THE WEEK, THE WORLD, AND WELLINGTON.

Wanganui Chronicle, Volume L, Issue 12392, 13 December 1909, Page 3

THE WEEK, THE WORLD, AND WELLINGTON.

BY FRANK MORTON

CHRISTMAS

Christmas is almost here again. How quickly it comes, thase times: tho swifter, it seems, the harder we run down hill. And yet I can remember the time, and not s:> very long ago cither, when there seimed t> be centuries betwfien Christmases.

My curliest definitely, remembered Christmas was spent with my grandmother at Cotcn. I see myself now a tubby a d turbulent little chap, trudging through the snow with a straggling crowd cf cousins, carolsinging. The •countryside was dotted with farms, and at every farm house wheie we sang,' we at© our fill. Even r.ow, it is a mystery to me, just how we did it. In the retrospect, it seems that fifty mince pies and other things in proportion represented a fair night's performance per tub. I can still remember, too, how the stars danced and grew hazy when one youngster sipped too much elderberry wine with his cheer. And I can remember how small feet stuck and dragged in the snow towards tho last, and how very good tha lavender-scented sheets were.

There wore other nights of winter with no carols: nights when I roasted, chestnuts by a glowing fire or sat on a dairymaid's knee, snuggling •comfortably into the crook of a round shoulder. A night, too, when I and another imp hid under two dimpled cousins' bed, bumped the slats, and caused terrible uproar: a night associated with the smell of burning feathers and the clever performance of two naughty youngstera pretending sympathy and a horrid fear of burglars. Life was still too immature to have permitted the entrance of gallantry or chivalry into the world. A year or two later I looked at the dairymaids with shyer eyes, but found them not half so coaxing. Sic transit —whatever you say yourself.

Two good Christmases, ever so much later, pnd spent at sea. There was much horseplay, much feeding, much laughter, and a few contusions. Three Christmases in Sydney, the city that enjoys its Christmas beit ii A'-stralasia. A few in Asia, too. In Singapore you go calling on Christmas morning, and wherover you call you take something. The- number of places you call at depends on how much you take and how much you can carry. On Christmas Eve we went invariably to the Catholic Cathedral to hear the music, and therein lie good memories. My first Christmas in Calcutta. I spent on a housetop joyously. There were grapes from Afghanistan—and one or two other things. Oh. la, la, but we grow old. mos amis! They will tell you that Christmas is not a* S?otti h festival: but I found that they enjoyed their Christmas very well in Dunedin. Much eating and drinking, of course. We newspapermen in Dunedin were a fairly joyous crowd, the paper was genial and hearty, and we didn't weep unduly in Carnival or Lent. And already many of the good chaps are scattered. Ah me! Some Christmases yet, mayb-3: in any or few. One never know?, a.id perhaps it doesn't matter very much. And so for the long sleep, under the daisies or under the snow, under the beeches or under the palms. For myself, if I could have mv wish. I should like to be buried within sound of the sen. It doesn't sesm to grow old and banal like the rest of the world. It is clean and1 blithe and strong. It lits the mind of a man from out of the doldrums. If. after death, there is a finer music than the sea can make, it will be. well worth hearing.

TOBACCO

This, dear Madam, is a .subject you will know nothing about: but upon my soul. I believe that as on^ grows older one of the surest solaces is gr>od tobacco. Now, that, if you rause to think of it, is a very queer thing,". Here we have, as I am a«surccl a useless and oven pernicious herb, and a viciou3

habit of consuming it; but from that herb great thoughts and great comforts rise. Often Avhen lam as empty of ideas as a nut is of radium, I find that a, pips will sob my stubborn brain a:tripping. A pipe, mind: not a cigar. If you are for writing verses, a. cigar will upon occasion do very well, and it is the one thing in all the earth to add. the last zest of enjoyment to a good dinner; but a pipe to work and think on, every time. A cigarette is a trivia] thing, not to be introduced into any such soiions discussion. But I should mention in plain justice that a cigarette is often enjoyable during convalescence. I don't know very much about convalescence, because I have been so seldom sick, and never very seriously. But I have been sick enough to make a cigar or a pipe impossible, and then a cigarette has given me friendly cheer. It is a good and searching thing, this that I may call the mystery of convalescence/ You will remember what Ibsen once wrote to George Brandos. "In tho immediate future you must undertake nothing at all. You must give both imagination and thought holiday for an indefinite period; you ?nust lie still and be ennobled; for that is tho blessing of such illnesses—the condition in which one comes out of them! A glorious time awaits you when you begin to regain your strength. I know this from personal'experience: all evil thoughts had cone from me; even in the matter of eating; and drinking I would touch nothino- but what was light and delicate: coarse things, it seemed to me would soil me. It is an indescribable state O'f1 thankfulness and well-being." Thß cigarette is just that, light and delicate: always provided that you smoke decent cigarettes. Inferior cigarettes are positively indecent. To buy inferior cigarettes and smoke them in great numbers every day is a filthy and hoggish habit. Even when I was in a country where I could afford good cigars, I never smoked more than twenty a day, as a general thing. You should never let your habits enslave you. If you smoke too much, tobacco may do you harm.