Central High School - Mirror Yearbook (Birmingham, AL)

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When all the World is Young 1 think,” said the Girl slowly, “that the only way to enjoy life is to do the things that explain just what you are.” “In that case, remarked the Practical Man, “you would do nothing but irresponsible, foolish things. “And you would read books on the subject of the ancient (.reeks, nothing more,” retorted she with spirit. The Practical Man was silent. Evidently he was considering some serious subject. The Girl clasped her hands about her knees and watched the pirouettmgs of -i gorgeous yellow butterfly through half-closed eyes. “1 wish 1 could knock down the wall of conventionality and wander about the world like a gypsy, and say and do what I like. Her voice roused the man. “You have already laid the laws of conventionality pretty low, he replied severely. “And as for wandering around the world like a gypsy, I sec little sense in that. You’d get dusty and hungry and ill. You should not talk so foolishly. For one of your age it is ridiculous The color mounted in the Girl’s cheeks and her eyes flashed angrily. “Though I’m not a baby, I’m young. I want an adventure! Do you hear? An adventure! When I’m old perhaps. I wont be 'ridiculous. Put at present I want to be. Anyway. I'll never get too old to feel young. 1 am not old. I won’t get old. and I want an adventure!” Her voice was rather temperish but the Practical Man was unmoved. “I believe. he said calmly, “that the best tiling one can do. is to read Put the (iirl was on her feet, protesting. “Don’t dare tell me to read one of those preachy old sermons with that if-you-are-a-good-child-the-worhl-will-be-good-to-yoti air. I shall scream. She stopped and looked down at the Practical Man with wistful eyes. Did you ever, ever do anything that you ought not to have done? she asked hopefully. slight fusli burned under the Practical Man’s brown skin. Yes. lie admitted. “I should never have c« nsented to act as your guardian. The (iirl shook her head hopelessly, took a few steps forward, then paused and looked over her shoulder. If. said she. “you had said something trulv reckless. I would have stayed and waited until you had finished reading. Put—. Now I am going off in search of an adventure, a happening spelled in capital letters. 1 hope.’ she added as a parting shot, that 1 shall meet up with a Knight. With a hallooing cry. she ran down the hill at al reckless pace. At the foot the Girl paused to gain her breath. “Now for the open road, cried she. An Adventure!” She picked a cluster of scarlet peace-pipes and tucked them over her ears, in the meshes of her dark hair. With fingers clumsy with excitement, she unknotted her crimson tie and wound it about her slender waist. “Now, I’m ready for the adventure.” The Girl walked through the woods, now on a half-worn path, now winding among the trees. She walked with a sense of waiting for something to happen; startled at each small woodsy sound, hoping the foolish. l6

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The Pathos of Burns’ Life I he must pathetic life is that of the man who, while conscious af a message for the world, is so hedged about by limitations and hindered by a morally weak constitution, that the struggle with these consumes the time and strength that should be used in performing his mission. Such was Burns life. Mis youth was spent in a continual struggle against poverty which left no time for the preparation so essential for any successful work. C ontrast Burns life of toil and penury, in the most prosaic age of literature, when his native language was a dialect, with Milton's long, leisurely years of study at college and at Horton, when English literature was at its height and Shakespeare’s influence warm with life. s for leisure, a term we have come to think of as synonymous with a poet's life, only the little time Burns could snatch from the long work hours of the plough boy were his. Records of Burns, sitting at the table absorbed in a book with his supper before him untouched, show how much keener was his hunger for knowledge than bodily hunger even after toil. J o the ill-starred Bums was given the power of making man’s life more venerable, but that if wisely guiding his own was not given.” W ithin the same breast where the poetic spirit chafed because of the undelivered message, and where there was a sympathy so universal as to include the inanimate. there lived moral weaknesses, cravings of the appetite, and indecision. beckoning to destruction. The deciding vote in the crisis • »f a weak mans life is often cast by environment. Had there been one strong friend, in the heroic sense of the term, to whom Burns might have unbosomed himself all might have been different with him and how the affectionate heart of Burns cried out for such a friend! But in the real struggle of life a man must tight his way alone and in darkness. The poetic spirit of Burns with its attendant virtues was arrayed against the desire for worldly enjoyment of a finer or coarser grain and indecision. the battleground of these being the big. weak, sympathetic heart °f Burns. Environment, those revels at ale houses, his only resort, quarrels with superior officers, were all antagonistic to the higher side of Burns’ nature and at war with it. yet Burns in desperation and indecision kept on trying to reconcile the two with the inevitable result of regret, misery and loss of enjoyment in either. Just then a glimpse of aristocratic life—a glimpse too short for the glamour to fade and the cleared vision to sec aright—dissatisfied and made him rebel against Fate. Never did he learn to adapt himself to surroundings, and in his fever of disappointment, an outcast from the society he delighted in. with a sense of failure to deliver his message and rebellion against Fate, he sought relief in forgetfulness, in induced sleep until at last he passed “into that still country where the heaviest laden wayfarer at length lays down his load.” —Mittic M. Burge. ’t2. 15

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little girl hope, that it would he a wild animal. The Spring was in her blood and the restless youth of her cried out for excitement. Gradually a slow murmur broke into the stillness of the woods and the Girl paused and listened. “A creek!” she cried, joyously and ran toward the sound. On the side of a splashy little brook, she stopped and laughed, a happy, contented laugh. “A creek with white pebbles in the bottom! She tilted her head toward a sedate old tree. “You needn't listen or look, for I may shock your sense of propriety, but—honest, I'm going in wading! Five minutes later, slippers swung over her arm, skirt held to the ankle, the Girl splashed joyously down the stream. Once when a blue-bird flew from a tree, she dropped her skirts and gave a clear high cry—just because she was glad to be alive. It was then that she saw the man. “Goodness! cried she, and flushed because she remembered her shoes. Then she looked at him again. “Why,” cried the Girl in breathless curiosity, •‘can you he the shadow self of a very practical man?” The man on the bank shook his head. “No,” lie said bitterly. “I'm just myself—a Bohemian gypsy. Don’t you think you'd better come upon land? Your skirl's getting wet.” The Girl’s dark eyes flashed defiantly. She made an odd picture standing there and her words made the man gasp. “Do you think I care,” she cried. “Well, I don’t. I’m tired of doing what I ought to do. I’m tired of following the code. I want to plav!” An understanding light came into the man’s eyes. “Why. we’re in the same boat. I came here because I. too. wanted to play. Me smiled whimsically. “Do you. by any chance, believe in fairies?” In a flash the Girl was on the hank beside him. “Of course. she cried happily. And pixies and gnomes and water-sprites. “And they sleep in the flowers and under the rocks and dance in the trees.” “(the Girl made an impulsive gesture, “you believe what I believe. “I think, said the man. “that we’d make excellent traveling companions.” O. are you in search of an Adventure, Bohemian gvps ? The Bohemian gvpsv nodded gravely, though his eyes twinkled. His face was a little old, except when he laughed. “You sec.” he explained obligingly. “I was here once before, a long time ago. But this year the Spring got into me and I had to come out in the woods. So I came here bent on being reckless.” Me looked down at the daring girl, who smiled. “I’ve always lived under the tutorship of an excellent governess with a practical man for guardian. My mother and father died long ago when I was a bahv. she said simply. “So I’ve always lived in a hotel.” The red blood flickered in her cheeks. “I was introduced into society last winter and—. Well, this summer I made my guardian, a very learned gentleman, come out here in the woods. I wanted to play! But the Practical Man doesn’t know how to play. He’s very serious. So I just carry on the most delightful conversations in my head. And they’re always with people who understand. 'Phe Bohemian gypsy stuffed his pipe in his pocket, picked his cap from under the nearest bush and whispered cautiously. “Come on. It was a dare and the Girl's eyes glowed. “Is is an Adventure? “S-s-li!” the man warned, “It’s a secret.” “A secret!” repeated the Girl. “Let’s hurry.” So they hurried on, the Bohemian gypsy leading the way. Once the girl stumbled on the tree roots for her hare feet were unaccustomed to the mode of travel. 17