The Bossier banner. [volume] (Bellevue, Bossier Parish, La.) 1859-1952, 1880-12-23
Santa Claus.

SaS win eyes distended and month
open to hear of him and his fabled
reindeer with that innocent credulitv
OF childhood which is at once their
charm and protection. With what
care are the tiny stockings suspend.
ed at the chimney, and with what
feverish interest are they taken
down and examined when the light
OF Christmas day dawns on the
world. There is marvellous charm
LOT the child in this ancient fabrica-
ton of Santa, and we doubt not bnt
that every one of them has felt a
half defined thrill of regret when
maturer years brought to them the
knowledge that it was a myth and
deception, and that the horfles Of
good things placed on their pillows
and in their stockings was but the
work of loving parent hands.
Old as is the story of Christmas
and Santa Claus, itisone upon which
we love to dwell. There has been
little if any change in the order of
the festivities of the day. When we
were a boy, it was the season of
gifts, big feasts and merry-making,
as now. When we throw aside our
gravity and turn from the printed
page which, fairly bristles with
thought and learning, as our little
children Chamber on our knees and
talk mysteriously of Santa Claus, we
look in the fire and people it with
Ahe scenes aud faces of the past
We grow young, and live over again
the old, old days. We smile when we
think of how earnestly we wished
on Christmas eve that We had been
born a girl instead of a boy. Not
that we thought girls were better
than boys. All, no! We simply
envied the length of their stockings.
Our socks were much too short to
satisfy our greed. The weird mid.
night rider who stepped from his
sleigh and slid down the chimney
without soiling hair of his snowy
beard, and whose pack was mex.
haustible, could only do so much for
US because our yarn hose were so
quickly filed.
Christmas is the chillren's festi-
val. To wrinkled Santa Claus the
world never grows old. He silently
comes and goes year after year, and
always finds little stockings hanging
against the jam or over the backs Of
chairs. For all he knows to the |
contrary the bloom of youth is eter-
nal. If some fairy should descend
from the clouds and visit the earth |
only when June roses were bursting
their buds, the impression would
dwell with her that the flowers were
by the law of change and
death.
The simple faith born of Christ
mas times clings to us until the
grave puts an end to the mortal ca
reer. There may be hours when we
doubt, when reason strips the ideal
Goldman of His robes and coldly
points to cherries future, but the
hopes rise again when we
look into the fire, feel the touch of
hand and hear a mothers
prayer. The logic of the scientist is
when we drift back on the
stream of fancy to childhood and re-
call the sacred associations of Christ
mas. We cease to sneer at what we
may have termed sweet delusion.
Faith assumes grander proportions.
In short, we wed her to Sublimity.
The tender memories of long ago
will make many an old heart quick
IN its throb, hearts perchance that
have been hardened or saddened by
The rough attrition of intervening
years, and some of the old tender
ness and trustfulness of childhood
will struggle back to them through