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ashore over the gangway of his ship lying at the Circular Quay in Sydney.  His voice was deep, hearty, and authoritative — the voice of a very prince amongst sailors.  He did everything with an air which put your attention on the alert and raised your expectations, but the result somehow was always on stereotyped lines, unsuggestive, empty of any lesson that one could lay to heart.  He kept his ship in apple-pie order, which would have been seamanlike enough but for a finicking touch in its details.  His officers affected a superiority over the rest of us, but the boredom of their souls appeared in their manner of dreary submission to the fads of their commander.  It was only his apprenticed boys whose irrepressible spirits were not affected by the solemn and respectable mediocrity of that artist.  There were four of these youngsters: one the son of a doctor, another of a colonel, the third of a jeweller; the name of the fourth was Twentyman, and this is all I remember of his parentage.  But not one of them seemed to possess the smallest spark of gratitude in his composition.  Though their commander was a kind man in his way, and had made a point of introducing them to the best people in the town in order that they should not fall into the bad company of boys belonging to other ships, I regret to say that they made faces at him behind his back, and imitated the dignified carriage of his head without any concealment whatever.
    This master of the fine art was a personage and nothing more; but, as I have said, there was an infinite diversity of temperament amongst the masters of the fine art I have known.  Some were great impressionists.  They impressed upon you the fear of God and Immensity — or, in other words, the fear of being drowned with every circumstance of terrific grandeur.  One may think that the locality of your passing away by means of suffocation in water does not really matter very much.  I am not so sure of that.  I am, perhaps, unduly sensitive, but I confess that the idea of being suddenly spilt into an infuriated ocean in the midst of darkness and uproar affected me always with a sensation of shrinking distaste.  To be drowned in a pond, though it might be called an ignominious fate by the ignorant, is yet a bright and peaceful ending in comparison with some other endings to one’s earthly career which I have mentally quaked at in the intervals or even in the midst of violent exertions.
    But let that pass.  Some of the masters whose influence left a trace upon my character to this very day, combined a fierceness of conception with a certitude of execution upon the basis of just appreciation of means and ends which is the highest quality of the man of action.  And an artist is a man of action, whether he creates a personality, invents an expedient, or finds the issue of a complicated situation.
    There were masters, too, I have known, whose very art consisted in avoiding every conceivable situation.  It is needless to say that they never did great things in their craft; but they were not to be despised for that.  They were modest; they understood their limitations.  Their own masters had not handed the sacred fire into the keeping of their cold and skilful hands.  One of those last I remember specially, now gone to his rest from that sea which his temperament must have made a scene of little more than a peaceful pursuit.  Once only did he attempt a stroke of audacity, one early morning, with a steady breeze, entering a crowded roadstead.  But he was not genuine in this display which might have been art.  He was thinking of his own self; he hankered after the meretricious glory of a showy performance.
    As, rounding a dark, wooded point, bathed in fresh air and sunshine, we opened to view a crowd of shipping at anchor lying half a mile ahead of us perhaps, he called me aft from my station on the forecastle head, and, turning over and over his binoculars in his brown hands, said: “Do you see that big, heavy ship with white lower masts?  I am going to take up a berth between her and the shore.  Now do you see to it that the men jump smartly at the first order.”
    I answered, “Ay, ay, sir,” and verily believed that this would be a fine performance.  We dashed on through the fleet in magnificent style.  There must have been many open mouths and following eyes on board those ships — Dutch, English, with a sprinkling of Americans and a German or two — who had all