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QUEENS BLUES
December 18, I933
WOULD YOU BELIEVE IT?
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The Little Things
(Note: The folio-wing is
composed of excerpts from
freshmen themes on the sub
ject of “The Little Things
That Give Pleasure.” Those
from whose paper we have
quoted are: M. Pierce, Nan
Kelley, Marion Kiker, Annie
Mae Campbell, Jean Kent
Early, and Sarah Hunsucker.)
“It’s not the orchids or the
Rolls-Royces or sparkling
jewels which give people their
greatest pleasure in life. It’s
the little things, things which,
it is true, do not count for
much in a material way in
this hustling, money-making
world of ours, but which will
bring a smile to the face of the
tired business man, or light up
the eyes of the worried moth
er. But let us illustrate, with
a list of the ‘little things’
which bring us greatest pleas
ure.”
Our Philatelist
The sight of holly in a
brass bowl.”
“-The intimacy of a be
loved book. _ The deep yield
of a luxurious rug. . The
sheen of a newly scrubbed cop
per kettle.”
Autumnal roses, ungath
ered and fragrant in their ri
otous beauty, pointing with a
celestial grace toward spring
when again my soul will be
filled with joy.”
The quiet luminous
night, scented with moonlight,
with shadows lying like spilled
wine beneath the trees.”
“- The odor of wild straw
berries. - Candlelight on a
dark mahogany table. - An
tique vases and curious-cut
crystal bottles.”
The sudden soapbubbles
formed when hot water
strikes Lux in the dishpan.”
The clipping of the
hedge trimmer—thoughts of
summer and of days spent in
carefree leisure.”
One hundred and thirty-one
different kinds of stamps
from twenty-seven different
countries have come to Queens
in the last few years! That
is quite a record for one in
stitution of this size, and we
are indebted to Miss Harrell,
our very efficient librarian,
for the keeping of this record.
Neatly filed in her universal
stamp collector’s album. Miss
Harrell has the one hundred
and thirty-one stamps arrang
ed according to country.
It is interesting to note that
the greatest number of
stamps from a single country
come from Austria. There are
thirteen different varieties of
stamps from this country.
France and Congo tie for sec
ond place, each country being
represented by eleven differ
ent kinds of stamps. Italy and
China have several different
variations each.
Countries represented are I
Austria, Belgium, Brazil, Can
ada, China, Congo, Cuba, Den
mark, France, French Colonies
in Africa, Germany, Britian,
Hungary, Italy, Jugoslavia,
Japan, Mexico, The Nether
lands, Wales, Rumania, Rus
sia, Spain, South Africa,
Sweeden, Switzerland, Turkey,
and Nigeria.
Besides having variety in
foreign stamps. Miss Harrell
has 31 different kinds of
United States stamps filed.
Among these are two of the
interesting “Century of Pro
gress” stamps, one picturing
the Federal Building, and the
other Fort Dearborn. There
is a stamp for the Centennial
Exposition for 1926, and one
of the early air-mail stamps
bearing the date 1926.
The stamps, without their
statistical value, would still be
interesting just because
they’re stamps. Some of them
are lovely ;some of them most
decidedly are not. But all of
them have some distinctive
characteristics. Japan and
Stolen Thunder
“Harvard has abolished
Yale locks from its dormitor
ies. In line with this rather
startling policy of patriotism
it will be but a matter of time
until the Vassar student body
put a ban on Smith cough
drops and Yale takes a drastic
action against the Havard
classics.”—The Spectator.
“The Babson Institute at
Wellesley, Mass., has a course
in job hunting for unemployed
men, with a guarantee that
tuition will be refunded if on
completion of course the ‘stu
dent’ fails to find work.”—The
Student Life.
“The evolution of a college
man is shown as follows:
Freshman — embarrassed
silence.
Sophomore—I don’t know.
Junior—I’m not prepared.
Senior—I don’t like to ven
ture an opinion until I know
more about the subject.”—
The Duke Chronicle.
“Two freshmen entering
Purdue University have given
the school a novel lesson in
practical economy. Bringing
their room and board from
home in the form of a house
on wheels mounted on a truck
chassis, the two men have set
up housekeeping on a street
near the university campus.
A remedy for home sickness
anyway.”—The Cadet.
“There’s nothing to the
moon, but it’s a darn good ex
cuse.”—The Indian.
“By the way, several years
ago some scientists opened a
tomb in Egypt. There was a
crudely sketched picture of
two travellers mounted upon
some species of beast. Be
neath the picture was an in
scription. At first they could
not decipher it, but finally fairies!
they made it out. It stated
that two mounted men were
returning from a meeting at
which the peace of the world
had been insured forever!
That was back in 2000 B. C.”
—The Cadet.
“An exam asked for the
principle parts of any Latin
verb. A non-too-high student
replied, “Slippe, slippere, falli,
bumptus.’ The returned paper
had these words, falio, failure,
fluncto, suspendum.” The
Brackety-Ack.
Is There A Santa
Claus?
(It has been the custom of
The North American for sev
eral years to reprint at this
time the New York Sun’s fam
ous Christmas editorial, “Is
There a Santa Claus?” Here
it is, with our thanks to the
Sun):
Dear Editor: I am 8
years old. Some of my
little friends say there is
no Santa Claus. Papa
says, “If you see it in the
Sun, it’s so.” Please tell
me the truth: ‘Is There a
Santa Claus?’
Virginia O’Hanlon,
115 W. 95th Street.
Co Christinas
Shopping
Virginia, your little friends
are wrong. They have been
affected by the skepticism of
a skeptical age. They do not
believe except they see. They
think that nothing can be
which is not comprehensible
by their little minds. All
minds, Virginia, whether they
be men’s or children’s are
little. In this great universe
of ours man is a mere insect,
an ant, in his intellect, as com
pared with the boundless
world about him, as measured
by the intelligence capable of
grasping the whole of truth
and knowledge.
Yes, Virginia, there is a
Santa Claus. He exists as cer
tainly as love and generosity
and devotion exist; and you
know that they abound and
give to our life its highest
beauty and joy. Alas! How
dreary would be the world if
there were no Santa Claus!
There would be no childlike
faith then, no poetry, no ro
mance, to make tolerable this
existence.
Not believe in Santa Claus!
You might as well not believe
You might get
your papa to hire men to
watch in all the chimneys on
Christmas Eve to catch Santa
Claus, but even if they did
not see Santa Claus coming
down, what would that prove ?
Nobody sees Santa Claus, but
that is no sign that there is
no Santa Claus. The most real
things in the world are those
that neither children nor men
can see.
China have the most picture
sque stamps. The Chinese
stamps are blue, and have
junks sailing choppy Chinese
seas. The Japanese stamps
are green and the most note
worthy of that collection pic
tures the praying mountain of
Japan, Fugiyama. Lovely as
these foreign stamps may be,
however, patriotic Americans
will still insist that our five
cent air mail stamp is the
prettiest. It is the stamp
featuring the blue plane over
blue skyscrapers.
There is a veil covering the
unseen world which not the
strongest man, nor even the
united strength of all the
strongest men that ever lived,
could tear apart. Only faith,'
fancy, poetry, love, romance,
can push aside that curtain
and view and picture the sup
ernal beauty and glory be
yond. ^ It is all real? Ah,
Virginia, in all this world
there is nothing else real and
abiding.
No Santa Claus! Thank God!
He lives, and he lives forever.
A thousand years from now'
Virginia, nay, ten times ten
thousand years from now, he
will continue to make glad’the
hearts of children.
I am tired out; I simply
can’t stand it; in fact, I am
stifled by the crowded store
and must sit down. I sit down.
I get up again — quickly —
quicker than I sat down. I
have sat upon someone’s pack
age and smashed something.
I got up, as I said before, and
hasten at a guilty pace, dash
ing like a hunted criminal to
hide within the heaving,
squirming crowd of an eleva
tor. Up I skoot and am dis
gorged on an upper floor with
a cocked hat and a wild feel
ing of doubt. Maybe this is
the wrong floor. Alas, yes,
this is the dining room. Ha!
Ha! I laugh. I am staring
fascinatedly at an aged speci
men of the human race try
ing unsuccessfully to shove a
forkful of spaghetti through
a mass of engulflng beard. I
stand there idiotically chuck
ling to myself. “Hello!” I
am startled back to compre
hension of my surroundings
by a friendly greeting. I speak
to the friendly greeting, get
on the elevator, and ride with
it down to the first floor again.
I bid the friendly greeting
farewell and go on my way un
molested. I pick up several
cute little articles and put
them down again. I have a
guilty feeling—I have been
reading in the papers lately
that many shoplifters have
been caught and apprehended
of late and that stores are on
the watch for them. I see the
watch walking down the aisles
toward me. I watch its ap
proach with a moribund fasci
nation. I am not guilty, but
I feel so nevertheless. Then
I turn with an engaging smile
to the clerk. I even buy a but
ton or two and flaunt my pur
chase before the eye of the
watch, though it walks uncon
cernedly by without a glance
in my direction. Next I stop
to stare at the lady who makes
up her face for the benefit of
others. She’s just got it all
on nicely when she wipes it off
again. I get a kick out of this,
wondering how many times
she makes the change per day
and how great is her rate per
hour. My eye wanders ab
stractedly to the clock above
the book department. I gaze
intently at it for no reason
in particular—it just seems to
look like an old friend or some
thing. That clock bothers me
immensely. I stroll around the
store for a while but always
my gaze returns to ye old Big
Ben hooked up on the wall.
12:30, I muse. Hm! Then I
remember suddenly—appoint
ment with dentist at 11:00
o’clock. Oh, well.