Thursday, May 7, 19Z5
may in grpiensboro
(J Symphony in One Act)
Place—Greensboro.
Time—The Present.
Dramatis Personae
—Varicolored exhibits of nature,
testifying the grandeur and gayety of
Mother Earth; gently protesting against
the labor of motions brought on by the
slightest breeze wafted over their tops;
proudly and often daintily lifting in
daytime their brilliant locks to catch and
reflect the glorious gleams from the orb
of heat; and softly hushing the waving,
silvery ornaments of their branches in
lunar light.
Birds—Noisy little creatures; waking
their human friends at break of day;
pouring from their tiny throats notes of
love and joy which swell in volume until
they reach the highest apex of song;
twittering lovingly to one another; teas
ing man with their hurried flight.
Flowers—Ah, the naughty, brightly-
dressed emblems of gladness! Tossing
their heads with their fragrant crowns
as though in defiance of the maze of
azure and white skies.
Clouds—P'oaming billows; a sea of
cerulean blue; slowly drifting like fresh
veils of coolness, apparently aimless, but
really drifting toward some harbor—who
knows what?
The Children—Symbolic of joy incar
nate as they dance in glee around the
Maypole; shouting, laughing, merrily ig
norant that all life is not May—But whc
would tell them the truth?
This is the Springtime mystery play
of riotous color and joyous merriment
a symphony of calm and happiness—and
the twilight of autumn is
The Curtain.
Helen Felder.
SHATTERED DREAMS
May Poles
IJghtly, lightly speeds the airy musical
tones weaving a sweet melody through
the fresh springtime air. Is it Fairyland,
full of its visions and fancies? No; it is
just springtime—May time, with all its
beauty. See the tall, graceful pole reach
ing up, up, and its rainbow streamers
falling from its tip-top crown of roses?
See the gay little fairies of reality danc
ing about the pole, on, so lightly? ’Tis
a May Pole of Old England, for it is
May Day today.
Look! There is the rose-crowned queen,
the loveliest young girl of the village,
blushing her very prettiest, for she is the
“Queen of the May.”
Winter has gone! The birds are here,
flowers are here, springtime is here, May
time is here!
Alice Dillard.
Elfin Philosophy
Said a gay little elf on a leaf of green,
Watching a vain young cardinal preen
His feathers in the morning sun,
And from his slender delicate throat
Carolling sweet and, silvery note,
“I’ll write with the quill of a humming
bird’s wing
How the west wind blows and the star
lings sing.
On a purple violet leaf, I think.
With a drop of dew for faerie ink.
I’ll write how the windflower sways in
the breeze,
How the squirrel frolics with careless
ease.
How the pine tree wears a star in her
hair,
A radiant jewel nestling there;
How the sunshine frightens soft night
away.
Turning the dawning into the day.”
He cried with a happily radiant face,
“Oh, isn’t the world a wonderful place!”
Marjorie Vanneman.
My Mother
I think when God first made the world.
And planted all the flow’rs and trees.
And set down all the animals.
And made the birds and honey-bees,
He knew that it was not complete.
And that it needed something other
Than jnst mere THINGS. He knew it
lacked
His love, and so he made my Mother.
Marjorie Vanneman.
“Any insanity in the family?” asked the
insurance dealer of Mrs. C. W. Phillips.
“Well, no; only my husband imagines
hn is head of the house.”
A silent, shadow-like man turned the
corner, stood shivering for a moment be
fore a door leading to a flight of stairs,
and then, with a heave of his great, broad
shoulders, easily seen to be a sigh, he
entered.
I pstairs, in a small room, before a
bright fire, sat an old woman. It was
past 12, decidedly too late for an old
woman to be up at night, but there was
a reason for her being up on this cold
December night. Her son was coming
home from Sing-Sing.
In her hand she held his picture, and,
leaning on her knees, she was reading,
for the thousandth time, an account of
her son’s heroic capture, and holding
back of the prisoners when an attempt
at escape had been made, and also of
how the governor had pardoned him and
had personally loaned him the money to
make a new start.
Already in her thoughts she was build
ing a little bungalow out in the suburbs,
and in this little domain she imagined
herself queen of all its fifty by one hun
dred feet. Then, too, perhaps John would
be married, and then she would share the
bungalow with his sweet little wife.
John would be a barber; he had been
head prison barber, and now he would
have a little shop and she would be so
happy! Oh, yes, she would wash his
towels for him and save the laundry bill;
at least, till he got started, anyway.
Thump, thump; she heard steps on the
stairs, and with a low cry of joy she
ran to the door, ready to receive her
six feet of strapping manhood in her
arms. She opened the door, and peeped
out; but it was only Mr. Martin, the
man next door, coming from his night
job.
Disappointed, she turned back, but ere
the door was closed, mother and son were
locked in each other’s arms. For hours
they told of their adventures, and both
were tales of suffering and hardships.
At about five o’clock in the morning, she,
like all mothers, began to think of his
food. No, he was not hungry; but she
knew better; so off she sent him to the
bakery in the next block for a loaf of
bread.
It was still dark, and as the man
walked along, another jumped from be
hind a post, covering the former with a
revolver, and saying: “John, I told you
I’d get you, that night you failed our
plans. My wife left me, I lost a big
deal that might have put me on the level,
and now I’m just the human wreck that
I have been, because of you, and now—
He stopped and with a snear on his
lips, pulled the trigger, slipped his hand
into the inside pocket, took the money
loaned by the governor and was gone.
A few days later a little, gray-haired,
sad-eyed woman applied at the “Eagle
Hand Laundry” for a job and was ac
cepted.
Each Sunday she is seen at a grave in
potter’s field, with bowed head, think
ing of her bungalow and her boy.
Graham Todd.
SINCE MOTHER WENT
AWAY
The world seemed not so dreary, the days
seemed not so dark;
The nights were not so starless; so late
was not the lark;
My life was not so lonely, the days were
all more fair.
When mother’s eyes were on me with
their constant loving care.
The same sun shines above me, the same
stars lend their rays;
The same fields send their fragrance, the
same birds sing their lays;
But somehow heart is weary, and the
world seems dull and gray.
And life is somewhat faded, since my
mother went away.
J. D. McNairy.
Decoration Day
Along the gaily decorated street.
With heads erect and firmly treading feet.
With eyes alert and faces strong and
brown.
The soldiers march to steady drummer’s
beat
Between the shouting people of the town.
They’re off to battle for the truth and
right.
Uphold their nation’s honor in the fight.
To offer as a glorious sacrifice.
And send into the dark and unknown
night
Their youth, and for their birthright, pay
the price.
Along the silent, decorated street
The soldiers pass with firmly treading
feet
Between the lines of sad and silent faces.
The only sound the drummer’s muffled
beat;
In every face the lines that sorrow traces.
They march on down, a little khaki
stream,
To where their fallen comrades sleep and
dream
Of glorious battles and of strength and
might—
The men who gave the sacrifice supreme
To raise aloft the banner of the Right.
Marjorie Vanneman.
BABY BOLSHEVIKS
“Ha, the scurvy lout! See him writhe !
Well does my soul delight to be witness
to this act of charity!”
Ivan shivered and blew his hands. His
abundant beard, black as ink, was saught
in the breeze, and he muttered an oath
as it blew in his eyes. However, he soon
forgot his physical feelings while another
shiver, this time one of the delight a
blood-thirsty man feels when this san
guine longing is satiated, racked his
frame.
“Yes, maybe. But is it an act of char
ity? After all, does he deserve to under
go this horrible suffering? I say no. He
has hurt me as much as you, but still I
see no excuse for this torture.”
This time it was Nicholas who spoke.
He was not a man of many years, al
though his flaxen hair was slightly edged
with gray and his stalwart body clothed
in shabby garments was a trifle bent.
As he spoke, the other man turned upon
him and with one ferocious glare locked
his lips as with a key.
By this time a third member had join
ed the little group, and then another and
another until there were about ten in all.
Some of the new-comers were women,—
little and shriveled, hugging tattered
shawls over their scrawny locks with
roughened hands. Men and women were
huddled together in a wizened group,
and every now and then one of them
would look around with an apprehensive
glance, and satisfied that no intruder was
night, would turn back to the animated
arguments.
Said Ivan: “Nicholas here says we are
too cruel—that our victim is undeserving
of such punishment. What say you,
friend Alexandrovitch?”
“I side with you, Ivan. He has proven
himself a cur and I think we are justi
fied in inflicting this punishment upon
Over the Hills
In the dim, eternal silence of the hour.
Before the torch of heaven is held aloft,
While the gray gloom threatens
To circle ’round and crush out all the
starlight,
I wonder what lies over there—
Beneath the quivering morning star.
As it prepares to dip into the high-tossed
waves
Of pines outlined in black against the sky
Over the hills.
HONOR ROLL FOR APRIL
Ruth Lewis, Margaret Hackney, Mar
garet Bain, Frances Sink, Kathleen
Lashley, Margaret Sockwell, Lucile At
kins, James Tidwell, William Byers,
Margaret Blaylock, Dorothy Donnell,
Sarah Ferguson, Sadie Sharp, Nina
Wray, James Stewart, Jack Kleemier,
Wilfred Sisk, Margaret Britton, Doris
Hogan, Kathryn Nowell, Jewell Rainey,
Bettie Walker Turner, Carolene Brown,
Leonard Lineberry, W^ilma Long, Ruth
McQuairge, Carlton Wilder, Helen Shu-
ford, J. D. McNairy, Charles Graff,
Elizabeth Cartland, Lacy Andrews, Bet
ty Harrison, Maxine Ferree, Virginia
Bliin, Lois Dorsett, Bob Stone, Garnett
Gregory, Katherine Bird, Elizabeth
Stone, Elizabeth Smith, Virginia Jaek-
son, Clara M. Hines, Bernice Henley,
Helen Forbis, Mary Roach, Marie Wil
helm, Henry Biggs, Ruth Long, Lizzie
A. Powers, Alma Nussman, Mary Omo-
hundro, Doris Stewart, Margaret Ken
drick, Annie Cagle, Daphne Hunt, Wil
ma Cauble, Rebeccah Lowe, Clyde Nor-
com. Myrtle Gillis, Ruth Simpson, Es
ther Shrewe,, Ruth Abbot, Beverly
Moore, Myra Wilkinson, Sara Menden
hall, Mary J. Wharton, Mary Elizabeth
King, Cynthia Vaughn, Ruth Heath,
Virginia Douglas, Mary Lynn Carlson,
Betty Brown, Bernice Apple, Mary Til
ley, P. B. Whittington, Lois Mitchell,
Frances Johnson, Mary Price, Edna
Carlson, Ruby Elliott, Elizabeth Rqek-
well, Elizabeth Campbell, Hilda Smith,
Helen Stockard, James Robinson, Katie
Stewart, Glenn B. McLeod, Weldon
Beaeham, James Tidwell, Edward Men
denhall, Thelma Sherrill, Margaret
Crewes, Orden Goode, Mary Lyon, Dor-
othy Mayes, Dorothy Lea, Helen Fel
der, Marshall Campbell, Lynwood Neal,
Frances Moore, Ethel Morgan, Marion
Shaw, Byron Sharp, Eugenia Hogan,
Louise Aiken, Walter Smalley.
*-
’Neathe the silvery moon and the stars
all ashine, flows the river;
Under its quiet surface are a million
small life ctirrents;
Interlacing, clashing, weaving, they com
bine to make the whole.
It flows by forests, cool, peaceful, and
green;
By rolling meadows, and rugged, rocky
shores,
And fields where stately lilies bend to
and fro;
It murmurs and sings to itself.
As it flows 011 forever in its time-worn
course.
Over the hills.
The flush of morning floods the gloomy
gray.
And the stars are drowned in overpower
ing glory!
A living voice calls to me. It kindles fires
within my soul
To leap out into the great, golden un
known.
Who knows what life, and love, and pul
sating liberty
Lie where that nameless voice calls—
Over the hills?
Elizabeth Stone.
him.”
“Well spoken! A noble thought! Our
next ruler stands within our midst!”
These and many other such spirited
remarks followed Alexandrovitch’s words.
He, in turn, bowed profusely, and then
turned his gaze upon the wretched yic-
tim. By this time the executioner had
finished whetting his knife and the howl
ing yictim was laid upon the block. The
huddled group drew closer together with
one accord and stretched their faces for
ward so as to miss nothing.
Suddenly Ivan straightened up.
“Flully gee! Here comes my ma! If
she sees me with her bran’ new switch on
and you all with her ’n’ pa’s clothes on
she’ll tan me good. Hey there, Nick—I
mean Jim—untie Rover. I guess we’ll
have to wait till next Saturday to cut
off his tail.”
Mary Thurman.
Balloons
THE MAN OF SUCCESS
At his work he did his best
And finished all before his rest;
In his life he smashed a clod.
Advanced mankind, and worshiped God.
J. D. McNairy.
Balloons ! Balloons ! Everywhere were
beautiful big red, yellow and green bal
loons, nodding and bowing at the guests
as they entered the fastive banquet hall.
Litle squeaks of delight and numerous
“Oh’s” and “Ah’s” actually came from
the dignified Seniors. But the balloons
were not the only things to cause such
excitement, for never was there a pret
tier sight than the room into which the
Juniors invited the Seniors for the long-
looked-for “Junior-Senior.” The hand-
painted place cards of old-fashioned girls
standing primly against the background
of gorgeous spring flowers made one
think of some quaint old garden. There
was lovely music coming from some far
away corner of the room. And then
more “Oh’s” and “Ah’s”; for the dearest,
cunningest little birds you can imagine
were set before the guests during the
second course of that delicious meal.
Throughout the evening there were funny
speeches and pranks till everyone was
rocking with laughter—even to the most
stately old Senior. But above the din
could be heard the constant popping of
balloons.
All too soon the fun came to an end.
The dainty little place cards had disap
peared; a solitary balloon floated aim
lessly at the ceiling. And at the door
way the guests were taking leave of their
gracious hosts. Everyone was laughing
and talking noisily, but underneath all
their gayety each Senior felt deep down
in his heart that queer, indescribable lit
tle pang of sadness.
Lois Schoonover.
SCHOOL SONG
The following song was composed by
R. W. Wunsch, with the assistance of
Miss Lily Walker. It is hoped that this
will be made the school song in the fu
ture. The melody of the tune is also the
original composition of Mr. Wunsch:
Hail to our school and to her spirit!
Hail to her sons’ true loyalty!
Come join our song, and with us march
along,
’Neath purple and gold, rah, rah, rah!
IT ail to our captains and their warriors,
Hail to our friendships fond and true!
Where’er we’re met, these days we’ll ne’er
forget
At dear G. H. S.
Hail to our school and to her spirit!
Hail to her sons’ true loyalty!
Come join our song, and with us march
along,
’Neath purple and gold, rah, rah, rah!
Hail to her hall and to its memories,—
Memories that never fade or die.
Where’er we’re met, these days we’ll ne’er
forget,
At dear G. H. 8.
IMPRESSIONS
Martha Garner—Mild, sweet flowers
blowing by tbe side of a stream.
Elizabeth Darling—Little red heels
tapping in a dance.
Willard Watson—The gleam of a bat
tle-axe.
Miss Beckwith—Love letters tied with
a faded ribbon—haunting memories at
twilight.
Edna Fisher—“Alice in Wonderland”;
blue and white checked gingham.
Lanier Griffin—A wiry-faced fox ter
rier with a brown spot on one eye.
Luna Byrd—Yellow butterflies flutter
ing over bright flowering fields; the fra
grance of a dream garden.
Louise Caviness—A low pale sun shin
ing on frozen sails.
Julius Witten—Circus day.
Baxter Bason—Song of sailors rising
on the gale.
Miss Kelly—Brown dwarfs and fairies
dancing in moorland rings.
Elizabeth Hodgin—Johnson’s baby tal
cum.
Penn Hunter—A barrel filled with
rosy-cheeked apples.
, Marian Walters—Moonlight on white
sands; scent of pale petals.
To a Bootblack
Thou lonely solitary one.
Who works through the dreary day,
And watches for the glowing sun
To send fortune down your way.
A big fat man with a bald pate
Comes sauntering up the street;
You wistfully tell him of your fate
As he soberly takes a seat.
You shine and shine, but of no avail,
(His shoes could be shined no more,)
And when he arises, gives you a bill;
You thank him o’er and o’er.
Then he struts up the street, so constant
ly tread.
And you gaze at him thankfully;
You think to yourself, “Now I’ll buy
some bread
For Mammy and sister. Don’t you see?”
Margaret Hackney.
BEAUTIFUL MAID VAMPS
SPECTATORS IN PARADE
(Continued from page one)
Irene” must have gnashed her teeth in
rage when she saw the unique costume
of her rival for the place of Queen of
Beauty! To have to be content with a
cap as her only brilliantly colored ap
parel to set off her beauty, when “Han
nah” was sporting such ravishing styles,
must have been gall and wormwood to
the spirited “Irene.”
In fact, “Hannah’s” triumph was so
complete that the judges awarded the
crown to her immediately, and on reach
ing Library Place she was honored with
sports and games by athletes and Scouts.
Even the band played soul-stirring mel
ody as the balloons were let loose in her
honor.
ISSIBS