ld. The poor disciples whom the Master left
became apostles; footsore and weary they wandered--they were scorned and
imprisoned and tortured until the last man of them had passed away.
Their work has subdued princes and empires, and the bells that ring out
on Christmas Eve remind us not only of the most tremendous occurrence in
history, but of the deeds of a few humble souls who conquered the fear
of death and who resigned the world in order that the children of the
world might be made better. A tremendous Event truly! We are far, far
away from the ideal, it is true; and some of us may feel a thrill of
sick despair when we think of what the sects have done and what they
have not done--it all seems so slow, so hopeless, and the powers of evil
assert themselves ever and again with such hideous force. Some withdraw
themselves to fierce isolation; some remain in the world, mocking the
ways of men and treating all life as an ugly jest; some refuse to think
at all, and drag themselves into oblivion; while some take one frantic
sudden step and leave the world altogether by help of bullet or bare
bodkin. A man of light mind who endeavoured to reconcile all the things
suggested to him by the coming of Christmas would probably become
demented if he bent his entire intellect to solve the puzzles.
Thousands--millions--of books have been written about the Christian
theology, and half of European mankind cannot claim to have any fixed
and certain belief which leads to right conduct. Some of the noblest and
sweetest souls on earth have given way to chill hopelessness, and only a
very bold or a very thick-sighted man could blame them; we must be
tender towards all who are perplexed, especially when we see how
terrible are the reasons for perplexity. Nevertheless, dark as the
outlook may be in many directions, men are slowly coming to see that the
service of God is the destruction of enmity, and that the religion of
tenderness and pity alone can give happiness during our dark pilgrimage.

Far back in last winter a man was forcing his way across a dreary marsh
in the very teeth of a wind that seemed to catch his throat in an icy
grip, stopping the breath at intervals and chilling the very heart.
Coldly the grey breakers rolled under the hard lowering sky; coldly the
western light flickered on the iron slopes of far-off hills; coldly the
last beams struck on the water and made chance wavelets flash with a
terrible glitter. The night rushed