With united voices Dean Gregory, the Canons, and Minor Canons of St. Paul’s offer the prayer “O Lord, save our Queen,” to which the great choral force makes answer, “And mercifully hear us when we call upon Thee.” The Lord’s Prayer is recited by the Dean, and then the Bishop of London, standing immediately in front of the Sovereign, invokes the Divine favour--“O Lord, our heavenly Father, we give Thee hearty thanks for the many blessings which Thou hast bestowed upon us during the sixty years of the happy reign of our gracious Sovereign Lady, Queen Victoria. We thank Thee for progress made in knowledge of Thy marvellous works, for increase of comfort given to human life, for kindlier feeling between rich and poor, for wonderful preaching of the Gospel to many nations; and we pray that these and all other Thy gifts may be long continued to us, and our Queen, to the glory of Thy Holy Name, through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.” [Illustration: THE NAVAL REVIEW--THE ROYAL SALUTE Exactly at two o’clock the _Victoria and Albert_ slipped her moorings, and, with the Royal Standard flying, left the harbour, preceded, as an advance guard, by the Trinity yacht _Irene_. When passing the _Victory_ the band on board the latter played the National Anthem, while the boys on the old three-decker _St. Vincent_ manned the yards and cheered. The Prince of Wales’s yacht was followed by the _Carthage_, with the foreign Princes and Court functionaries; the _Enchantress_, with the Lords of the Admiralty; the _Wildfire_, with the Colonial Premiers and Mr. and Mrs. Chamberlain; the _El Dorado_, with the Ambassadors; the _Danube_, with the Members of the House of Lords; and the _Campania_, with the Members of the Commons. At ten minutes past two the Royal Squadron reached Spithead, and there came out of the lace of gray mist a symphony of explosions. The salute of the fleet to His Royal Highness had begun. It seemed as if there were a roll of Titanic drums, and then a sharp crack, which pierced the ear. Smoke curled up in wreaths from the ships’ sides and drifted away to leeward in curious streaks. Anon it belched from the snake-heads of the smaller guns in circles which floated high in the silver sky. It was the finest thing in the way of a tattoo human ear has probably ever heard, except perhaps the awful salvos of heaven’s artillery. Only the thin refrain of the cheering of the tars, who lined the bulwarks of the battleships, could be heard as the Royal Squadron passed along the waterway between the international fleet and the big British battleships and cruisers. A quarter of an hour later the Royal Squadron turned into the waterway between the battleships, torpedo gunboats, and again came the diapason, weird in its strangely regular irregularity. Folds of white smoke curled and slid up from the sides of the great ships, and the even gray sky overhead began to warp into folds, with just here and there a little