Christmas: I

If Christmas were a vaudeville actress, she would have long ago retired. Her simpering ways and importuning mien endear her to no audience but the vulgar, and when she dares to look up boldiy and speak out, it is with tongue of brass and not of gold.

And once again the dreadsome time arrives, when large her shadows loom upon the boards, obliterating that refined discretion that nooses up the purse the year around (of charity, the ghost alone remains). Ring the curtain down, before the fatuous seduction makes her bow; down!

Bah! Christmas, who needs it?

(The above represents a minority opinion of the CRIMSON Editorial Board.)