saliently, he has brought
humor to bear in the interludes from
He has given us some glorius lines
too, glorious to read and to hear
spoken, the latter chiefly by so ad-
“"able an artist as Helen Hayes.
“Would God I’d been born
Deep somewhere in the Highlands,
and there met you—
A maid in your path, and you but
a Highland bowman
Who needed me.
“—It’s as if a queen should stand
high up, at the head of a
DR. ADELAIDE FRIES
ENTERTAINS AT TEA
On Tuesday^ February 20, from
4:30 until fi o’clock. Dr. Adelaide
Pries received at tea those girls at
Salem who have alumnae scholarships.
During the afternoon, Mrs. Lindsay
Patterson entertained the girls with
stories of her European and American
'rom the Associated Press the
following news is of interest:
“The laugh is on someone per-
haps the police, possibly a doctor,
— "laybe a thief. Dr. Charles Hyde
a portable anestheic machine in
automobile. The outfit, worth
$175, was stolen. It was equipped
with ^ three cylinders of "laughing
He steps boldly on to the little bridge,
which will lead him to his drinking
spring. To his horror, he sees that he
is not alone! Dr. Willoughby is sit
ting with her elbow resting on the
back of the bridge, and her forehead
bent on her upraised hand, in an at
titude of deep reflection. Just as
George tip-toss up even with her, and
thinks to get by her as easily as he
got by Dr. Rondthaler, she raises her
head and looks straight at his collar
bone. It is a piercing, critical look
'hich takes in every detail of his cos-
iime, from his powdered wig and lace
collar, to his knee breeches and gold
Dr. Willoughby: “Why, Agememnon.
. . . How could you have dressed
yourself up like that? You have the
wrong period entirely. You must
remember that you're a Greek and
not an early American. Go back
and find yourself a purple drape
and some gold ribbon and several
n. Could I get a drink of water
first, please? That’s a spring there,
isn’t it?” ^
Dr. Willoughby: “Agamemnon, you
know well enough that spring has
been closed for years. Run up to
Alice Clewell and get a drink.
That's the closest place I know of.
(Alas, she thinks he is only one of
synthetic men she has always had
to use in the Greek Play.)
George is horrified at her mistake,
as well as disappointed about the
timental drink which he wished to
himself for a birthday present.
dream—and she in her
dream should step
From level to level downward,
all this while knowing
She should mount and not des
cend—till at last she walks
An outcast in the courtyard—
bayed at by dogs.
That were her hunters—walks
there in harsh morning
And the dream’s done.”
It is true that Mr. Anderson chose
one of the most dramatic and roman
tic stories in English history, but
even so he might have failed to give
it life. Instead, he set real people
bfore us in a close-knit drama. And
over and above this he has returned
to the drama something of the mag-
nificance it possessed in Elizabethan
The speedball and basketball seas
ons at Salem Academy were brought
to a close last Saturday night with a
delightful and well-attended banquet,
during the course of which member
ships on the varsities were recognized.
On the speedball team were Misses
Gertrude Bagwell, Winston-Salem;
Ruth Greene, Asheville; Nan Myers,
Winston-Salem; Peggy Brawley,
Pasadena, Cal.; Harriet Valk, Win
ston-Salem; Blevins Vogler, Winston
Salem; Dorothy Everett, Brevard;
and Betty Bahnson, Winston-Salem.
Comprising the basketball varsity
were Misses Fannie Stokely, New
port, Tenn.; Louise Frazier, Winston-
Salem; Kathryn Kilgore, Winstoh-
Salem; Mary Elizabeth Walston, Win-
' i Salem; Josephine Gribbin, Win-
i-Salem; and Margaret Wood,
Canton, Ga. (Winston-Salem Journal)
(weakly) and vanish ir
MR. McEWEN HOST TO
On Friday night, February 1C, Mr.
McEwen entc'rtained his advisees at
a delightful theatre party, and after
wards escorted them to a waffle shop
for refreshments. Included in the
party were: Dorothy Courtney, Mari
anna Hooks, Madeline Smith, Ruth
McConnell, Miss Hazel Wheeler, and