Berea High School - Prima Luce Yearbook (Berea, NC)

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C ' s- ■ ' ' •: ' w®-, . ■■- ?? » ••.. ' . ' - ' v P RIM A LUCE A Sketch A SKETCH of the activities of the Stevenson Literary Society would in nowise be complete without a remark or two about a serious discussion that arose among four of the astute gentlemen. Their subject was, or is, a grave and delicate subject, ancient and yet young, a subject conducive to songs and battles, smiles and tears, hope and despondency, pleasure and pain, the subject — WOMAN. It seems to have started in this way: Mr. Spencer O’Brian, with hair standing on ends like porcupine quills — perhaps he was suffering from the previous night’s experience — made a remark in particular about women in general. Mr. Guthrie Williford took issue with him. Mr. Clide Morris, who although young must have had a good deal of experience, sided with Mr. O’Brian; while Mr. Charlie Currin, contrary to expectations, brought aid to Mr. Williford. The discussion became so fierce that the participants, or at least three of them, failed to hear or heed the sound of the bell and did not attend Mr. Stone’s class in history. Mr. Stone was red with anger for this neglect of duty on their part until he heard the subject of the discussion and then he had compassion on them, and agreed that he would inflict no punishment but that he wanted them to state their views before the society. This they consented to do. As will be noticed, the debaters use ideas from Hesiod down. After the debate was over Mr. Stone said that he used to think that the Biblical story of Job was the greatest debate ever written, but that he had changed his mind. Mr. O’Brian I often tried in vain to find A simile for womankind — A simile, I mean, to fit ’em. In every circumstance to hit ’em. Through every beast and bird I went, I ransack’d every element; And, after peeping through all nature To find so whimsical a creature, A cloud presented to my view, And straight this parallel I drew : Clouds turn with every wind about, They keep us in suspense and doubt, Yet, oft perverse, like womankind, Are seen to scud against the wind. And are not women just the same? For who can tell at what they aim ?

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: :;v prima luce Stevenson Literary Society “7 h d «• «™« romanticist, Robot, Loni, Steve »« «■ l,oo. students wet, LS ' t, T k oZtl’oTTTr”’ ” 2 “ liford. ,r„U,„; Lottis, Cooks. 0—1, W: recording secretary; Willie Lee Hohsmnd XT 4t ’ readm 9 secretary; Elsie Morr Cdc Hobgood, “ The officers of the second semester were • Charles C ■ • ' ' IayS ’ m president; Dixie Mae Hobgood, recording secretary ■ Lou P,VW Mattie Newton, vie Brooks, Elsie Morris, and Helen Sherman hr o’ Lou PlckIe simer, reading secretary; Loui and Miss Louise Farabow, critic P commdte Willie Hobgood, pianis f Pace 40 ]

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Mr. Williford She was a phantom of delight When first she glanced upon my sight; A lovely apparition, sent To be a moment’s ornament. I saw her upon a nearer view, A spirit, yet a woman too ! Her household motions light and free And steps of virgin liberty ; A countenance in which did meet Sweet records, promises as sweet ; A creature not too bright or good For human nature’s daily food ; For transient sorrows, simple wiles, Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles. And now I see with eye serene The very pulse of the machine, A being breathing thoughtful breath, A traveller between life and death ; The reason firm, the temperate will. Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill, A perfect woman, nobly planned, To warn, to comfort, and command ; And yet a spirit still, and bright With something of angelic light. Mr. Morris A ball last night Priscilla gave, And all were there, both saint and knave, And girls who, yet untaught in sighs, Let laughter loose from lips and eyes; Yet I, Priscilla’s willing slave, Cared not for girl nor saint nor knave, But only for that moment’s space When I might look into her face A nd tell the love herself must know, And listen to her answer low. Led on by thoughts of what’s in store, The foremost guest, I reached her door, Was ushered in and heard the voice Was wont to make my heart rejoice; But changed — in tone no longer low, As I was used that voice to know, The frightened butler she upbraids, Then turns, full cry, upon the maids. [ Page 42 ]