One hundred years ago a lowly-born, yet highly-gifted man, Captain James Cook, planted the British flag on the shores of Botany Bay, and took possession of this vast continent in the name of his Majesty King George the Third. In the thirty-third year of the reign of the good king's granddaughter, Queen Victoria, whom may God long preserve.
It has fallen to our lot to commemorate the centenary of Captain Cook's landing, and to issue our broad sheet of wisdom and humour to a vigorous — albeit an infant nation. In the ordinary course of human events it will be permitted to few to celebrate the recurrence of the anniversary after a similar period has elapsed, but the statesman, financier, philosopher, and poet may each after his own manner and inclination foreshadow the future — and if the changes which have taken place in our adopted land sines the arrival of the great navigator be renewed in the interval in geometrical progression, human intelligence must fail in its efforts to play the seer.
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A national monument to the hero is now being erected. Parliament has aided the work with a liberal grant of money and the citizens will do their part with liberality. In a few d ays the pedestal will be finished — let it be a point of honor to crown the shaft with a work of art worthy of the man and of the country.
If every person would give the price of a fig of tobacco, the memorial will be speedily perfected, and the whole may be unveiled on the second anniversary from this date. And in future years when the native-born mariners winning their bread from the waters of surrounding seas shall look upon the monument — they will remember the story of Cook's enterprising life and melancholy end — and gaze with reverence upon the outlines of one who gathered glory on the pathless deep, and found a home for millions.