The trees in the densely thronged Mall were hung with innumerable, coloured electric lights. A blaze of yellow, smokeless flambeaux, on the left, marked the line of Carlton House Terrace. "God Save the King," and "God Save King Alfred the Second"--house after house, in the terrace, repeated the loyal prayers in glittering letters of fire. The same devices were reproduced, in a picturesque setting of crowns and flags, on the lavishly illuminated Admiralty Arch. Beyond was the glare of Trafalgar Square, where the Nelson Column, pricked out in red, white, and blue lamps, soared aloft, a shaft of vivid colours against the dark blue of the night sky. Further away, on the right, the familiar, luminous clock face of Big Ben, which showed that it was already nearing midnight, shone out, brightly, above the golden brilliance of Whitehall. Westminster Abbey towers were touched with fire. Queen Anne's Mansion was a broad, solid wedge of blazing, various colour. Up and down the square tower of the Westminster Cathedral ran a hand of flame, writing a loyal motto, in crabbed, monkish Latin, difficult to translate. On the left, beyond the Green Park, shone the lights of Piccadilly, where the fronts of the clubs vied in patriotic radiance. From the Green Park itself, and from Hyde Park, in the distance, soared rockets, which burst into clusters of red, white, and blue stars, and showers of multi-coloured rain. The cheers of the crowds, in the parks, and in the streets, rose with the rockets, in a regular, muffled roar. Overhead, above the lights, above the rockets, a score or more of illuminated aeroplanes hummed, diving, nose-spinning, side-slipping, and looping the loop, with the agility, the grace, and the breathless swiftness of the aerial acrobats who know not fear. "God Save the King," and "God Save King Alfred the Second." The mere repetition of the blazing words impressed them upon the King's notice. Their irony was his second thought. Did the people know, the cheering people, far down below there, in the crowded parks, and illuminated streets, that, stereotyped formulae as they were, there was real need, now, for those prayers? And, if they did know, would they care? Save him from his enemies? Perhaps. Almost certainly. But from himself--an unwilling King?