glimpse of blue out of the fleecy smoke, bearing with it a gleam of sunshine from a broken cloud overhead.] An awe-inspiring silence falls over that vast throng as the Archbishop of Canterbury, with hand uplifted and head uncovered, pronounces the Benediction, while the Sovereign, to whom all hearts go out in love and sympathy, bows her venerable head. Few have remained unmoved spectators of that solemn and impressive scene; but every man turns pale with emotion, and the eyes of the women fill with tears when Dr. Martin, having turned to the mighty numbers which occupy the surrounding buildings, has raised his baton, the signal has been understood, and the populace has risen in one great body to join with the crowned heads, the princes, the statesmen, the bishops, and all the noble and brilliant assembly fronting the Cathedral, in voicing the music of the Old Hundredth. Little wonder that the beloved Sovereign, seated there in her half-mourning attire in the midst of all that throng of dazzling colour, is overcome with the might and the power of that final outburst of praise and thanksgiving. The tears fall fast down that kindly face, and the hands are seen to tremble. But there is a greater and a grander scene yet to come. A hush as of death, which succeeds the “Amen” of the grand old hymn, is broken by a cry which at once changes thoughts of worship into shouts of almost frenzied loyalty. “Three Cheers for the Queen.” Whose voice utters this welcome summons?--welcome to feelings bursting for expression, welcome to hearts throbbing in the throat with half-hysterical excitement. Some say it was the Archbishop of Canterbury (Dr. Temple) who gave the call, others that the voice came from the group of foreign princes. Whoever it was, the word is obeyed with electric power. Stately bishops wave their caps in air, soldiers raise their swords on high, flags and handkerchiefs flutter from the surrounding houses, and with one mighty voice “Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!” is hurled forth by the great throng. And what of the Queen, the gracious lady, the centre of all this overwhelming enthusiasm. Her face is pale, but radiant; and, although the tears course down her cheeks, there is a look of inexpressible pride and thankfulness in the Sovereign’s eyes. Her eldest son comes forward to whisper--words maybe of comfort and courage--to his beloved mother, and the Duke of Cambridge also draws nearer to Her Majesty. “God Save the Queen” is given out by the massed bands and voices, and all the people join in singing. Then there is more joyous cheering, and then the end of the ceremony, so grand and impressive, so heart-stirring, and so wonderful that those who witnessed it are for the moment dazed by its overwhelming effects.