Scene, a starlight night in the month of May, a placid river dotted here and there with' dark objects from which glimmer many lights, and from whence the welcome strains of music float across the water. They are not unfamiliar strains nor are they unconnected with the dear homeland. For'ff it is true that to place one's foot on a British battleship is tantamount to being on English soil, so to the stranger in a foreign Innd is the quiet sense of repose and security which those few twinkling lights and dying strains convey. But wherefore the sounds of revelry? Why ask; they are the sequence to a banquet given' to commemorate the seventy-seventh anniversary of the birthday of Victoria, by the Grace of God Queen of England and Empress of India, on one of her Majesty's battleships. To some it may seem strange, for with the insular characteristics that denote the race, that make them take their joys sadly, that condemn their great men during their life times, and raise hideous mountains of marble decorated with heathen deities in their sacred shrines after their demise, it appears incongruous to. celebrate their greatest sovereign's birthday. Why should ithe! The simple fact is that those who join in wishing health and longevity to their monarch are for the moment exiles from their country, and curious as it may seem itis none the less true that to rightly reali the blessings one may be privileged to en joy, one must be deprived of them. In no way.cin this be more satisfactorily brought home to the individual than by residence in a foreign country, thousands of miles from that to which he owns allegiance. Doubtless the claim made by great man is true when he boasted that "che was a citizen of the world," but. it is not given to all to so philosophically accept and make his lot his destiny. This therefore accounts for the enthusiasm and patriotic sentiment that at home is lacking, and by its absence is sufficient to deter the stoppage by one single hour of the mighty machine of work in this our iron age, against which no Minister dare stand, not because the monarch has not always had her peoples' interests at heart, not, I may venture to think, because that hydra-headed spectre of socialism would stalk the length and breath of the land declaiming the rights of the workman to his hard-earned daily pittance, but if 1 judge aright, that loyal as the people are, willing to give their lives, and their vast treasures, if necessary, to sifeguant the person of her Majesty or her dominions and to arise and smite their enemies as one man, actuated by one motive as of a throb of a'single pulse, but because the phlegm matic characteristic of the nation prevents their taking anything more than ordinary interest in an event which be celebrated as a national holiday in another country. It is this feeling which, Incking at heme, is developed and brought into being by force of circumstances abroad. Loneliness, which forces the Englishman to cultivate the acquaintance of his fellow-countrymen, while at home he is distant and reserved, strengthens and brings back most potently the greatness of his country and would make him re-echo the hope of one of Rome's greatest citizens, Dulce et decorvan est pro putrid mori. Consequently, in celebrating such an aus-fle unconsciously tightens the bonds that cious event as her Majesty's birthday
hold him to the old' country and the old folk at home. Not only this, he can traly experience and appreciate the strong and free principles upon which his country is established, which by their absence are more freely brought home to him. The Custom House clock tones the midnight hour. My reverie is broken, and sorrowfully I berake myself to rest,' to dream of Home, Sweet Home, and to pray God save the Queen.
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.