“A Merry Christmas!”

How many “grown-ups'” memories are fleeting back to the days and scenes of their childhood this morning?—a snow-clad earth—crimson daybreak—log fires blazing merrily in open hearths—holly, mistletoe, laughter—faces, love-lit, recalled they may never see again. They are exiles in a foreign land, counting the days—nay, the hours—to next “furlough” that will enable them once more to visit the “Mecca” of their hopes—“Home.” These are the outriders of empyrean greatness—members of the greatest Empire the world has ever yet known—sons and daughters of the “Great Mother,” Britain, fulfilling their birthright. To-Day, Christmas Day, is theirs—To-Morrow will belong to Empire.