THE MADNESS OF MAN

Pukekohe & Waiuku Times, Volume 8, Issue 438, 3 January 1919, Page 3

THE MADNESS OF MAN

(Contributed) We are aane enough for the greater part of the year, but there is one short season when we all go a bit mad. It is always the same season, occurring right at the end of the year; and whereyer you may be, from Stewart Island to Spitsbergen, you will find that it effects people just the same. Of course we call it Christmas, but long before we had any need for Christmas, it existed as an old feast throughout the west of Europe and was called Yule; and when the Early Fathers of our Church sought, quite erroneously, to fix the birthday of our Lord on the 25th of December, it waa not that they really imagined that it took place on that day, but so that the festiva) might correspond with that old pagan feast of Yule. For the Early Fathers, who were shrewd old folk in their way, were careful not to diaturb the pagan beliefs too roughly or all at once. They rather undermined them, slipping from Paganism to Christianity as it were furtively, as unobtrusively as possible. Other .countries, too, have observed this festival in variou. forms, snd under various names, but whether it is some respsctable English family throwing sobriety and dignity to the winds, and playing Postman's Knock or Bliodman'a Buff, and burning their fingers with Snapdragon, or a hall full of ancient horse pirates holding high wassail before the Yule-log, Si their venerable heada nodded forward and tbey went to sleep with their beards in their ale—one and all are a little bit mad. Christmas appeals to me as a season when one temporarily cripples one's finances in buying. expensive presents for one's friends, that they can never really use, and when one's friends retaliate on one in the same way, an arrangement that benefits nobody very much except the shopkeepers, and causes the unfortunate postman to use nasty expressions concerning the human race in general I remember a few years ago, a city lady sent my wife a beautiful electric iron It was quite the last word in irons, but unfortunately still reposes somewhat in tarnished splendour in the lumber room. The good lady had forgotten to supply the electricty to work it with. At this season, too, one seldom escapes an invaaion. The whole family of X - (who by the way, are relations just a little poorer than oneself), resolve that it would be sociable and economically to spend the day with their dear uncle. You have been notifisd of your impending fate a few days before, and on the festive day' they duly arrive with all the children, whose name is legion, and whose squeals and squalls and amateur performances on tin trumpets and whistles make a very devil's symphony throughou&Jha house, After, having speedily put the Christmas plum tree out of business for the season, they climb 6n chairs and create havoc with your bookshelves, upset costly vases and break a few other unconsidered trifles of brie a,brac whenever it occurs to them. At this stage of the proceedings you revolt and they are all sent out to play in the yard, till one of them falls into the horse-trough and narrowly escapes drowning, when they are brought inside again. Dinnertime drags round and they attack the Christmas fare with determination and ferocity quite fascinating to watch, leaving you, however, the comforting reflection that they are laying the foun&tions for a tummy - ache such as, l«e Christmas, comes but once a year While on the subject of relations, let me remark that they exist in only two varieties the poor sort (who are for ever sponging on you), and the rich sort (who liv«» in continual terror that you are going to sponge on them.) I believe they were only sent to try us; for you will remember that in the Garden of E4en Adam pursued his daily way in peace, untroubled by relations, and they made their appearance only after he was kicked out, as did old age, toothache, and kindred human, ills. But that is by the way The fact of the matter is that we hold Christmas at the wrong time of the year. Oh! for a good oldfatbioned Christmas in the depth of winter, when one could solace oneself with hunting, shooting, and skating; when one was not expected to devour plum-pudding flaming in biandy when the thermometer says "ninety'' very loudly and clearly, and one is dying for ices and jellies; and when there was a reasonable hope that the great old family coach bringing you your relations would be snowed-np en route. The good old fashioned Christmas! tainted spirits of my grandsires, what rales 1 ave you not told of that won rierful time! when you laid in fabulous store of game and pies and other dainties, and decorntrd windows and doors with holly and mistletoe, beneath which, in your juvenile days, you pushed the butler off the ladder (not with impunity), or when those days had passed ami been succeeded by the calf age, ynu xipppd the honey from some pair of red lips (probably not unvisited by "ttirr bees that d*T), and imagine" Your Serene Oafishness fttally it lovp, when you burnt your grubbv little fingers with snapdragon, tlia is all except the oue you cutwiti your new knife an h <ur opened your stocking, and which i well piotf cted wi'h rag ; or, in la'i" I year? when you submitted to iiliui]folded and buffrted about, y< u I f'iinj barked, y.ur head m | sl'arp cornices and wljjos of dorrs < i I f ct;d your exhausted and pnrspir i "g fmrne round «m"n(?»-t sn ondi*

labyrinth of chairs, to the accompaniment of popular tunes villain* onsly executed by your youngest niece; when, in short, you did a hundred fine and funny and foolish things and really managed to delnde yourself into the idea that you were Tiaving a splendid time. Why! my veuerable grandsiree you were mad too —madder than we are. But of course, like us, you had kept sane for fifty one ; weeks of the year, and thought that un the last you had some excuse for your antics. And why not? Do not other creatures have their periods of queerneas ? Do nQt dogs go mad at midsummer, and hares in March ; and are not Governments, (according to the other party) mad all the time ? So if we do go a bit mad for one little week out of the whole year, who shall grudge it to us ?