When Commemoration Day broke, dull and cloudy, London was already awake; and thousands were pouring in from the suburbs to take their places on the line of route, the privileged on seats and stands, the rest by the roadside. Those who had slept out in the open in St. James’s Park, anxious to be the first to greet their Sovereign on this auspicious day, saw the Royal Standard floating under the gray sky and above Buckingham Palace, where the Queen had passed the night. Soon there is life and movement behind the great gates, a passing to and fro of servants in brilliant scarlet liveries, and the coming of Royal carriages bringing the distinguished guests who are to ride in the Royal procession. The crowds grow denser under the line of trees standing out in the green perspective of the Park; as the morning wears on, although there is no sun, the heat becomes stifling and oppressive. There is the marching and counter-marching of troops to the sounds of military music, the slow approach of those “war-worn veterans,” the pensioners of Chelsea Hospital, for whom kindly forethought has provided benches within the Palace gates, and the hurrying here and there of Court functionaries and Chiefs of Police, until, just as Big Ben, in the Clock Tower of the House of Commons, chimes out the first quarter after nine, the strains of the National Anthem herald the approach of the Colonial procession. It had been so arranged that these sturdy representatives of the guardians of peace and power over-sea should be the first to reach the Cathedral, there to line the roadways, so as to be able to gaze upon the Queen’s cortege as it went by and then to fall in behind; thus not only seeing, but ultimately participating in, the Sovereign’s progress. Cheers rend the air as, by way of the tree-shaded Mall, comes this mighty force of Empire personified, this moving column from the greatest volunteer army the world has ever seen. Men in red coats, men in blue, soldiers in the serviceable Kharki, men with glistening helmets, or with turbans, carrying guns or holding lances,--the stern Zaptiehs from Cyprus, the diminutive and yellow-skinned Dyaks from North Borneo, the troops from Hong-Kong in their curious hats sitting like mushrooms on their heads, those big-limbed fighters the Hausas and the Maoris, the handsome forms of the Australian troopers, the Cape Mounted Rifles (fit bodyguard for the Colony’s Premier), the Rhodesian Horse, whose participation in the recent troubles in South Africa secures for them a cheer of particular heartiness,--men from Natal, from Canada, from every quarter where the British flag flies and the English tongue is heard, move along between the unbroken lines of a joyous people, ready to acclaim them brothers in patriotism and loyalty as well as by blood and the ties of race. [Illustration: MILITARY TYPES GRENADIER GUARDS, NEW SOUTH WALES LANCERS, WEST INDIAN REGIMENT]