THE LAST DAY.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 9736, 31 December 1909, Page 6

THE LAST DAY.

FINISHING THE CALENDAR. ■ - ■ •• .*•■ ■.-,■' - v • THE "OLD YEAR IS DEAD -, LONG , • : - ■ LIVE THE NEW' YE£R:- . •' Somebody somewhere and at some time has said 'that everything with a beginning wgs also fitted with an end. Thiß generalisation is true of a piece of string! or a Parliament, of a cigarette, and of life. It fails dismally, however, with respect to. Scotch caution, but this is merely the exception that provides . the incontrovertible proof, the Q.E.D. of the rule. And so it is safe to' say that the year which had a beginning must also have an end.. The calendar, certainly has a last page, but the calendar after all is: nothing more uqr less than a serial -story; The year is a, different proposition. It has boundaries clearly defined, by crackers, hogmanay, good resolutions and fifet feet. The passing of the old year and the advent of the new is full of interest ; the calendar merely shows a now pajye. ,* s - It is at this period of transition that man has his final, last, concluding, finishing potion before passing resolutions to be a saint henceforth ; it is the time when after having strengthened himself for the passing of the resolutions he gets an inflated idea of his own importance, and considers himself a hexapod, or even a " pod " of greater legiginess, and he finds it difficult to, control all of them. He fires many and sundry crackers to tell of his conversion to saintliness and as a further proof of his sanity he warbles " Auld Lang Syne" in tetf keys; he rejoices and the world rejoices- with him, and as a compensation for the loss of the amusement of drinking twelve glasses of gin while the clock is striking he endeavours to implant kisses ujym the lips of as many young ladies as possible while the clock is tolling the last tolls of the year — he takes the risk of a young lady's protecting male arm — it's a time for jollity. The old year dyjng is like a tenor dying in grand opera. The, tenor expires upon a fortissimo high C and the old year fades into the miet of the ' ' was-ers ' ' as much noise. The old year is like a cigarette, too; it is smoked to a finish and nothing is left but a few ashes. The old year is also like the other old years , a series of mistakes and accomplishments. This is the last day of the calendar, and already the new time-table is being taken from its coverings. "The old year is going; let him go," ! said Tennyson, but the modern man will not merely " let him go." He will help him out of the .picture and make joyful and noisy the advent of the new consignment of three hundred and sixtyfive days packed ready for use. This is the last day, arid the day of pastrymaking. To-night pie-crust resolutions will be made so that they may be broken to-morrow. The Pessimist, who is a mournful fellow withal, was caught this morning shaking the camphor-balls out of his waterproof and washing last winter's mire from his leggings. The Optimist chuckled, and asked why he unpacked the memories of the winter. The Pessimist, who is also a melancholy feuW withal, gave the waterproof a further : shake, and said in tone? of pitying sad-i ness: "I was out on Cnrisimas £'<..." The Optimist looked out of the window and at the vault above; the Pessimist must have found the thirteenth egg in the dozen at breakfast ! The sky was clear and bright, the newspapers had foretold a fine-weather New Year, and [ the weather forecasters had prophesied storms! There was every indication of a glad holiday time. The Pessimist, who is still a melancholy fellow withal, 1 only shook his head and. his waterproof i still further, and said: "I was out on Christmas Day." To-day there is certainly fine weather, and every indication points to a ■ fine New Year's Day. To-morrow will be one of regattas, picnics and races ; to-night will be of celebration. Tomorrow must look after its own weather — to-night must be taken care of and made gay. This is tho Usd, <hur ; <*»-morrow is the first*