Port Tobacco times, and Charles County advertiser. (Port Tobacco, Md.) 1845-1898, 1858-12-23
Then, there was the old-fashioned book

linen, there was the OlQ-IaSnlOneu DOCK
case, with its heavy, leather bound volumes,
whose pages our fingers dared not profane,
unless when our faxen curls were brushing
against the grey hairs Of our father or moth
er, as were pointed out to US the wonderful
pictures therein.
All these things, and many more which
we need not enumerate, belonged to the
olden time, and especially to the old-fashion-
ed Christmas When the group at the fire
side gave place to the visitors on Christmas
morning, it seemed as if the room and its
furniture became brighter; certain it was
that the tick of the clock sounded livelier
and swceter. How the faces were lit up
with smiles in those days, in that old room.
How the bright eyes glistened and sparkled
there on Christmas morning. How the lit
tie feet battered impatiently, one and all, as
we donned our overcoats, hats, bonnets, and
shawls, and drew on our home made gloves,
and mutHed ourselves up in our homemade
comforts. Was it because there was spring
Of love and gladness in the smile Of the mo-
ther Of the olden time? Or was it because
the Christmas Of old, unlike that Of the pre-
sent, possessed in itself charm which dis
)sipated all clouds of gloom from our circle =?
What pleasure was like that Of our morn
ing calls upon the aunts and uncles, whose
eyes and hands, as we'll as their tones, greet
ed us with love, and who never could do
more than echo the "Christmas Gift!'' burst
ing from the lips of the tiny three-year-old,
and the rugged lad of eleven. And so we
were always entitled to the gift, which never
failed to be accompanied by kiss of affcc-
ton, and ga Merry Christmas to you, my
dear!' Had we room for regret at part
ing, it was only because the hours few past
so swiftly, that, ere we were aware of it,
the noon was upon us. And when the day
was over, when the gifts were deposited in
our pockets for the last time, ere they were
placed beside those treasured up in the quaint
rosewood box, never to be taken out save
we met one who had never enjoyed the su-
preme satisfaction of looking over our rare
and sacred collection of holiday presents );
when we were gathered together again in
the old-fashioncd sitting room, listening to
the wenderfnl stories of Ginaere4l:., Sinbad
and the Babes in the Wood, and picturing
horses, and dogs, and mountains, and val
leys in the clear, glowing fire; listening,
and wondering, and dreaming there in the
|quietness of the evening, with our faces flush
ing in the fre-light; Oh! then it was that
we wished that Life might be a perpetual
Christmas For, in the old-Eashioned Christ
mas, hand met hand freely, and eye met eye
honestly and fully, giving back to each other
looks of love and kindness without measure
No sorrow nor care intrudcd there but the
young, and the middle aged, and the ripe
in years mingled together. And when the
hands Of the clock pointed to ten, and when
the hours were numbered in loud, ringing
voice, even the youngest Of the group knew
that the time had arrived for their separa-
ton. Is not all these, and as much more
written on the page Of our memory? Only
that the light is failing, and our eyes have
become so dim, that we scarcely can read
further.