Poverty Bay Standard. PUBLISHED EVERY TUESDAY, THURSDAY AND SATURDAY MORNINGS. Saturday, December 24, 1881.

Poverty Bay Standard, Volume IX, Issue 1016, 24 December 1881, Page 2

Poverty Bay Standard.

PUBLISHED EVERY TUESDAY, THURSDAY AND SATURDAY MORNINGS. Saturday, December 24, 1881.

We skull sell to no man Justice or Right We shall deny to no man Justice or Right We shall defer to no man Justice or Right.

To-morrow the whole Christian world will be engaged in one common act of adoration. Once again in the cycle of years we shall be called upon, trusting in the hope that is set before us, to commemorate one more anniversary of the Nativity of Him whose Life, and Death, and Resurrection, and Crown of Eternal Glory were planned and set forth in the Scheme of Redemption for Man’s Sake.

One more year has passed ; and it seems but yesterday that we wrote our last few words of encouraging forgiveness to our fellow-men. It is a common observation, which we hear daily in the streets, and in our ordinary relations with society, that the hours fly swiftly by, and the quickening evolutions of Old Father Time come upon us with an unerring certainty, and an unexpected suddenness that increases with our advancing years. The fervid Christian, whose thoughts and hopes are anchored on the Rock of a future and a better world, pauses, and reflects, and wonders. He notices not so much the Time that is past, as the Eternity that is to come. His misery of the present is lost in contemplation of the joys and promises yet to be fulfilled. But the mere philosopher sagely concludes that whatever Eternity may be, this world cannot be such a miserable place as some would have it, nor we a very unhappy people, if Time moves along so glibly that we cannot count its hours. But the question of all others that is to be most considered is : Are we learning wisdom with the progress of the suns ? It is written that

•" The soul’s dark cottage, battered and decayed, Lets in new light through chinks that Time bath made ; Stronger in weakness, wiser men become As they draw near to their Eternal Home.”

But we forget. Our object is not to write a sermon—at any rate, not one after the modern pulpit orthodoxy —although Shakspeare tells us there are “ sermons Jin stones, and Good in everything.” We desire to draw aside, temporarily, from the humdrum of every-day tittle tattle ; to endeavor, in fact, to be good, if only for a season ; to ask our enemies to forgive us in all that we have done amiss ; and to shake hands, at this festive season of the year, in a happy forgetfulness of all the evils we, perhaps unintentionally, have done each other. But this is the point at which our difficulty begins. In another portion of this issue will be found an article on the “ Amenities of Civilization,” which we have unearthed for this special occasion. Not that we subscribe to all that is said therein, but that the argument is singularly appropriate to our own discourse, and contains revelations and dogmatic philosophy of a rather startling character. We say “ startling,” not because we disbelieve them, but on account of their apparent truthfulness. For instance : We desire to practice (and herein the Press differs from the Pulpit, which merely preaches) “ Peace and goodwill towards menbut we are met with the assertion that “ of all the various accomplishments of a man of the world, there is none which is of more importance than dissimulation.” And that it is “ incumbent upon every individual to delude himself into the belief that he is possessed of the good wishes, esteem, and respect of his fellow beings.” Now if we can delude the many hundreds of our friends who will read these lines, or if they will delude themselves into the belief that they have our good wishes—well, our object will be gained ; they may be pleased, and we shall rejoice. And, after all, what is pleasanter than delusion ? Or, in the words of the author whom we quote, what is easier, and more profitable than dissimulation, if carried to consequential ends ? “He that is robbed, not wanting what is stolen, let him not know it, and he is not robbed at all.” The art of dissembling, like all other minor forms of deceit, lies in the concealment of the dissembler’s intention from the person on whom it is practised. Wickedness, according to the world’s code, is not comprised in the act, per se, but in being found out. Dissembling is dishonesty, however we may strive to erect it into an art or a virtue. To dissemble successfully oue must lie abundantly,

“ And he that does one fault at first, And lies to hide it makes it two !”

Rochefoucauld, in his “Maxims,” says that “ Hypocrisy is a sort of homage that Vice pays to Virtue.” Therefore, “ taking one consideration with another,” we do not intend to dissemble in our expressions of an earnest hope that we shall all forgive one another his trespasses and sins, so far as mortals can do, that we have been guilty of during the past year. We do not intend to delude ourselves into the belief that we enjoy the good opinion of all men, although we shall comfort ourselves with the reflection, that, as the Devil is said to be not so black as he is painted, so we may not be so bad, after all, as some desire to make out. Journalists, above all men, have abundant opportunity to dissemble ; and he is a brave man who, in the interests of public duty, will cast that vice—for we can call it nothing else —on one

side, and manfully adhere to that which is right, however he may err in the doing of it. Were men truer to each other, and the spirit as well as the deed of forgiveness shed abroad in our hearts, dissimulation would find no room for exercise. “ ’There’s not a joy the world can give like that it takes away.” And how often do we forget, or how little do we think of, the joys we take away from, and the sorrows we beget for, each other iu our daily intercourse ! Were the world ruled, actualh/, all the year round, as it is professedly— with becoming dissimulation— at this festive season of the year, how good and nobly great would man become I

“ But there’s a lust iu man no eharm can shame, Of loudly publishing our neighbour’s blame ; On eagle’s wings immortal scandals fly, While virtuous actions are but born to die.”

However, we wish our readers the compliments of the season, a “ Merry Christinas,” and “ Many Happy Returns of the Day.”