The true British merchant seaman has passed away.The merchant service is no longer a recruiting ground for such sea dogs as fought with Nelson at Trafalgar and the Nile.Foreigners largely man the merchant ships, though Englishmen still continue to officer them and to prefer foreigners for'ard.In South Africa the colonial teaches the Islander how to shoot, and the officers muddle and blunder; while at home the street people play hysterically at mafficking, and the War Office lowers the stature for enlistment.
It could not be otherwise.The most complacent Britisher cannot hope to draw off the life blood, and underfeed, and keep it up forever.The average Mrs.Thomas Mugridge has been driven into the city, and she is not breeding very much of anything save an anaemic and sickly progeny which cannot find enough to eat.The strength of the English-speaking race to-day is not in the tight little island, but in the New World overseas, where are the sons and daughters of Mrs.
Thomas Mugridge.The Sea Wife by the Northern Gate has just about done her work in the world, though she does not realize it.She must sit down and rest her tired loins for a space; and if the casual ward and the workhouse do not await her, it is because of the sons and daughters she has reared up against the day of her feebleness and decay.