Show CHRISTMAS reflections 1 memories of an armenian now amend ing the U A C the following is no fantastic dream nightmare or flight of the imagination tut a true narrative of the terrible persecutions the armenians Armen ians have sut suffered under turkish misrule two ot of the terrible instances cited having taken place under the immediate observation of the young man whose name is appended who has been in america three years and is now a student at a the U A C it is evening the moon and stars are arc hidden under dark clouds and mysterious silence Is reigning everywhere A bitter wind rattles the window like the vibrations of a violin I 1 open the window and sitting before it ii listen I 1 hear now another sound nore charming more clear more sweet and 1 I bear hear distinctly far avay vay far away in the land of judea I 1 remember at once that it Is the eve of christmas and lo io the old memories ies revive in me I 1 remember as yesterday it was the th winter of 1895 there was a rumor in the town that the kalif hai had ordered th the e massacre ot of all the armenians Armen ians ard and that they had already killed from constantinople to van and that they were in the vicinity of our small town but I 1 believe that why would they kill hill us ua have they no heart I 1 was happy because it was the eve of Crist christmas mas and I 1 was playing in the snow with other chil dreu dren Every time I 1 see the snow I 1 rc remember member the face of my mother aich was more white than the snow that night the dark curtain of night is s drawn all over the country everything 0 ery thing is silent mid and quiet no one slept that night I 1 awoke early and told them to take me to church to celebrate the birth of the saviour and they told me there was no charmi to lay day because it was too cold coa the dark curtain is lifted up and a bew terrible sight is open the file valley Is covered with the herds of barbarous turks and the mountains trembled under kurd riders everywhere movement shout ing singing and dancing except 1 la 11 1 the town where like a cemetery reigns the silence of death tle sig nal la Is given and like a pack of 0 hungry wolves they attack the unprotected people in the town tiie the mountains echo with the sound of 0 guns they tear they kill they crush they smash they break and capture ca liture e cruel heaven listen to the moan mean ot ol the wounded the cry of the despoiled virgins and the screams of the trodden babies the dark curtain again falls alls and everything is covered under the darkness of night thirteen long years have passed sarce that terrible dagand the memory is fresh all the time in the heart of every armenian the ruined homes are rebuilt the fields fertilized with the blood of armenian martyrs aud and the bodies of 0 innocent babies are covered with golden crops it is 1908 the bloody sultan has granted a constitutional government to the people liberty songs echo everywhere ery where everybody Is happy and the armenians Armen ians freed from their slave chains of years yeam are preparing to celebrate their christmas but lo 10 the kalif had given again the signal and regiments of 0 young turks who were boasting yesterday of being the defenders of the constitutional government are marching toward Gi filicia Gill licia cla massacre again death fire and blood are everywhere the state of adana the treasury of the turkish empire and the glory of all armenia is reduced to hills of ashes covering the bodies of armenians Armen ians the curtain Is fallen again seven years have gone it is 1915 the trees which were cut by the cruel gardner have sent out new branches nore more strong and more beautiful I 1 from my window I 1 see in a beautiful house across the street happy people dancing around the christmas tree they remind me of the home where I 1 was born I 1 ride on the mysterious wings of imagination I 1 fly to the old country b but ill alas I 1 binti find everywhere death and rutn in the rivers alice jihun digris and euphrates are colored with the blood of armenians Armen ians the dance is over the music is silent but the wind blowe lowa bringing to me the yelps of the wolves which are tearing the homeless children I 1 hear distinctly the voice tf of armenian maidens crying from the windows of the turkish har ems save us please save us and my voice echoes the voice ot of the prophet of old in a cry to the almighty how flow long oh lord how lorig long GIRAGOS AVEDIAN logan journal |