As the Cathedral clock boomed out the hour the drums rolled in prelude to Chopin's 'Funeral March,' which struck the first note of emotion in the massed assembly and brought it to its feet. Slowly the choir, headed by the symbol of our and Edith Cavell's faith, moved to their places, preceding the clergy, chief of whom were the Bishop of London and Dr. Bury, the Bishop of Central Europe. The service proper commenced with the hymn 'Abide with me,' in which ten thousand voices joined, and never was it sung with more feeling and reverence. The last verse in particular must have called to every mind that inexpressibly sad scene in St. Gilles' Prison. The words brought solace and strength to Nurse Cavell, and some of her quiet faith, her touching fortitude, seemed to be communicated to the congregation. Following the special Psalms and the Lesson from the Burial Service, band and organ together played the Dead March in _Saul_; and as the notes pulsed and throbbed, pealed out with mighty rush of sound, or decreased to little more than the volume of human breath, the terror of death became secondary to the triumph of the spirit. With singularly moving effect the choir commenced to sing the Liturgy of St. Chrysostom, the beautiful prayer that contrasted so strongly with the crashing harmonies that had scarcely ceased to reverberate far up in the empty dome. Prayers from the Burial Service were followed by a special petition that, 'laying aside our divisions, we may be united in heart and mind to bear the burdens which the War has laid upon us....' The congregation sang 'Through the night of doubt and sorrow,' with its happy marching swing; the Bishop of London pronounced the Benediction; then came the resonant notes of the National Anthem; and the organ played a recessional as the choir and clergy retired. A moment later two thousand nurses fell to their knees, and 'if ever a soul went well charioted to its Maker it was the soul of Edith Cavell.' The service was over, and those who had been privileged to participate in a soul-searching ceremony streamed out into the hum of the mightiest camp of men the world has ever known. It was like coming from the Holy of Holies, with an everlasting memory to kindle the love and enthusiasm of all who worship at the shrine of duty. And the wonder of it all, it was a great national tribute to one who a fortnight earlier was unknown outside her own family and immediate circle of friends. She had 'lived unknown till persecution dragged her into fame and chased her up to heaven,' as a cry of horror and execration, mingled with agonized pity for her harrowing fate, flashed her name from peak to peak and continent to continent. * * * * *