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 its blessed and authentic message of a righteous peace.

It is the Christmas Eve of 1913. We see the people of these islands approaching with steady hearts the sweet, short pause in the calendar of the year which goes before the Christmas festival. We see the streets of our great industrial towns surging and swaying with long processions of cheerful sightseers—women with eager faces, children with sparkling eyes, and men (washed and dressed after their work in the forge or the mill) carrying babies on their shoulders that they may see over the heads of the throngs into the brightly-lit shop windows, which are full of all dainty and beautiful and appetizing things, decked out with holly and mistletoe. We see millions of homes, each with its little Christmas tree, that is shining with fairy lamps and glittering with tinkling toys, and has its merry company of happy little people dancing around it and clapping hands. As midnight approaches we hear the ringing of bells and the singing