pretend to fight; they went back, but again attempted to come towards us, so we fired over their heads, they fired back a shot to show they understood, and the rest of the day passed quietly in this part of the line, but in others a deal of fraternizing went on. So there you are: all this talk of hate, all this fury at each other that has raged since the beginning of the war, quelled and stayed by the magic of Christmas."
The letter from an officer of the North Staffordshire Regiment is peculiarly interesting, because the writer has observed that natural and easy friendship among the "enemies," which is existing underneath the artificial and unreal hate and fury to which the last writer has referred.
"We had been calling to one another for some time Christmas wishes and other things. I went out and they shouted 'No shooting,' and then somehow the scene became a peaceful one. . . . All were very nice, and we fixed up that the men should not go near their opponents' trenches, but remain about midway between the lines. The whole thing is extraordinary. The men were all so natural and friendly. . . . The Germans are Saxons, a good-looking lot, only wishing for peace, in a manly way, and they seem in no way at their last gasp. I was astonished at the easy way in which our men and theirs got on with each other. We have just knocked off for dinner and have arranged to meet again afterwards until dusk, when we go in again and have songs until 9 p. m., when 'war' begins again. I wonder who will start the shooting. They say 'fire in the air and we will,' and such things, but, of course, it will start, and tomorrow we shall be at it hard, killing one another."
The third letter from which I quote is that of a Belgian soldier, and its general tone comes as a pleasant contrast to the hatred which our good people have been trying to foster in that quarter.
"At dawn the Germans displayed a placard over the trenches on which was written 'Happy Christmas,' and
