A Picture Every Month: The Christmas of My Childhood

I was in the age of childhood, and he was in his eighth decade; and yet we were friends, for he was the village priest and I was the neighbor of the sanctuary; and so the church door opened before me every morning and evening — and my innocent childhood would set forth to worship and to prayer..

My grown soul today longs for those feelings that once stirred within it, when I was a little girl kneeling before the altar, or moving among the candles, lighting them one after another and filling the censers with incense..

Whenever the bell rings on the morning of a feast, my memory goes back to the feasts of childhood, which in the village are a new dress, a visit to the sanctuary, reverence and prayer; while in the city we find them noisy carnivals, and displays of the finest sorts of merchandise.

The Christmas of the village was a white morning, ringing with innocent carols; and the Christmas of the city today is parties that do not end before the break of dawn.