Waterbury evening Democrat., 1906-12-18

It was our last night at sea and we looked expectantly over the bow of the mighty ship for liberty's great beacon to the eastern world of mon- archy And over the swelling and restless waters Of the limitless ocean, rose voice in the sweetest of all music. Thomas Moore's
 .'As slow our ship her foamy track,
 Against the wind Is cleaving,
 Her trembling penpant still ], looks
 back
 To that dear isle t were leaving.
 And so we part from all we love,
 From all the links that bond us.
 And turn our hearts as on We rove
 To those we leave behind us.
 It was a beautiful night. Billow rolled after pillow out to the long finger of light that seems never to leave the edge of the mighty ocean, Leaning out over the deck rails not sound was audible but the sweep of the waves and the swish of the ship as 1t cut it's way through the dark water. The stiffness and the awe of the occasion produced a sen- sation of the majesty of the Ruler of all the waves in this wide expanse of tossing sea. the myriad stars, whose light tipped the edge of the sweeping pillows, which in moment tossed the silvery touch to its fellow in its wake. Children cried out at the beauty in the clouds. and men made bets on their transformation.
 Up from the cabin came a. sing er's beautiful voice, bringing to mind scenes that had been visited by many, on board the week before in the land at which the trembling pennant" at the masthead still Hooked back"
 The deck of an ocean liner, the last night on board. Is probably the most sentimental place in all the world. Ones fancy Ia very lively then. In the huge formations of cloud and color on the horizon his imagination sees many pictures of his youth and of the land that per-, haps he shall never see again. He is not alone in this awakening of the heart and soul. for the deck rails are crowded with men and women from almost every cline. and their thoughts are with the string of color that ts futtering at the masthead. every day and every night, bidding a farewell, longeSsaAd longer to the land of their hearts.
 The sun has long gone down over the bow of the ship and now the moon is rising over its stern, and the stars in all the vividness of their quiet vigil are crowding tho heavens and dispelling the gloom around the ship The social bar has been let down, the laws of the United States congress have been yelled for the rest of the night. It is Fourth of July and St Patrick's day, and merry and comfortable though the voyage has been all are glad that in the morn- ing we shall pass under Liberty's protecting arm, though few will Nad- init 1t out loud.
 The singer of Moore's melody is still at it, good fellow that he is. There are others with him now and their music is in their hearts instead of their voices, and it's all right at that. Isn't it our last night sea. and there is no night like that night. Ii Is a blessing. however, that they can't sing all the time. and eventual Iy a member of parliament sits down at the piano. an Irish member at that, and hasn't he a voice? How he could roar in the opposition seats of the parliament. And there is an archbishop on his way to Canada with his wife and the peculiar buc- kles at his grace's knees take our eye. There is countess, too. an American countess. but you'd never guess 1t. She and his reverence and the mem- her of parliament are not above Riv- ing us a staye and they make fne trio. The archbishop's wife. how ever, does not seem to like the coun- tess's way of singing. A crowd gath CTS round the trio. The singers repeat the chorus for the benefit of the audi ence. The audience begins to catch on and the archbishop. turns around and lowing says: now. please. all to- retherr and he begins.
 God be with you till we meet again.
 May His counsels guide uphold you
 With his sheep securely fold you God be with you till we meet again"