The Belles of Saint Mary’s
OF SAINT MARY'S
Published every two weeks by the student body of Saint
, . Miss Kate Spruill
. . Mr. C. a. P. Moore
Mary Lily Moore
Mary W. Douthat
Pissocided G3lle6iale Press
N. C. Collegiate Press Association
“THE WOKLD ISN’T FINISHED”
For some four years after the depression, chances of
the average college graduate for cutting a niche for
himself in the world of affairs seemed anything but
likely. Such an attitude felt by four successive years
of college graduates naturally stamped itself upon the
collective mind of their undergraduate fellows. For the
present college graduates this attitude certainly is more
inherited than justifiable or real, according to Dorothy
Thompson in one of her recent lectures at Chapel Hill.
What is needed, she continued, is not a hard skepti
cism or sense of frustration on the part of young people,
hut rather a strong, definite belief that, with their
acquired charm and God-given intelligence and strong
hands, they can hopefully, optimistically believe that
happiness can be achieved if the desire to work is com
mensurate with their common-sense visions and ideals.
The Belles does not believe in blind faith or wishful
thinking as regards the achievement of the individual’s
aims of happiness and the fulfillment of living, but it
does strongly agree with Miss Thompson that the pessi
mistic, what’s-the-use attitude which youth often likes
to assume is unhealthy, unwarranted, and melodramatic.
The world may be out of joint, nations may be at
sixes and sevens with each other, and your neighbor
may not like your hat, but there is still reason for youth
to believe that it can carve itself a place in this turbu
lent and seemingly fateful world. Quincus.
To create is the ambition of all mankind. From
early childhood all of us yearn to make something with
our own hands, to formulate a new idea in our minds.
One of the aims of a college education is to enlarge
our creative ability, to strengthen our powers of devel
oping beauty. Elbert Ilubband said of creative work,
“The delight of creative work lies in self discovery—
you are mining nuggets of power out of your own
cosmos and the find comes as a great and glad surprise.”
At Saint Mary’s great stress is laid on creative ability
in all departments, but we have in music, art, and
expression courses particularly designed to increase this
ability. In these departments we seek creativeness
through different mediums, but in each case the goal
is the same. In these we work to start our creative
energy in the right direction instead of allowing it
to remain in a state of stagnation.
This year we have forged ahead in the effort to
create, and have brought to our school and our girls
honors in the field of creative endeavor. As our school
year draws to a close, we can look back upon it with
great satisfaction in regard to work in this field. Our
plays, musical concerts, and art exhibits have all been
outstanding successes. We can review this year with
the knowledge that we have made great strides in the
field of creative endeavor.
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A CHAPEL CAP
Take it from me, life at Saint Mary’s is no bed of
roses. But let me tell you, if you reach the height to
which I climbed, it’s worth it all.
I began life at Saint Mary’s as one among many in
the post office. I stayed there with Miss Sutton until
Miss Goss was kind enough to offer me a home, and
fold me in respectable creases for chapel. How they
have been changed! Well, life with Miss Goss was easy
and uneventful, except for occasional visits on the hall,
but I was burning with a desire to become sophisticated,
to have a past, to see life. So one day when she had
gone to teach a tap class, I stole quietly off the shelf
and into the hall. Horrors! There comes Corinne,
sweeping dust merrily down the hall to save the trouble
of picking it up. I relaxed and remained motionless as
I was swept ungracefully, suddenly and without warn
ing instead of dashing my stitches on the ffoor, I fell
plop upon Vivian Gillespie’s head as she raced hatless
to chapel. Utter despair. Fate denied me even the
release of death.
But stay. What looked like my undoing was really
my making. Vivian in her hurry to leave the infirm
ary (after drinking a glass of milk and cramming four
graham crackers) forgot and left me there all alone.
Before I had time to be scared, Mrs. Naylor entered, all
dressed up and looking very fine in her Sunday-go-to-
rneetin’ clothes, but she was indeed downcast because she
couldn’t find the right hat to wear with her costume.
Might I? Would she consider me? Would the gods
favor me? I closed my eyes and hoped and hoped.
“Just the thing!” cried she, seeing me so beautiful.
Sorrow along with trash and dust. Surely my end has
come. But suddenly—“Stop,” cried one Mary Gault.
“Don’t you sweep out that chapel cap. I need one,” and
she snatched me, almost asphyxiated, from the rubbish
and took me home with her.
Third Floor Smedes! Oh, the life I led up there.
Honestly, lying in a mass of tennis balls, and baseball
bats, and gym suits and Ferdinands I never got a min
ute’s rest. And if it wasn’t a party it was a herd of
girls going out to change color on the roof. I featured
in several messy rooms and then one day I got re
stricted! That was the last straw and I decided that
since I plainly didn’t like the game I had best take the
open door. When the last girl had gone to chapel, I
crept to the steps, bent on suicide. I held my breath
and jumped into space. Steps, bannisters, light whirled
by at comet speed when it was turned to joy.