Central High School - Aglaia Yearbook (Manchester, NH)

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12 IANUARY AGLAIA OF THE ORACLE The Average Enigma By lolzn Mullen The smart boys say he just exists. He goes to school, but he doesnit do much study- ing. He's never Hunked anything. He sits in class all day, mumbles a few words when called on, writes ordinary papers, gets along. He never gets in much trouble. He just smiles politely when the rest of his class- mates are gleefully tearing things apart and getting into trouble. He's fairly friendly with most people, but isn't very intimate with anyone. He never has much to say. Not more than three people in the school even know where he lives. School activities like dramatics and publi- cations he passes over-if wistfully, no one but himself ever knows. Sometimes he makes a half-hearted remark about suckers in school activities. Athletics don't interest him. School ath- letics he ignores, and outside he doesn't do much. He plays a little baseball and football, steadily but without much enthusiasm. He spends most of his time just watching others. Maybe he takes long lonesome hikes and swims, by himself, or perhaps with the one or two people who are slightly closer to him than the rest of the world. Social activities, dances and parties, and dates are completely outside his existence. He smiles his quiet, reserved smile at the men- tion of girls and retires to his usual place on the outside of the group. When he does go so far as to do a bit of talking, he is far from inspired. He merely makes a few ordinary comments about auto- mobiles or fishing or whatever he happens to be interested in. For he always has some in- terest with which he occupies his spare time, those apparently endless hours when he for- gets the world. Maybe he'll turn out to be a harsh, bitter Old Man on the Corner. But I like to think of him as a budding of something or other, a man who some day will make a revolution- ary discovery about his automobiles or his radio sets or whatever his lonesome hobby may be-a man who will some day leap to prominence and enjoy in his dogged, fum- bling way the limelight. 'Twas The Night Before Christmas By Emmy Connor One Christmas in my life I think I shall never forget. Something very funny hap- pened, something which makes me smile every time I think of it. I was about six years old and was still sup- posed to believe in Santa Claus. The day before Christmas I happened to be going by the storeroom when I noticed that the door was open. Naturally, I put in my head. Much to my surprise, there was Pop, strug- gling with an old red suit. I knew something was up, but, as it was so near Christmas, I thought maybe I'd better keep quiet, I slipped away and didnit say a word to any- one. That night I was supposed to go to bed and be awakened at twelve to see Santa Claus. Everything went along all right and at twelve I was up with the rest of the fam- ily-all except Pop. As time wore on I no- ticed my mother and my older brothers and sisters getting restless, talking very fast and not saying much. But still I was quiet. Iust before twelve-thirty there was a loud thumping which seemed to come from the roof, then an outburst that sounded like Pop in a temper. There was a lot of excitement and the next thing I knew we were all out in the yard. I still wonder if Pop intended to come all the way down that chimney, but, anyway, there he was, in the chimney, almost up to his shoulders, yelling like mad. He

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LITERARY 11 The Small Boy By Z iven Baghdarariun He is a very inquisitive lad. How are your folks? Who will win the football game? Why do they throw passes? Where was the Fire last night? Are you working now? Why do you get all dirty when you play football? Did you catch many fish yesterday? His interest in others and things around him classifies him not as a boy who plays in the sandbox, but as one who is affected by the things with which he comes in contact. Sailing, I938's Most Popular Sport By Victor Luca: Universal Newsreel, Life, and countless other authorities claim sailing the most popu- lar sport of the 1938 season. Sailing offers the vacationist a wholly new recreation, a means of exploring the unlimited reefs and bays. Doctors of very good standing claim sailing to be one of the best remedies for nervous disorders. The owners of these boats are not members of the Four Hundred but ordinary citizens like you and me. Some people buy these boats direct from the factory, others buy them second-hand, but lim and I built our own craft. The most popular of small sailers are the Moth boats Qeleven and one-half- foot catboats with only one sail.j These boats cost in the whereabouts of two hundred dol- lars, but can be built for as little as thirty-Five dollars. The regular U. S. sailing season comes to a climax about Labor Day, but in these parts it ends later. Lake Massabesic has sailing races every Sunday until ice forms. Governor Francis Murphy donates the Govemofs Cup to the winner of a number of scheduled races over a six-mile triangular course. This year a thousand people watched one race held in August. Thousands Cincluding myself, have dis- covered new thrills lying on the decks with the spray washing their faces. Sometimes a squall-a sharp gust of wind-comes up from nowhere, it seems, and causes a knock- down. The skipper turns the boat right side up, bails the cockpit out, and it's off to the races. Who, What, and Why By Anthony Morse No one cares about him unless he's late. Heis always there-a strange white figure in the early morning mist. Striding firmly to your door he smashes down part of his heavy burden. Then his confidence seems to break. Emitting a shrill whistle, he runs from txt house, summoning his horse for the get- away. And that's all. We don't even know if he's bald or has a six-foot beard and is cross eyed. Something must be done about it. Not many people have seen him. Those who have are rather unreliable sources of in- formation, Qbeing slightly woozy at the time.j It doesn't do any good to get up early. True, your alarm does its best, but an alarm can be turned off. And it really wouldn't be very nice to set a bear-trap for him. But still, we would like to see him. Why, you might pass him in broad daylight and never know him. 'Tis a most astounding enigma. Is he a dark dreary bachelor or a happily married man leading a double life? Well, good luck to you on your search, but if you do find him, do a little favor for me. Ask him what you will, but please, while you're at it, Find out why he makes so much noise with those milk bottles every morning.

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l LITERARY in or out as his clothes were with straw. My brothers to the roof. Half an hour walking into the house, his once red suit now black with soot. But after all we had a very merry Christ- mas, Pop included, and that was the last time they tried to play Santa Claus on me. couldn't budge tightly stuffed climbed up on later Pop came - Bacchus By Ioan Nichol: One day One summer day I own 'tis true I wandered to a hillside green And lay beside a sparkling stream And fell asleep. I heard As clear as day A tinkling laugh, And I awoke to Hnd a group- A laughing, singing joyous troop Of maids and men. The pipes That one man held Wove eerie spells. I longed to dance, but I did note That they were fauns and faerie folk And was afraid. The fauns With pointed ears And goat-like legs Had Howers in their shaggy hair, And capered with the nymphs so fair Who scattered Howirs. They drank From silver cups And one Satyr Ate purple grapes with eager lust. I heard them call him 'Fair Bacchus, God of Winef' The nymphs Who saw me watch With open eyes 13 While they drank and sang and danced- A laughing group-towards me pranced And bade me join. A cup Of sparkling wine I drank, and then The drunken revelry was ong I jumped and leaped like any faun I was so gay. The scent Of purple grapes And fragrant flow'rs Incensed the Bacchanalian crowd, The hills repeated echoes-loud And, oh, so clear! I kissed The lovely maids With golden hair. Their silken robes Hew in the breeze Oh, how they sang and how they teased A mortal fool. I But night Was drawing nigh And quickly I Picked up their How'rs and silver tray. I cried out for them to stay But they said 'No.' Oh, come With us, my friend. Loudly Bacchus cried But I said no ..,..... I was afraid, I went and hid deep in the shade, Then they were gone. The sky Grew dim to show Its sorrow-then Was glad because my soul was free, Free from drunken revelry And Bacchus, too. No dream Was thus, ah, youths I know 'twas true, It happened on a summer's day That's in the past now-far away But it was true!