GENTLEMEN all, are your glasses charged? for I've a toast for the winter weather.

Answer it, then, with a three times three; voice and heart, if you please, together.

It is not a sorrowful theme I sing, though the red leaves rot in the winter garden.

And east winds meet the embrace of the north, our throats to scourge and muscles to harden.

Come far away from the weary fogs, those winding- sheets of our London life; Away from the prowl of the burglar-sneak, and the thud of the brute who has kicked his wife.

I'd tell to-day of the rock-bound coast, the scream- ing surf, and the sea-blown sand; And drink to the men who are off to sea, when the sailors shout that the Life-boat's manned.

They talk of battles, and rank and file; they call the roll, count cannon and loss; And Tom he wears a corporal's stripe, and brave little Jim the Victoria Cross.

They march to the front with fife and drum, and follow the beat of the regiment's band; They see their flag as it waves, and hear the jolly old colonel's clear command.

But there's never a sound in the battle at sea, but the howling storm and the scream afar; And it's only duty points the way when the ships break up on the harbour-bar.

It is dark unto death on the midnight sea, and darker still on the sleeping land; But only women are left on the shore to cry, " They're off!" when the Life-boat's manned.

Certain risk and a chance reward—this is the tale that the Life-boat tells.

What was their prize but the lives of men, those splendid fellows who died at Wells ? Love and pleasure were theirs at home, danger and death they faced at sea; Their lives were swallowed in waves of Fate when the men they hurried to save were free.

Out they went in the terrible storm, hurricane-hard on the Norfolk coast.

Women they weep, as women will do; but never a sailor quits his post.

Seizing the oar, the rocket, and rope, out they went from the sheltering land: Never again will they wake to hear their comrades shout when the Life-boat's manned.

Gentlemen all, when the storms are out, the roof- tree shakes, and the windows rattle, Just think a little of ships at sea, the wave's attack, and the sailor's battle.

You close the shutters and bar the door, in cosy homes of the sheltered city ; You give one sigh for the Life-boat—yes, and you offer her crew a grain of pity.

But, on my honour, I'd like to know if pluckier men in the world exist, Than those who buckle the life-belt on, when wives are left and children kissed.

So again I ask, are your glasses charged ? will you send a cheer from the friends on shore To the men who go to their death at sea, and do their duty ? men can't do more, Hope departs when the land is lost; love is blown from the rocks and sand.

Ready to die is the motto of men—and this is the reason the Life-boat's manned.

CLEMENT SCOTT, * From the Christmas Number of The World.

NOTICE.—The next number of the 'Life-boat Journal,' containing the Annual Report, &c., will be published on the 1st May next.