The Dorset County Express and Agricultural Gazette.
Dorchester, Dorset, England, 1861-12-24 00:00:00

DORSET COUNTY EXPRESS

DORCHESTER. TUESDAY, DECEMBER 24, 1861.

TIIE COMPLIMENTS OF THE SEASON.

The hallowed tide of Christmas has al-
ready dawned upon us. As the overture is
to the opera, or the prologue to the panto-
mime, Christmas-eve is to Christmas-day. It
is a hint of the good things which are to come
—so strong a hint that, to all intents and
purposes, Christmas will begin to-night. The
jovial day bursts beyond it, bounds, like an
over-rich plum-pudding. You cannot confine
the hilarity of this holy anniversary to four-
and-twenty hours. When, therefore, we seize
the present opportunity to wish our readers
the compliments of the season—which we do
with unaffected heartiness—it is not that we
desire to anticipate the day, but only to make
the most of it. These Christmas-days are
the most unerring mile-stones of our short
life's journey. From Christmas to Christmas
we should keep count, sum up the events of
our lives from year to year, see how far our
good intentions have been carried out, and
how lamentable performance has been behind-
hand with promise, remembering those Christ-
masses which have been happy, and those that
! were sorrowful—those when we dined alone,
and those when we feasted in merry company
--those when a man-child was born to us, and
those when the windows were closed, and the
voices were hushed, and the bearers took the
cold curse away—those when love came laugh-
! Mg, and told us that what we called pain was
' pleasure, and t hose when the glass showed us
our first wrinkle, and our first grey hair.
And though our lives may have been stormy
and troublous, and fortune may have passed
us by disdainfully, and friends proved
mu-
grateful, and ein•mies pitilessly used us, our
Christmas retrospect need in the end lead to
no despondent or despairing thoughts. For
most miserable and most abandoned must the
man be who can look back on his life and find
nothing but dry bones in the valley he has
passed through ; and bitter, indeed, must
liave been his lot who, summing up the festi-
vities he has seen, cannot acknowledge to
himself that at every recurring Christmas he
has had something to thank [leaven, and be
grateful for. Who can help feeling a glow at
the prospects of to-morrow 1' Look at the
remembrances of the day—the breaking-up
at school, the journey home, the fond greet-
ing, and the liberal round of subsequent
pleasures. A. we sit and muse upon all this
the old times come back again, and bring
with them memories and thoughts " too deep
fur tears.' We remember that at every
Christmas there was always one absent—that
sometimes a dark cypress leaf darkened the
chaplet which the Old Man wore upon his
wrinkled forehead. We remember this, and
offer our hand iu sympathy to those whose
heart and holiday are saddened at this present
festive season. But it is a holiday. whatever
dark cloud may hang above it. Perhaps in a
national sense it is our only holiday—the only
day when everybody thoroughly relaxas and
re-invigorates himself. The wheel of toil
stops for once—the heavy ball rests on the
hill-side, and Care leans, relieved, beside it.
All is tkoughtless and happy as a child. The
very stars twinkle more chavrily than usual,
for Nature herself seems to rejoice and make
glad. In this sense--a higher sense than
! ninny imagine Christmas is useful and
blessed. But the day has its duties as well as
its pleasures. The hungry are to be fed, the
naked to be clothed, those who are sick and in
prison to be visited. The rich have to look
after the poor, the poor to look after each
other. 11e can all " help"—all contribute
our " little possible"—and the thought of the
humble carpenter's Babe, who lay in swaddling
clothes in a manger, should inspire us to set
about the good work with Christian energy.
This is the season of mercy and alms. The
coldest heart blossoms with charity as, runs
the sweet fable, the "generous breath" of the
goddess turned the icicle into the snow-drop.
Once, again, we say, "A Merry Christmas"
to our readers. It is really very grateful to
he able to talk freely with our friends once in
the twelvemonth, and to change our rusty
bronze lamp for the gaily-coloured taper.
May to-morrow be a happy day to all our
readers, and may we in this column exchange
the compliments of the season for scores of
happy Christmasses to conic.