Central High School - Mirror Yearbook (Birmingham, AL)

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High School Pupils Nothing that the mind of man can conceive is at once as complex and yet as simple as a high school pupil; he rarely studies, and yet he scoffs at the frivolously inclined students of private schools; he wears his handsomest clothes to school, but is disgusted by the crowds of very fashionably attired people who throng the streets; he considers himself quite devout when, in Lent, he abandons the pleasure of eating sweets, but he spends his father's money, his own, and all his friends' in buying peanuts; he gazes dreamily out of the windows all day long, and when he is brought back to earth is amazed and indignant that in all his hurried course of life he cannot be allowed to have a few months of quiet, thoughtful meditation. The average pupil enters high school with the impression that life is a “grand, sweet song;” he is no longer a child, he has developed wonderfully since that disagreeable period in the grammar school. Nothing is too great for him to undertake, he feels that he could conquer the world with one hand. What a man of the world he is! With what a careless air lie saunters homeward in the afternoons, slings his Latin down (lie always carries his Latin home, it has such a dignified appearance), and casually inquires if “there's any food in the house. His impressions change, it is true, but something of that Freshman very superior wisdom clings to him for four years. He never quite overcomes it; it is shown in his treatment of the childish Freshmen when lie himself has long since passed that stage ; in his attitude toward his new teacher, that little girl who didn't know a smart boy when she saw one; in his conduct on the street-cars when the conductor politely requests him to calm himself. He is a twentieth century Beau Brumnicl. a gentleman of leisure; he rises on school days at half-past seven, musing on what a bore it is to be obliged to leave his comfortable bed, and thinking pleasantly of his delightful evening the day before. Going down to breakfast, finally, lie is indignant that bis waffles are cold, and informs the cook that if he had anything to say about the matter, there’d be a new chef in the kitchen. And yet, with all this, it is pleasant to note what a sublimely happy person lie is. He rare In frowns, lie is cheerful under almost any conditions, and if he has learned nothing else, he at least knows that a merry heart docth good like medicine. and that he must laugh with the world, if he desires to be happy with it. KATL SMITH. '1'.

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But dcm ole clays is passed an' gone An here I'm all alone; An tain't gon be so very long 'Fore I’ll be cornin' home. Each time dc sof spring breezes come Dey brings me mem’ries sweet. An’ I'm lookin' forwards to dc time When my res' will be complete. —C. Fred Hard. ’17. Am I My Brothers Keeper And in his journeying the man came to a magnificent structure, a temple which his wealthy brothers had budded to their C od. In passing he halted and mutely gazed at the church. And it so happened as he stood with his eyes fixed and eager, that another traveler came his way. But he passed the man in scorn and haughtily entered to do worship. A warm rush of air came out as the rich man went in. The poor, benighted wanderer cried after him. “Art thou thy brother's keeper? But his brother heard him not. It chanced in his searching, struggling life, the man straggled into an art gallery for the warmth and comfort found therein. And as he wandered aimlessly up and down the passage he saw a picture, a picture of such misery as lie himself had known. On a sleet-covered bench in a frozen park were remnants of manhood crumpled and cold the poor wretches having not a place in the bountiful earth in which to lay their heads. The man caught sight of the title below the picture, then gropingly he stumbled out into the cold world. A picture came to his mind’s eye, a picture of the time before his descent on the ladder of sin. He saw himself as he stood before a marvelous temple and hungered for the light and warmth afforded there for his soul; he felt again the unchangeable longing of man for man. His mouth tightened into a hard, straight line. The man, hardened by circumstance, took up his journey again, and in the bitterness of his heart repeated over and over the title of the picture, Am I my brother’s keeper? For those who have eyes, let them see. and those who have ears, let them hear. MARY D1 CT.HK, Ifc 24

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YANCEY LITERARY SOCIETY