By the magic of those two words--Christmas vacation--the University suddenly becomes a place of desolation. The Yard is a deserted village of silent houses, without even the rude clanging of the ever-zealous bell in old Harvard to break in upon its unnatural quiet. Even the gay rendezvous round the Square are forgotten for other parts. It is with light hearts that we turn from the nine o'clocks of this world to that other world of holiday cheer that comes only with Christmas. To its many friends, especially to those who are unable to return to distant homes, the CRIMSON extends its best wishes for the holidays.