Give your country her desire!
_Pay your debt!_

He that, leaving child and wife
In our keeping, unafraid,
Goes to dare the deadly strife,
Shall he see his trust betrayed?
Shall he come again and find
Hollow cheeks and eyelids wet?
Guard them as your kith and kind!
_Pay your debt!_

Sirs, we should be shamed indeed
If the bitter cry for bread,
Children's cries in cruel need,
Rose and fell uncomforted!
Ah, but since the patriot glow
Burns in English bosoms yet,
Twice and thrice ye will, I know,
Pay your debt!

O. S.

* * * * *

A DETERMINED ISLAND.

III.
_August 19th._

During this season of splendid weather you may be sure that we in
Totland Bay have not been idle. We swim, men, women and children, and we
perform great feats of diving from the moored rafts which the
authorities have kindly provided for that purpose. And we toil off on
the usual picnic parties and inhale great draughts of health as we lie
on our backs on the heather-clad slopes of the hill. But even while we
pursue these simple pleasures our thoughts are with the great warships
in their ceaseless vigil in the North Sea or with the gallant fellows
who slipped away under cover of the night and are now taking their place
in the fighting line with our French and Belgian friends. England, too,
it seems, can perform a great operation of war on sea and land, and can
do it with a swiftness, a precision and a silence that no other nation
could surpass. So we hold our heads high and are proud to reckon
ourselves the fellow-countrymen of JELLICOE and KITCHENER. We have begun
well. May we have strength and resolution to endure without faltering to
the end.

I am glad to say that the sewing brigade, which I mentioned in my last,
shows an ever-increasing activity. All good female Islanders are busy
about the manufacture of pyjamas for the soldiery. One of the marks of
patriotism amongst our ladies is the possession of a pair of pyjama
legs. No picnic party is complete without them. When the men light their
cigarettes the women bring out their pyjamas and add stitch upon stitch.
Pyjama legs are awkward things in a breeze, being apt to flap about, but
they are resolutely tucked round arms or otherwise restrained, and the
needle continues its deft work in spi