The Ashburton Guardian. Magna est Veritas, et Prevalebit. SATURDAY, DECEMBER 24, 1881. Christmas.
TOWN EDITION. [.lssued at 430 p. m..j
Christmas is upon us once more; ere another issue of this journal appears, Christmas Day, iBBx, will have become a thing of the past. And so, in accordance with a time honored custom, we take up the pen to say a few words anent the season. Not, we fear, that we can say anything that is very original bn the subject; like those of Love and Spring, the topic has, we know, been handled by other writers before us, and has (this is between our-! selves) become the least bit in the world threadbare. But still we feel that to allow our jolly white-bearded rubicond visaged old friend to make his re-appearance amongst us without so much as “good day to you,” would be to slight him. No, he is very welcome indeed, and if we cannot (on account of the day) do everything we could wish to celebrate his arrival to-morrow, why we will make up : for it on Monday, when we hope to drink his health with three times three. Half the pleasure of a thing lies, we are told, in its associations, and while we eat our beef and plum pudding here in this Britain of the South, our thoughts are bound to wander back to that tight little island, 16,000 miles away, and the Christmas past and gone when we ate our Christmas dinner and told our Christmas stories with those whom we are perhaps never destined to mix with again. But still we shall not forget them, and they assuredly will not forget us. Our way of spending Christmas to be sure, will differ somewhat from theirs. If they have what is called “an old-fashioned Christmas,” they may have a snowy Christmas Day, with a nipping east wind, and a leaden sky, frozen ponds, with the hoar-frost whitening garden plots and bed-room windows. And then overcoats and influenzas will be in the ascendant. Well, ice and snow and blazing fires are very pleasant things to read about, but after all, perhaps a sunny day, with a bit of blue sky and the meadows gay with spring flowers (common though they be), and bright green foliage are better, we have the best of the bargain always provided that there is no nor’wester blowing. However, Christmas anywhere and everywhere is a cheery time to the Englishman. But while we are making preparations to enjoy “ the festive season,” and are laying in stores of good things in honor of it, let us not altogether forget those who are less fortunately circumstanced than ourselves. Within a stone’s throw of our doors, or many of them, is an institution filled with old people whose brightest Christmases have passed away for ever, and to whom the return of the season brings little joy, and but serves to awaken, with not a few of them, sad associations rather than pleasurable ones, for it must recall other Christmases long gone by, and spent under far different circumstances. We allude to the inmates of the Old Men’s Home. Several of the townspeople have generously sent donations of Christmas . cheer to the Horae, and it is to be hoped that their example will be widely followed, in order that
the poor old fellows may participate in the good things of the season. Well, we have said enough. Let us wind up by wishing each and every one of our readers a very MERRY" CHRISTMAS and a HAPPY NEW YEAR.