The Bright Side of Christmas

New Zealand Times, Volume XLV, Issue 10464, 17 December 1919, Page 4 (Supplement)

The Bright Side of Christmas

YOU may laugh, but there is a ' bright side to Christmas. To begin with, is. one ever in such an awfully, frightfully, terribly good temper as on Christmas Eve? 1 certainly nover am. I allow nothing to upset me. 1 get into the railway carriage en my way homo a veritable Santa, Glaus, bristling with parcels of all sizes and shapes—presents for those dear, and. oven for those near, to me. As likely as not the train has begun xo move when I jump in. I stumble, and one of my parcels gouges a man's eye out. But do I lose my temper? No. "It's lucky you had two!" X cry, all smiles, to the. man. Then I fling the bulk of the parcels on to the rack, not noticing a gentleman's silk hat there, whioh is promptly telescoped. "That's my hat!" crios out tho owner. "No, it isn't. It was," I reply, resolved that there shall bo no churlish answer from ma this evening. Then, in turning round, I troad on an old lady's toes. 'When tho screech has died away, "That's how to find out who has corns," I &he says something which I cannot catch —probably an apology for having made me jump. "Pray don't mention it. My fault," I assure her. And 1 look about for a seat. There are jnly four passengers on the one side; yet they do not seem inclined to mako room for me, so, with a cheery "Down wo go!'' I let myself drop between two angry, stout gentlemen, and by sheer weight come into my own. 'l'leuso l beam good-naturedly on all. And then we have Christmas Day itself. First, there will be the service in the dear old church, where the sensible m:.n will enjoy a good sleep before the Christmas dinner, for he is not so sure that the Christmas dinner will let him have it after, and where the dear old parson preitches on Goodwill towards all men and even noncomformists, and is beginning to think he has mado somt, impression on his audience, until some one tries to open a, window behind tho major from India. .Later on there is tho Christmas dinner. ,1 must confess that the pretty fancy of sating goose, and plum pudding, and mince pies, to celebrate the tirth of a new religion, always appeals irresistibly to me. And for^other'reasons the Christmas dinner issurely the grandest institution that ever was, for does it not bring together friends long parted—those who would perhaps otherwise never see one another ? 'To mention but one example, there is Uncle AVilliam. We all have him, I suspect,. Were it not for Christmas Uncle William would certainly have no opportunity of quarrelling with his relatives. He; indeed, is literally our light side of Christmas, for he will flare up like a r6cket on the slightest-provocation. In fact, one Yule-tide went by without our seeing him at all owing to a night misunderstanding the year before. It was like this. Somebody had suggested a game of "Making Words out of One,' and when my mother entered the room, each of us, including my Uncle William, was industriously' writing for all he was worth. "Bear me," cried my mother, "You seem very busy. -Quite an apiary, I deolaro..'? "You're good-look-ing yourself, ain't you!" retorted tiny uncle, crimson with rage, as he got up and left the nouse_without a further word. But, where 'there is to be a .Will, there will bo a way, and two years afterwards the matter was patched up, and we resolved to be more careful in the future, though even now all danger is not past. For instance, only last Christmas Day we were play-' ing cards, and my fathor was winning and my undo was losing.. "Ha, ha!" cried my father, thoughtlessly, "again I .havo a good hand!'' This time my uncle contented himself with the yap, "But a preoious bad face, sir." At which we let uncle win in a canter. * And, While on the subject of unpleasantness, Jet mo utter a word* of warning -as to Christmas cards. Never buy cards without first looking at the inscription, for people not only read them, but imagine you have chosen tho card on account of the appropriate words. I speak with some feeling, as, but for a little carelessness in this repect, a dear friend of mine would still be a, bachelor. He never used to,look at inscriptions, until one Christmas he received a telegram from a girl he did not caro two pins about, couched in the following terms: "Certainly I accept j you. Thanks." It was all along of an amatory motto, which had escaped his ! notice. And then, at Christmas time, there are the little ones. It is, perhaps; essentially their season. Do not "lot us forget the little ones. Indeed, I know one little one who will not forget mo in a hurry, 1 fancy. The child heard me say ono ovening that I loved holly,: and that if I had my way I would havo holly everywhere. That same evening, on jumping into bed, I found some holly between tho sheets. It was a sweet thought of the .la.d's, an,d when I crept into his little room, slipper in hand, I scarcely had tho heart to do it—tout ho was clad in his littlo white nightgown so conveniently. Yet, ono must have a.juvenile party, of c.ourse. And with reference to -ju-. vonile parties I have a suggestion to proffer. It-will bo something of an innovation, but it should bo useful. When the nurses arrive to fetch away their weo charges, as often as not there is a difficulty in finding them. The search is not infrequently in vain. Now, in order to prevent this needless expenditure of time and energy, why should, not the hostess, during and after supper, exhibit in the hall a list (to bo a.dded to from time to time) headed: THE FOLLOWING CHILDREN HAVE BURST. (Tho pieces will be found in the waste-paper basket.) •Were there some Such arrangement as this, .all that the nurse would have to do would bo to glanco down the list, and, on finding the name of her little darling there, she could leave without more ado. Under tho old want of system hours might havo been wasted in hunting for the child, and many a valuable temper lost. Bnt the worst of it is there are children who will not burst, and that, I bolievo, is what makes many a father wish Father Christmas farther. Still, Christmas comes but once a year. That should be a comforting ' thought to tho most hardened cynic Walter Emanuel.