Glass High School - Crest Yearbook (Lynchburg, VA)

Page 13 text:

THE CRITIC 145 Qtbristmas nn a South Sea Jlslsnn ELWOOD VAUGHAN Four months and thirteen days, or rather one hundred and thirty-five days, I counted the notches on the tree again. Then since I had been cast ashore on August the twelfth, to- day was December the twenty-fifth, Christmas Day! And it had been four months and thirteen days since I had been washed overboard in my ship in a heavy sea. But, indeed, the weather was that of J une. A warm, mild breeze blew over the island almost continuously. By the palms and tropical growth I knew that the island was one of numerous similar islands which dot the southern seas. Although I had seen no sign of cannibals or wild animals, once I had seen a speck riding the waves, which I took to be a canoe of some kind. Still, today was Christmas day. I thought of the thousands of kiddies back in America who would be made happy today while the real spirit of Christmas was forgotten. I thought of other thousands who would be made sad by not being able to enjoy Christmas as the wealthier children did, or who would feel the sting of poverty and of pride at being the re- cipients of charity. Was it, is it, fair? I thought of the hypo- crites who rushed through the streets, shouting and laugh- ing, with arms full of presents, who gave where they expected to receive. Then I thought of a solemn and still night, lighted by a full southern moon and myriads of twinkling star dia- monds. I thought of slumber-ing hills specked by the Hooks of sheep upon them. I thought of the shepherds silently watching their Hooks. When, lol a star of radiant beauty, so bright that it rivaled the moon, was seen, proclaiming the

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144 Q THE CRITIC' DEAR SANTA CLAUS: Do you remember a long time ago when I insisted on you bringing me great big dolls with golden hair and blue eyes? Well, this time I Wrote a note to a boy breaking an acquaint- ance and a date because I was peeved. I was so sorry after- wards because the friend who introduced him explained how unjust I had been. I thought that perhaps he had a dual personality like the famous Dr. Jekyll, but my imagination was childish. Bring back his forgiveness as a big present for, MYRA NADMOND. The conventional ending for every fairy tale you ever read will be changed a little here. They had a wonderful time at the Christmas dance and lived happily ever after. .. l-.-. Unlock the door this evening And let your gate swing Wide, Let all who ask for shelter Come speedily inside. What if your yard be narrow? What if your house be small? There is a Guest whose coming Will glorify it all. Unbar your heart this evening, And keep no stranger out, Take from your soul's great portal The barrier of doubt. To humble folk and weary Give hearty Welcoming, Your breast shall be tomorrow The cradle of a King. -JOYCE KILMER.

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146 THE URITIC birth of the Christ. The shepherds beheld it with admiration when they were suddenly stricken with amazement at the sound of the sweetest music ever heard by mortal man. I again pictured the holiday feasts in my country, the multitude of dishes filled with Christmas dainties. The bril- liant extravagance-was it not tempting? I saw a lowly stable in Bethlehem of Judea with the little Christ-child upon the straw in the manger. I imagined the gay parties which were being held, and I contrasted them with the solemnity of that night nearly two thousand years ago. Through all this present merriment there rings a note of falsity. Something seems out of tune, the harmony is not perfect. As I strolled along the shell-covered beach, alone with my thoughts, I was attracted by a column of smoke which later I perceived came from a ship. It drew nearer. I shouted at the top of my voice. Would they hear, would they see my flag of clothing? They did see and hear. It was an American vessel bound for New York. They lowered a boat and took me aboard. By the time the ship once more got under way, the day was drawing to a close. The last rays of a dying day made the early stars appear silver instead of gold. The water's changing hue had darkened with the purple of the heavens and the little island stood outlined as a dark green patch against the streaked blue and gold which divided the sky and sea. The tops of the tall and stately palms and tropical trees, kissed by a mere breath of wind, seemed to undulate with the ocean waves. As the night hovered more closely over the earth and we sailed farther and farther from my late home, I looked with admiration upon the small speck gradu- ally growing smaller. Something seemed calling across an unthinkable void. From a world of nihilism a longing seemed flashed through space. I was suddenly awakened from my