Montgomery County sentinel., 1891-12-25
AN OLD STORY.

infant lips greeted his earliest rays until all
the earth was joyous. Such salutation the
great orb receives but once year, for the
child that must be driven from bed the other
three hundred and slxty-four mornings,
awakes uncalled and unshaken on Christ.
mas morning. The nerves have been strain
ed for that day by vast anticipations and
the night has been troubled with dreams
and the eyelids felt the first light tread Of
the seraphim at the dawn Of this hallowed
anniversary.
At an early hour the festival began. The
shouts Of laughter that burst through the
house made the hearticst carol of the Christ
mastide. Bright faces beamed with phos-
phorescent mirth in the uncertain light, glad
voices rang upon the crisp and brittle air,
and pink toes tingled and "tinkled upon the
turfted floor" Such discoveries, such prizes,
such joy as broke upon the youthful world
this morning cannot be witnessed or heard
unmoved. In every parents throat there Is
still lump and eyes are moist and hands
are nervous and voices husky in the glory
of the hour. In all the year there is no
such period of intense and universal hap.
piness as that which is illumined. by the
Christmas dawn. Infantile creation stands
in awe, veneration and love OF Santa Claus,
who last night climbed down millions Of
chimneys and deposited the msrvels Of his
workshop upon the family altar. The merry
tinkle of the mythical reindeer bells still
echoes upon the land, and in church and
home is heard the laugh of joy as well as
the peans of praise.
The savings of weeks have been lavishsd
upon the beloved, the best impulses of
year have been concentrated in the prepa-
rations, evidences OF self sacrifice are every.
where, and the noblest part of humanity
has been exhibited to day. The millionaire
and the pauper, the holy priest and the
Gagged convict, the righteous as well rs the
unrighteous, feel the universal thrill of
thanksgiving that now belts the earth
There are the novels of the abandoned,
homes of the neglected and purieus of alb
ject poverty into which the light of tran
sent happiness may not have entered, but,
in the main, the poorest OF Gods creatures
are able to devote one day to merry making.
Human charity, after all, is broad and long
aud deep. This is time when the heart
swells to its most generous proportions, so
that all are enabled to indulge brief re.
spite from the cares of life. M
The purest and most pious service Of the
year is performed unconsciously at Christ.
mastide, and is all the more acceptable on
that account. The earth is then temple
and every home an altar and every merry
voice OF innocent childhood part of the
grand voluntary that ripples to the throne
of grace. In the shape Of presents an uni.
versal sacrifice has been offered, most &C.
ceptable because in accordance with that
divine gift which the day commentaries.
Parents have family initiated the Great
Father In giving their children every good
and precious gift, and friends, lovers and
relatives have caught the inspiration of the
season TO offer tender evidences of unselfish
affection.
To-day the chimes of the bells and the
roll Of sweet music will follow the carols of
the children and the churches will solemnly
echo or repeat the gratitude of the home =
The bells will peal their Christmas notes.
The organs roll their volume OF harmony,
and the voice of song and praise and thanks
giving will lightly burden the crispy air.
From millions Of homes and hearts and
thousands of churches and choirs the vocal
celebration will pour alsft, storming the
very heavens with grateful acknowledg.
ments.
OF course Bacchus will hold o levee In
his temple after the fashion of the mytho.
logical days, and copious libations OF wine
will flow upon the altar oi the jocund god.
The "little brown jug" will again come
forth, and the insidious corn juice will per.
meate large section of human anatomy
The creamy egg-nog will once more temp
mankind, and tom and Jerry" the seduct-
i've gin flip and the delusve eye opener will
elevate the enthusiastic citizen with vision.
AIRY gold mines and plethoric bank accounts.
John Barleycorn has tapped his tank, and
his followers will have "a dress parade"
1t is not in human nature, perhaps, to
contemplate anniversaries of any sort with
out certain kind Of sadness. The mile.
stones that mark the road of life are mute
but eloquent signs of the transltoriness
of existence. Onward, forever, ceaselessly,
pauselessly flows tho tide of time, bearing
us with it to the hidden bourn. Every
Christmas marks another year travelled on
the inevitable journey, and there are few
to whom the advancing shadows do not
speak word o! warning The true signifi.
canoe of life is long misunderstood, often
missed, never perhaps fully appreciated even
by the wisest. And this life we see slipping
away from us faster as the years go by and
the Christmas days multiply behind US. The
thought must startle whenever it comes.
But there is another and deeper element
Of sadness even than this. As each memo.
rial day arrives it is greeted by fewer eyes
that love us, and to none Of US is the new
day quite the same as the old. Some there
may be to whom it is brighter, but to many
oh how many!-it is dark with the dark.
ness of death. There are some to whom we
gave our Christmas greeting a year ago
who to-day we cannot greet with any human
message of peace and good will. They have
broken the bands of mortality, they have
solved the eternal mystery, they cannot
hear any longer our sobs or our laughter,
they have passed away from us.
So it must ever be with our festivals some.
where and to some of us. Life is built on
Death, and side by side with Joy walks
Grief with equal foot Only the very heed.
less or the exceptionally fortunate can speak
of the pleasures of memory and not sigh in.
Voluntarily at the bitter irony of the words.
"Give us, oh give us but yesterday" is the
cry of many more than the prodigals who