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Most of us are forgiving souls. We’ll forgive—or try to, at least —those so-called musicians who jazzed up “Loch Lomond;” we’ll not assign to the lower regions those who changed Tchaikovsky’s Concerto by adding an extra beat to each measure; and we’ll overlook a lot of other butchering to favorite tunes; but when they start hacking on Christmas music it’s gone far enough. It’s time to call a halt.
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You’ve probably heard about the fellow who said he’s noticed that family ties are stronger at Christmas time—and louder, too.
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Another fellow was heard to say that at Christmas time we may discover that our nearest relatives are also the closest. .
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A friend, who lives in the big yankee city, reports that he walked by a fruit stand in Richmond recently atod couldn’t resist the beauty of a large, golden apple. “I bought one,” he said, “and do you know what they charged me for it? Twenty cents!”
I wasn’t real certain but- that his tone was accusing—as if, because I spend much of my time plugging the excellence of Rappahannock apples, that it was my fault the apples were so high.
The friend got the sad story from me that, unfortunately, the
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