The Washington herald., 1921-12-25
BY Reginald Wright Kaufman

aCHRIsTMAs comes but once a year"
~ Do you remember that classic re-
mark 1t 10 quotation, though just what
was Its origin nobody ever knew. 1t had
passed into the vernacular of childhood long
before the days when you were a boy, and
when you were a boy you believed it.
Now, however. things are different. Far
from occurring more than once in 365 days,
Christmas. you have begun to notice. doesn't
come round even so often as it used to do.
Between Christmas and a mere 25th of De-
cember the distinctions are many. In the
hrst place, as you so frequently point out.
all Christmases used to be white" ones. 1t
IL idle for the United States Weather Bureau
to prove that climate cannot noticeably
change in thirty or forty years. No doubt
the Weather Bureau is scientifically correct;
but the human truth, as your life memory
sfdrms, Is that. though modern Christmases
are green ones, the Christmas days when you
we're q boy were days of snow.
You know what you are talking about. As
you vakeneI in the gray. cold dawn
dawn made rosy and warm with the gertrude
Of Immediately impending joy-one Of the
6rst sounds that always greeted your greedy
the quick chug- chug of horses hoofs on the
hard. white road before the house, and al
vay-always-the was yesterdays stall
wsrt snowman in the back yard. which was
q romantic sweep Of prairie compared to the
poor little backyard of today.
Most OF all-not to multiply instances
Christmas was then essentially a rural, or at
least q Gmall town affair, whereas Il 4, now
rather but q day when the city shops are
closed. In brief. in your time IL used to be a
festival, and now it is merely q sort Of extra
Sunday.
OH, THOSE Christmases you used to
" know! There can never be any quite
like them. The race may change but slowly,
vet the individual-of whom the great law Of
change takes such small account-changes
with every gliding hour, alters with a
glapcing fash of every passing instant. To-
day you are what you were not yesterday,
but tomorrow you shall be what you never
were before.
Every Christmas morning you would leap
from under the covers, a shivering little hg-
and hurry, through the vague half light Of
dawn, to the foot of your bed, where the
bulsins stockings hung. You remember
bow, tssHns your fancy with delicate de-
lay, you used to take from It one bit Of
candy At a time until the madness Of eI-
recitation overwhelmed you and you held
that horn Of plenty foot upward, 20 that
all IL store lay upon the counterpane-an
but tn Bullying tanserine IN the toe and
she neat, impeding clear candy toys"
that psrsistently stuck fast to the wool.
Thew aren't any clear toys now, and
Dc children get their candy in pink and
purpds bo1es from Wabash avenue or
Chsssnut street or Broadway. But when
ySu wsss q boy thoss marvellous clear toys
Ssre <hs very dgn-manual Of the occasion;
there were no clear toys save at Christmas,
and, you would have argued, there could
AavsSsn no Christmas, By the same token,
AOu& dear toys. Marvels, every one OF
60-does and fre-enginss and hunts
men q horsebaek and brave soldierr, mus
bet d hand, destined to dow dissolution
under Sbs pftilss tongue Of youth.
Asayu the same, Jet always a surprise,
~ soDckfng and the clear toys were the
hersId> Of the real Christmas day. And an
tutsGra part of It was the rush into the
big bedroom, wnere you WOKE Win snouu
ana discs your father and mother; the
wonderful moments when they handed you
sAos. mind readers the very gifts you had
wanted. and the vision Of beauty, the
gNmpse Of fairyland. which was the Christ
mas tree.
Every year you children had seen the
busy little mother, who was then 20 tail
and beautiful, baking tremendous armies
Of mail cakes for a week before the twenty
9th, and every year, al Christmas morn.
ing long, the poor Of the town-don't you
remember them would come 70 the kitchen
door In steady stream and thence in steady
stream depart. cooky laden. Every year,
after the Christmas breakfast, you would
20, with a quick merry Christmas" on
your lips for whomsoever you met, to the
houses Of your cousins and friends, your
arms full Of gifts from them when you re-
turned. And every year there was the
Christmas morning in the church, with
the holly and the laurel and the glad faces
smiling. the glad eyes shining and the glad
voices blending-for then everybody sang
y frankly tried to sing the hymns-in the