So Boniface told them again of that holy night at Bethlehem, of the host of angels singing, "Glory to God and peace to men of good will;" and of the shepherds on the distant hills, who, trembling with fright, heard the glad words, "Fear not, for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy which shall be to all the people."

The old Druid sat with bowed head and downcast eyes, but at the words "Fear not " he looked up earnestly into the Bishop's face, and then began to sob like a child. The stern warriors stood leaning on their shields, the tears coursing down their faces unchecked, the women covered their eyes and wept softly, but the little children saved by Christianity from the horrors of pagan superstition were sleeping peacefully in their mothers' arms.

Then softly, gently, from a distant part of the long hall where Brother Aidan and his companions were standing with the foresters, came a sound of music, clear young voices singing a Christmas hymn:

"While shepherds watched their flocks by night,

All seated on the ground,

The angel of the Lord came down,

And glory shone around."

"Listen!" whispered the king. "Hear ye not the sounds of heavenly music? Those angels have come back to earth to sing again the blessed song."

It was indeed like an echo of the angels' song, for long ago when they sang over the hills of Bethlehem they sang

for Germany as for all the world. And now Germany had heard the good tidings of great joy, and would henceforth rejoice in the knowledge of the Gospel, blessing the name of the one who brought it to them, who lighted the first Christmas Tree in the Fatherland, and who taught the people to love it and to understand its meaning, - St. Boniface, the great Apostle of the Germans.

O'er the cradle of a King,

Hear the song the angels sing,
In excelsis gloria.

On this holy night begins

God's own sacrifice for sins.

In excelsis gloria.

From His Father's home on high,

Lo, for us He came to die.
In excelsis gloria.

Of His own free will He came,
Lord Emmanuel His name.

In excelsis gloria.

THE CRATCHITS' CHRISTMAS DINNER

N the city streets that Christmas morning, the people were making a rough but brisk and not unpleasant kind of music, in scraping the snow

from the pavement in front of their dwellings and from the tops of their houses, whence it was mad delight to the boys to see it come plumping down into the road below, and splitting into artificial little snowstorms.

The people who were shoveling away on the housetops were jovial and full of glee, calling out to one another from the parapets, and now and then exchanging a facetious snowball, laughing heartily if it went right and not less heartily if it went wrong.

The poulterers' shops were still half open, and the fruiterers' were radiant in their glory. There were great round baskets of chestnuts lolling at the doors and tumbling out into the street. There were ruddy, brown-faced Spanish onions shining in the fatness of their growth and seeming to smile from their shelves at the girls as they went by, glancing demurely at the hung-up mistletoe.

There were pears and apples, clustered high in blooming pyramids; there were bunches of grapes, made, in the shopkeeper's benevolence, to dangle from conspicuous hooks that people's mouths might water gratis as they passed; there were piles of filberts, mossy and brown, recalling in their fragrance ancient walks among the woods and pleasant shufflings ankle deep through withered leaves; there were

oranges and lemons in the great compactness of their juicy persons, urgently entreating and beseeching to be carried home in paper bags and eaten after dinner.

The grocers'! oh, the grocers'! nearly closed, with perhaps two shutters down, or one; but through those gaps such glimpses! It was not alone that the scales descending on the counter made a merry sound, or that the twine and roller parted company so briskly, or that the canisters were rattled up and down like juggling tricks, or even that the blended aroma of tea and coffee was so pleasing, or even that the raisins were so plentiful and rare, the almonds so extremely white, the sticks of cinnamon so long and straight, the other spices so delicious.

But the customers were all so hurried and so eager in the hopeful promise of the day, that they tumbled up against each other at the door, crashing their wicker baskets wildly, and left their purchases upon the counter, and came running back to fetch them, and committed hundreds of like mistakes in the best humor possible; while the grocer and his people were so frank and fresh that the polished hearts with which they fastened their aprons behind might have been their own worn outside for general inspection.

But soon the steeples called good people all to church and chapel, and away they came flocking through the streets in their best clothes and with their gayest faces. And at the same time there emerged from scores of by-streets, lanes and nameless turnings, innumerable people carrying their dinners to the bakers' shops.

In time the bells ceased and the bakers were shut up; and yet there was a genial shadowing forth of all these dinners and the progress of their cooking in the thawed blotch of wet above each baker's oven, where the pavement smoked as if its stones were cooking too.

But if you had judged from the numbers of people on their way to friendly gatherings, you might have thought that no one was at home to give them welcome when they got there, instead of every house expecting company, and piling up its fires half-chimney high.

In Bob Cratchit's humble little cottage a bright fire was burning briskly and great preparations for dinner were merrily going forward. Mrs. Cratchit, dressed out but poorly in a twice-turned gown, but gay in ribbons which are cheap and make a goodly show for sixpence, was busy laying the cloth, assisted by Belinda Cratchit, second of her daughters, also gay in ribbons; while Master Peter Cratchit plunged a fork into the saucepan of potatoes, and getting the corners of his monstrous shirt collar, Bob's private property conferred upon his son and heir in honor of the day, into his mouth, rejoiced to find himself so gallantly attired, and yearned to show his linen in the fashionable parks.

And now two smaller Cratchits, boy and girl, came tearing in, screaming that outside the baker's they had smelt the goose and known it for their own; and basking in luxurious thoughts of sage and onion, these young Cratchits danced about the table and exalted Master Peter Cratchit to the