a powerful glass--of your favourite
compound.

* * * * *

[Illustration: "THE SWEET LITTLE CHERUB THAT SITS UP ALOFT."

(_Modern Version, as it must be_.)]

["The Associated Chamber of Commerce ask that the Coastguard
stations, shore-lighthouses, rock lighthouses, and light-ships
of the United Kingdom, should, as far as possible, be
connected by telegraph or telephone with the general telegraph
system of the country, 'as a means for the protection of life
and property, as well as for national defence.'... France and
America, Holland and Denmark, provide their seamen with this
great safeguard in the hour of their utmost need. IS England
content to let her sailors die by hundreds for want of a
little money, or for want of a little care?"--_Times_.]

_Prospero_. Why, that's my spirit!
But was not this nigh shore?

_Ariel_. Close by, my master.

_Prospero_. But are they, Ariel, safe?

_Ariel_. Not a hair perish'd.

_Tempest_, Act I., Scene 2.

_CONTENT_? There's many an English heart will hear with fierce amaze
That England lags so far behind in these electric days--
England, whose seamen are her shield, who vaunts in speech and song,
The love she bears her mariners! Wake, CAMPBELL, swift and strong
Of swell and sweep as the salt waves you sang as none could sing!
Rouse DIBDIN, of the homelier flight, but steady waft of wing!
Poetic shades, _this_ question, sure, should pierce the ear of death,
And make ye vocal once again with quick, indignant breath.
_Content_? Whilst round our rocky coasts the souls who guard them sink,
Death clutching from the clamorous brine, hope beaconing from the brink,
With lifted hands toward the lights that beam but to betray,
Because dull Britons fail to think, or hesitate to pay?
No! With that question a fierce thrill through countless listeners went,
And, hoarse with indignation, rings the answer, "_Not_ Content!"

When the Armada neared our coast in days now dubbed as "dark,"
Pre-scientific Englishmen, whom no Electric Spark
Had witched with its white radiance, yet sped from height to height
Of Albion's long wild sea-coast line the ruddy warning Light.
"Cape beyond Cape, in endless range, those twinkling points of fire"[1]
_Reveille_ shot from sea to sea, from wave-washed shire to shire,
Inland, from hill to hill, it flashed wherev