This view still obtains among naval authorities, where it is considered indispensable for the young sailor to become expert at sail-handling before he goes to his life-work on board of a vessel where sails would be as great an absurdity as means to her propulsion as oars. One cannot help feeling that this idea is indefensible, since the man-o'-war sailor of to-day is, before anything, a trained artillerist, a man of mechanics, almost an engineer, in that he is always dealing with engineering appliance of so much complexity that every hour at his disposal in his preparatory time is all too brief for the acquirement of such knowledge as he must have if he would be worth his salt. But in merchant steamers, except big liners, the case is different. In very many cases the knowledge of how to handle sails and rig jury-masts means the safety of the ship. Therefore it seems only wise and proper to insist upon the would-be steamship officer learning thoroughly the art and mystery of sail-handling before quitting the embryo stage for that of a full-blown steamship mate. It is impossible, however, to help feeling that in all respects, except the single one of pay, it is a decided descent in dignity from the poop of a sailing ship to the bridge of a steamer. Handling the former efficiently is a fine art, a mystery full of grace and deep dexterity. Many a man, fairly successful in his calling, too, never learns to get the best out of a sailing ship that is in her--never, in short, is anything but a novice at the higher seamanship. In fact, I really believe that the highest type of sailor, using the word in its original sense, is born, not made. I have been shipmate with men who seemed instinctively, and by rules of their own, to fathom all the secrets of their ships, to get just what they wanted without apparent effort. Put them on board a vessel with a bad name for unhandiness, apparently possessing some inherent defect that puzzled and exasperated beyond measure every man who had hitherto essayed to work her; under the delicate, instinctive handling of these born sailors her ingrained clumsiness disappeared, she became docile and handy, and presently the gratified officer would remark nonchalantly, "I don't see anything wrong with her." Men like these seem able to overcome such radical faults as the misplacing of masts, bad trim (that is to say, a vessel being, through careless loading, too much tilted by the head or the stern, awkwardness of build producing bad steering, etc.). Seldom can they impart these gifts to others, because they are not exercised by rule, but by instinct. In precisely the same way you shall get a man who is a good sailor in all respects but one--he can't steer; and another who is good for nothing else. In some mysterious way an ideal steersman (of a sailing ship) holds communication with a vessel herself: little subtle touches are conveyed to him through the wheel-spokes, so that he knows in the blackest night, with even the