Spartanburg High School - Spartana Yearbook (Spartanburg, SC)

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The Scribbler 29 What will be the outcome of the voyages into the future on the sea of life? The captain who was going “Nowhere in particular,” where will he land? And the other adventurers, how will they succeed? With a magic glass we may look into the future. The harbor is more crowded with ships than ever before. Suddenly all eyes are turned to an incoming steamer, painted an iron-grey. She is a sturdy, serviceable craft, with a great cargo of common sense, experience, and practical ideas. A greeting full of respect and admiration is given her. A little later another ship, a light, gaily painted little launch, arrives. Trimmed in ribbons and flags, it bears a haphazard load of selfishness, extravagance, and gaudy society talk. It receives a look of contemptuous scorn. Minutes pass and a wind-torn, paint-flaked, dirty old tramp schooner limps in. She has no cargo except a few soggy boxes of broken promises, lost ambitions, and “If” intentions. No one even deigns to give her a look. Suddenly a great shout arises. Across the gleaming deep a great golden ship bounds over the waves. Great silken sails fill with the wind. Long scarlet pennants stand out in the breeze. She is piloted by a skipper who bears the name success. Her hatches are over-flowing with Promises-Not-Forgotten, with Good-Intentions-Fulfilled, with Useful-Experiences,'with Unselfishness, with Love, Hope, and Charity. High, high up among the sails, there gleam some airy little things, the dreams, the hopes, the ambitions with which she was laden when she first started for “Port College.” They greet her with a grand salute. They are in the presence of a superior to whom they give not only respect and admiration, but love and loyalty, too. C. M. Dreams What would this old worn world be without dreams? Imagine what a place would be if no one built air castles; if no one allowed his mind to soar to sudden fights of fancy and vivid imagination. Life would become a burden, a drudgery, were it not for that power we have of forgetting who we are, where we are, and becoming kings or queens amid royal surroundings. Dreams are the flavoring of the earth; without them life would be tasteless.

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EDITORIAL DEPARTMENT Ships A great ocean stretches away before us. The sun is just rising from a mist of flaming clouds, and the water turns to molten gold under its rays. Countless waves ripple upon the shore, and the water bubbles and foams around the lichen-covered rocks. The harbor, with its multitude of flag-bedecked ships, is resounding with the noise of departure. All around are anchored the ships that are not yet ready to start and other older ships who have returned from their voyages. All is ready when a loud shout comes from the captain of a battered old craft. “Where are you bound for, mate?” And the captain addressed gives a careless shrug with his answer. “Nowhere in particular.” The question goes the rounds of the waiting ships. Some answer, “Port Work.” Others answer, “Port Society.” Still others answer, “Port College.” At last the anchors are lifted, and the fleet sails out to sea with the other ships, dipping their colors as they pass.

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30 The Scribbler They may be made of fragile stuff, of something delicate that is easily broken; but anyway the things that are the most delicate and most fragile are usually the most valuable. They may be mere moonbeams that are dimmed when the real source of light comes into view; but the light of the moon guides many through paths that would be dark otherwise. Then let us not give up our dreams, for after all, dreams make us what we are. Some day we will wake up, after a long night of dreaming, and find ourselves famous—all because of our castles in the air. E. B.